Something happened earlier this week and the longer it sits with me, the more it upsets me, and I’ve got some thoughts on the matter. But first, I should probably catch you up on the details.
Last Tuesday I was in Calistoga for an appointment. I left my appointment around 6pm and, instead of getting into my car and driving immediately home, I had to run an errand. Despite it being cold and dark outside, I elected to walk to my destination. It wasn’t a long walk, probably less than a half a mile. I arrived at my destination, took care of what I needed to do, and started to walk back to my car. Perhaps because it was a Tuesday evening, or perhaps because it was cold and lightly raining, very few people were out walking . But it was still early, so I felt no hesitation to make the trek back to my car.
I was walking along, minding my own business and thoroughly inside my head, when something caught my eye. I turned to look over my left shoulder and saw a man on a bicycle. He was wearing a black hoodie, and trailing so close behind me that he was easily within arm’s reach. When I turned to look over my shoulder, I met a gaze that was so intense and fixated that it told me he had already been watching me well before I noticed him. When our eyes met, his stare sent a wave of such acute panic through my veins that I felt like I was going to be sick. I call it the “2 o’clock in the morning phone call feeling”. Yeah, you know the feeling. It’s not good.
So, despite it being just the two of us on the walkway, and despite that fact that the walkway was quite wide and completely unobstructed, I immediately moved over. It was my hope that his glare and his proximity to me were in response to his frustration for not being granted a swift passage. But this man, he stayed at my shoulder, and he did not divert is stare. He did not pass me. Instead, he kept the speed of his bike at just the right tempo to match my walk and just hovered. When he did not pass me, I looked back and encountered his glare again, and it became abundantly clear that his proximity to me had nothing to do with any attempts to pass me on the walkway.
Immediately, I felt tears well in my eyes. Fear replaced the blood in my veins and made me feel sick to my stomach. My legs felt weak and unsteady, and then a little voice in my head whispered, “Oh god. This is really going to happen.” I wish I could say that the fight or flight response kicked in, but it did not. Instead what kicked in was submission; the third and lesser known option in the flight or flight response, which is freeze. I no longer felt like my mind and body were working symbiotically. As if on autopilot, I just slowed my pace, unsure of where my legs were taking me. I felt like I was awaiting command.
After what felt like an eternity, but was probably not more than 30, maybe 45 seconds based off of how far I walked from when I first noticed this man to where we were now, he rode right up next to me. He was now parallel to me, and even though I didn’t turn my head to look at him, instead keeping my gaze down, I could see in my peripheral vision that he was looking at me. Very briefly, he rode silently beside me before mumbling something. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded like a threat. It sounded like he said, “You’re going to get it.” I don’t know if this is actually what he said, or if this was my fear jumping to conclusions, but this is what I thought I heard and it sent the next jolt of terror through my body. My response came swiftly as I choked out a shaky demand, “What did you just say?!” Again, the little voice inside returned, only this time with the scolding command, “Be polite!” And immediately I felt bad for using such a sharp tone with this man.
This man, he trailed parallel to me for a few more seconds and then rode ahead of me at about arm’s length. He looked back at me a few more times before answering my inquiry. Finally, he said, “You’re beautiful.” Despite feeling scared and so vehemently not wanting to encourage this man, the little voice inside my head compelling me to be polite overshadowed my instinct and I whispered, with a giant lump in my throat, the following response: “Thank you”. This hooded man rode in front of me, but just at arm’s length, for a short while longer and taking the opportunity to look back at me a few more times. Then he increased his speed as mine tapered off, and then he was gone. I just stood there shaking, fighting back tears, and not really sure what had just happened.
I wanted to call someone, or tell someone, but I didn’t. Not right away, at least; I waited quite a while. The origins of my hesitation were twofold and equally weighted. First, I wasn’t sure what happened. I know exactly how it felt, and it felt terrifying. But, was my emotional reaction justified? Was there a real and imminent threat, or do I just see sexual assault everywhere I go? Was this just some kind of really messed up transference placed upon some well-intentioned young man who was just trying to pay a lady a nice compliment? And if that was, in fact, the case, then I am such a bitch. I mean, it’s not like I got hurt or anything.
Or, let’s entertain the idea that I was just in the crosshairs of a sexual deviant and I, somehow, managed to dodge that bullet for reasons unbeknownst to me. No one will believe me. You probably overreacted...It wasn’t that bad...You’re too sensitive...I’m sure it didn’t really happen that way...It was probably nothing...It’s interesting how bad things keep happening to you…
Okay, there is so much that is messed up with this whole thing! Like I said, the longer I sit with this, the more it upsets me and I’ve got a few things I’d like to say. First of all -- and I’m going to apologize in advance for the frequent use of expletives that are about to follow, but I think it’s appropriate in this situation -- what the actual fuck?! I don’t even really know where to begin, so we will begin with my part in all of this.
Regardless of whether or not my assessment of the situation was on point or not, it felt like I was headed for an assault of the worst kind and my reaction was to submit. The voice inside of me scolded me to be polite when my tone became sharp. I thanked him. Let me say that again, I thanked a man who I genuinely felt like was about inflict serious harm. That, friends, is really, really, not okay. And I’d like to say that my reaction to all of this is of the minority. But, I’d be willing to bet it’s not all that uncommon. I bet there are a few of you out there reading this who just went, “Yep. I reacted the exact same way.” When, in reality, our reaction should have been, “Oh, hell no! I am going to fuck this mother fucker up if he even so much as high fives me!”
Now, friends, I am not advocating violence in any way -- I need to make that explicitly clear. My point is that, for whatever reason, my response to this situation was terribly wrong. It is not okay that my brain and body are programmed to simply accept that kind of treatment from anybody. That needs to change. My body deserves better than that even if I need to give myself a hard reboot to actually believe it. And I accept that my paradigm needs to change in order to fully embrace this belief of self respect, but I’d also be willing to venture that some of our social norms and expectations need to change it up a bit, too. So, there’s that point. Now, let’s examine the next level of this giant mess.
I really wavered even mentioning this event to anyone...ever. Maybe I really did misjudge this man’s intentions. Even still, several days later, I’m not entirely sure I even gave this an accurate assessment. There is a large part of me that feels like it was nothing; that I was never in harm’s way; and that this was just an overreaction from someone who sees assault everywhere. As many of my friends and family will attest, I can be fairly persuasive. I am not fun to debate against because I can draft a bulletproof argument discrediting anything to the contrary of what I believe to be the truth. So, if I want to convince myself that this event was all just a giant overreaction or transference gone awry, then I’ll be able to do it. But those feelings....they make a pretty convincing argument that my instinct was totally on point. And then I think of how many times I wish I had listened to my instinct when I originally discredited it. So I then I say, yeah. I’m going to say something about this. This was not okay. For just the briefest of encounters, I was not safe.
So now let’s address this whole hesitation to not disclose for fear of not being believed. I really can’t control this one, and let me explain why. People will believe what they want to believe. I will talk about this and others will either believe me or they won’t. They will either dismiss this as an overreaction from an overly sensitive prude, or they will believe every part of this and join me in saying how frightening and not okay that this was. Furthermore, I would like to believe that those who orbit around in my close circle would never doubt something of this nature and magnitude, just as I would never doubt them. But, really, that’s not the point. The point isn’t whether or not people will believe me. I hesitated saying anything because there is the assumption that I won’t be believed. And that, my friends, is the point.
So, there you have it. I haven’t written anything here for quite some time, and this certainly isn’t polished, or poetic, or my best work. Far from it, in fact. But, I didn’t write this for the entertainment value. To be entirely honest, I’m not even sure what my agenda is. I just felt like I needed to say a few things, so please just hear my voice. And be careful out there.
