Never again

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.