In Wednesday's post, I said I didn't know at the
time how much it had affected me. It hurt too much to think about, so I
couldn't know it until later. I also was not aware of the strength of the walls
I put up.
It wasn't a very conscious effort. I had already
known that you can never let a boy know you like him, and tried to follow that,
but I got much worse - more scared, more defensive, and less aware of what was
going on inside.
There was an incident that I have always remembered,
but I had not connected it to this issue until recently.
Spring term of 1991, I took a football coaching
class. I was completely out of my league. I learned a lot, so I don't regret
it, but it was a struggle to keep up, and it's the wrong time of year for watching
games and learning from them. I observed every football practice I could.
There were two ways to get there. You could take the
bus, which involved a transfer and waiting for the right bus, so it took twice
as long as going over the footbridge and cutting through the woods. I love
walking through woods anyway, so that was the obvious choice, until this
happened.
I was on my way back from practice and a guy pulled
up on his bike. He struck up a conversation that started out normally enough.
What classes are you taking? My response included that I was studying French.
"I know some French; voulez-vous se coucher
avec moi?"
I was not familiar with the "Lady
Marmalade" then, but it didn't have to be threatening. That could be a
normal immature thing to say and a joke, but he started getting creepier. I was
not receptive to his creepiness, and he eventually took the hint and buzzed
off. Except he didn't.
It soon became obvious that with me on foot and him
on a bike, he should have been disappearing much faster, and he wasn't. I
waited until I was on the footbridge to test it - it's out in the open and
there are always people around - but yes, when I stopped, he stopped, and he
didn't start going again until I did.
I decided to go back to a different residence hall
than the one I lived in, so I hung out at Carson for a while, and it
seemed to work out. I don't remember ever seeing him again, even if I can't
rule out that he ever saw me again. It did freak me out. I started taking the
bus then, and I hated it, but when I did try the path again a few weeks later I
couldn't enjoy it.
That's not why I remember it so much though. Somewhere
between realizing that I was alone in the woods with a creep, and then realizing
despite being in front of me he was following me, I realized there was a chance
he would try something, and I knew that if he did I would not stop fighting
until he was dead.
That was new for me. I have always (at least since
seeing my first action film) felt ready for a fight. I think that sense of
readiness has made people step back at times, and I like that. I had still
never before anticipated killing someone. In that moment it felt very real.
It was rare for me to feel like I was in physical
danger. Usually the danger was emotional and I was well-guarded against that,
so it is the physical time that stands out. It didn't just stand out, and it
practically screamed, and what it shouted was that NO ONE IS EVER GOING TO HURT
ME AGAIN!
And they didn't. Not for sixteen years, when
accident and coincidence caught me with my guard down. Then it nearly killed
me.
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