For the record, I should’ve stayed in and studied. I really should have.

It was a Thursday night in the fall of my freshman year and I was studying for a Greek History exam I had the following morning. Or at least, I had been. Like most college freshman guys, I had two major weaknesses; girls and parties. A house party had been going on and “somehow” I made my way there. All it took was a couple texts and snapchats about how “lit” the party was for me to pack up the books.

I’d planned on only stopping by, but if you’ve been to any party ever, you know that times flies by. I went from only stopping by to hanging out for about an hour or so. After it dawned on me that I should probably get going, one of my friends tapped me on the shoulder and said “Yo, there’s some random guys at the door, come help us kick them out.”

Here’s another thing a lot of college guys don’t mind, especially when they’ve been drinking; getting into fights with the boys. Pumped to get into a little scrap with about fifteen of my boys, I rush out to the front door and see three guys on the front porch, all in about their mid-to-late twenties and dressed in baggy hoodies, baggy jeans and boots. Now, I didn’t mention their race, but I know you’re assuming they’re black. To be fair, you’re right, but I just thought I’d point that out.

Now these were big guys. I already knew I’d probably get my ass beat, but I was already planning on telling the story like I didn’t. So we start talking to these guys and they’re mostly talking to me because, surprise surprise, we have our skin color in common. At some point, one of the guys and myself step off the porch and are out in front on the house. I assumed he was leaving and I was trying to get him away from the front door. All of the sudden he grabbed my arm and stared right into my eyes before saying “I have a gun and I’m going to shoot everybody in the house.”

Shit.

To be honest, my first thought was “Oh fuck.” My next thoughts were concerned on how to deescalate the situation. I tried reasoning with him, telling him there were other popular spots to go to and that a gun wasn’t really necessary in this scenario. But his eyes were moving from side to side, and his hands were getting really twitchy.

“Hey let’s go for a walk,” I suggested, trying to maneuver him away from the house. He smiled and agreed, saying that we would go and find an ATM. In retrospect, suggesting a walk wasn’t the brightest idea, but it was all I could think of at the moment. Running never crossed my mind because I didn’t want to end up like this:

My now kidnapper swung his arm around my neck and dragged/pulled me along with him down a main street. My friends looked alarmed, but I did my best to give them a look that said “Don’t interfere.” I’m very sure that had they done something, somebody would have gotten shot that night. So my kidnapper, who we’ll call Greg, brings with me him in search of an ATM.

We start walking down a decently populated street with lots of bars and restaurants and people keep passing us by (more on this later). As we walked, Greg and I talked about his life story. He told me about how he and his father were distant and how his brother was recently killed by police. Now even though I felt bad for him, I was still the one whose life was in danger. The conversation then extended to racism, police brutality and gun violence in the black community. I tried to point out to him the irony of our situation, but it fell on deaf ears. Every so often however, he would get frustrated that we hadn’t reached an ATM and would threaten to go back and “shoot everybody in the house.” When he did this, I would try and calm him down and refocus him on our conversation.

Now back to the people on the street. We must have passed by twenty to thirty people on our way to the ATM. With my free hand, I tried to wave down passersby and signal that the man with me had a gun. I mimed a gun with my hand and pointed at my kidnapper but nobody saw my pleas for help or the fear in my eyes. Never before had I felt so alone. Nobody passing by us on the street or in the windows of any of the restaurants gave me a second glance. There is no doubt in my mind that had we been of two different races, somebody would have seen my signals. Here I was, walking down the sidewalk, obviously in distress, with my neck being squeezed upon by Greg. And nobody helped me. Nobody at all.

Greg began getting fed up that we hadn’t found an ATM and finally stopped to ask for directions. We stopped three guys, clearly on their way back from a night out. There is no better way to describe these guys than the term “bros.” Greg chatted the “bros” up for a bit before asking for an ATM. I stood to his right and tried mouthing for help. I again tried to use my hand to signal that my kidnapper had a gun and that I was not there of my own free will. One of the “bro’s” met my eyes and produced what I thought was a look of realization,

Until he said “Yo, what are you saying bro?”

If I could’ve slapped my forehead, I would have. Now maybe I’m being unfair, but I don’t think I could have secretly asked for help anymore obviously. Greg slowly turned and looked at me like I had lost my mind. Quickly I thanked them for giving us directions and tried to hurry along. Greg swung his arm around my neck again and threatened to shoot me.

Before I continue, let me clarify. Being kidnapped at gunpoint is terrifying. Make no mistake, I was incredibly scared. But there wasn’t time to acknowledge my fear. Adrenaline was quite helpful in keeping me focused.

Greg had been threatening to shoot me this whole time, but this time he pressed the gun against my left ribcage. Even through my cotton Captain America crewneck, I could feel cool metal. He asked if I doubted his intention to kill me and to my own surprise, I told him “yes.” “You won’t shoot me,” I said. Even after several visits to a trauma therapist, I still don’t know what possessed me to act so boldly. I wasn’t trying to be a hero or a martyr. I just didn’t think he’d do it. After what seemed like ages, he eventually continued to drag me along until we reached an ATM. Surprisingly he only made me withdraw forty dollars. Nice guy, huh? The robbery went relatively smooth and we walked back towards the house from where I had been kidnapped, conversing the whole way. After a brief awkward stop where my kidnapper attempted and failed to sell some random kids Xanax, he finally let me go. Before letting me return to my friends, he took my driver’s license so I wouldn’t snitch.

“Now I know where you live,” he said before disappearing into the night. As soon as he faded from view, my emotions overwhelmed me. Anger and fear took turns taking control of head. Did I stop a possible school shooting? Yes. But did I feel utterly helpless the entire time? Yes.

*To give this story a happy ending, the police caught him about 2-3 weeks later.