Stranger Danger

To The Man Who Almost Raped Me, 

I don't even know your name. I remember you asking me for mine, but I'm sure you don't remember it. I want you to know how grateful I am to you. Because you made me choose. I had a choice, a moment where I decided the course of my life, and I chose to live.

I remember that night excessively well. I hear that happens with traumatic instances. I was feeling depressed, more so than usual, and decided to take one of my late night walks. Before I started my medication, this was one of the ways I would cope. Anywhere from two to four in the morning, I would strike off, put on some classical music, and just walk. Just walk until my problems felt a little further away. Just walk until I eventually felt better, enough to face another day.

I have a terrible sense of direction, and so to avoid this becoming a problem, I would choose one direction after leaving my residence and walk until I couldn't anymore. I left my dorm, and on a whim, I went left instead of right. I had gone down the right recently, and wanted to see some new things.

I walked, letting Vivaldi and Mozart guide me. The music helped me just be, and I enjoyed the cold air, the way the street lights carved out oases amongst the darkness. I walked down residential streets, and then left campus. I kept walking, finding myself in the Square, a collection of stores and restaurants arranged in a square. I saw a couple walking arm and arm, and wished that someone would talk to me. Would reach out. It wouldn't have to be anything major. Even just a "Hello" would've made my night.

But they didn't. They walked on, and so did I. No one spoke me, not once. No one, that is, except you. I kept walking, and the Square gave way to something else. This was further than I had been before, and I was aware of a sort of economic curtain that I had passed. I saw smaller houses, I saw shops and buildings with chain link fences crowned with barbed wire, and I saw the street lights grow fewer and fewer in number. I was fascinated, in my own morbid sort of way. Here, there was suffering. Here, there was hardship. Here, there was hopelessness. Just like me.

This is where I belonged; not amongst the hopeful, future-looking college students or the smiling consumers of the Square, but amongst the downtrodden, the forgotten, and the dispossessed. Or so I thought.

I kept walking. I passed the police station, an imposing building with a staircase leading up to the glass door. I stopped by the door, and looked inside. There was one man at the desk, working on the computer. I considered going in, but decided against it. He was busy, and I didn't want to bother him. He had a purpose, a reason. I didn't. I felt awful.

I kept walking, and went through a tangle of small houses. The road continued, one straight line, and I remembered from whence I had come. I checked my phone, and discovered how late it was. I don't remember what time it was, but I know that I needed to return soon or else I wouldn't make it to class tomorrow.

I kept walking. Finally, I reached a large business building, and the street curled into a parking lot. I nodded decisively. Now, it was time to turn back. My reprieve was over, and the mundane horrors of daily life awaited me. Grades, money, my family, and a thousand other things lurked on my periphery. I thought they were horrific, but I know now that I hadn't tasted real horror. Not yet.

I walked back, and returned to the maze of houses. As I walked, I could hear a woman talking angrily. It was the first interpersonal experience I had undergone since leaving the Sqaure, and I slowed down, craning my ears. It was an argument about money or something. How human; if nothing mattered, what use did paper currency possibly have? Merely to extend our wretched existence, and to buy distractions to make life livable.

I heard something then, something that wasn't part of the woman's conversation. I wasn't sure what it was though. It was just a sound. A phoneme given life by someone's lungs. I kept walking, but kept listening. I was sure it was addressed to someone else, but I was curious.

I heard it again, and again, and then one more time. Finally, I turned. After four tries and no response, I figured the only recipient could be someone wrapped up in their own thoughts. Someone like me. I turned, and saw a man walking after me. I saw you. You were large, a mix of muscle and fat, and looked shabby. As you got closer, more about you became apparent. Your facial hair had grown out into a small beard, and was mostly black with a wiry texture. I remember you gestured a lot.

I said hello, nervously. I didn't know what you wanted, but I was delighted that someone was noticing my existence. It gave my life a little meaning. You apologized for being so upfront, but asked for money. You needed $10 to pay someone for something. I can't remember the details. I decided to give you $20. I remember saying with a smile that it was enough to pay the other person, and get a meal. You smiled, and thanked me profusely. I felt good. Whatever else, I had made this man's life a little better.

You asked if I wanted to wait for you; you were going to go pay the person or whatever, and then come back. I said sure without even really thinking about it. I didn't have anywhere I needed to be, not really, and the promise of human interaction was too good to pass up. I stood there, waiting patiently, and then sat down on the curb and pulled out my phone. I wasted a few minutes, and then I heard you return.

I hopped up, and we started talking. You asked about me, and I answered. I only asked a couple of questions about you, and I remember you avoiding each question. I didn't think anything of it at the time; I completely understood not wanting to talk about yourself. I told you I was in college, I told you I lived in a dorm.  I had enough wherewithal to keep things vague, and I still wonder what would've happened if I had told him more. I told you why I was wearing girl's clothes, that I was a Transwoman, and what that meant.

Suddenly, you grabbed my by the back of the head, and pulled me into a kiss. Your tongue crawled, worm-like, into mine. I was in shock, and all I could think to do was reciprocate. I kissed you back, my tongue working over your cracked lips and tasting the foul air within your mouth.

I wanted to buy myself time. I knew that if I pushed him back or resisted, he might grow violent. I had been living a sedentary lifestyle since I started college, and I was sure he would win if it came down to a struggle. What could I do? Part of me gave up, and let it happen.

I could feel his body start to heat up. I could taste his breathing change, becoming more rapid and shallow. I remember you roughly fondling my chest, and chuckling between kisses that I didn't have breasts yet. I remember you digging your fingers into my crotch, feeling for a woman's genitals.

Suddenly, you pulled away. You asked if I smoked. I was stunned, but had enough sense to shake my head. You smiled, and told me to stay here. You would go, smoke a little, and then come back. I remember perfectly how you said it, how you put that little bit of threat on the command. You walked away, around one of the nearby houses.

I sat there, shaking, and tried to organize my thoughts. Really, I thought, I have two choices: Do I wait for you to return, or do I leave? Do I let life do this to me, or do I seize control? Do I fight, or do I give up? Free Will, or Fate?

I chose. I stood up, and ran. I ran and ran and ran. I ran until the air curling in and out of my lungs felt like glass shards along my throat. I ran until a vice started to close around my chest, crushing me. I ran until I couldn't run anymore. And then I walked. I walked past the police station.

I glanced back, and wondered if I should talk to them. I decided against it. I can't really give a reason for it. If I were to hazard a guess, it would be that my higher functions had been replaced by the animal instinct to flee. I didn't want help, not if it meant facing you again. 

I walked across the square, I walked across campus, and I walked until I reached my dorm room. I turned on the light in my room, and then I just stopped. I collapsed onto the bed, and tried to get my breathing under control. I couldn't. I stepped quietly into the kitchen, and filled a glass with water. I drank it all, refilled it, and returned to my room with the glass. I put it on my desk, and tried again to get my breathing under control. I couldn't.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking. I realized I was in shock. I had no idea what to do. I didn't know what time it was, but I was still worried about getting to class tomorrow. I dug through the recess of my mind, and finally stumbled upon something that might calm me down.

Whenever I was sick, too sick to go school, I would ask my mom to put on the 1960's Dr. Doolittle. That always made me feel better. I opened my laptop, and put on the soundtrack. I listened, and slowly, my breathing calmed. My hands stopped shaking. And fatigue hit me like a train. I dragged myself to my bed, and went to sleep. I wouldn't realize that I'd forgotten to turn off the lights until I woke up.

I will never know why you chose to go after me. Was it because you thought I was girl, and decided to go with it once you realized my body's sex? Was it because I was vulnerable? Was it because I gave you money, and you wanted to see what else you could get? Was it even a choice? Were you a slave to desires you couldn't control? I'll never know. What I will know, until I die, is that this is My life. My choices. And that's a wonderful thing.