This weekend I spent my Saturday night alone at home on the couch with the cats and my Netflix. I remember a hazy time when the idea of not going out and getting trashed at the local dive bar every single Friday and Saturday night was, in my eyes, utterly uncool/unheard of/social suicide. Now I'm more inclined to save my money and drink at home if I get the urge to spend the evening in a drunken stupor. Not that I'm opposed to drinking, far from it. But certain circumstances have greatly decreased my willingness to leave my nice warm house for the purpose of getting a buzz.
On Saturday I spent the day with Parita and her boyfriend out in Napa, then headed back to city. I had already made plans with Greg earlier that day for he and Aaron to come over to my place for drinks and general hanging out that night. I haven't seen Aaron in a while so it seemed like a good idea to just chill out with a few bottles of wine and have some conversation. But when I got home and called Greg around 9pm, he and Aaron were already in the city and were at a bar at 24th & Mission. They wanted me to come down there or meet them later on at a different bar. I told Greg, "Look, I really want to see you guys, but I just can't walk there by myself at night." He alterately tried to convince me to drive (I had just driven all over Napa all day) take a cab (expensive & unnecessary) or take the bus (meh.) None of my own attempts to convince them to go back to the plan of hanging out at my place were successful. I sensed Greg's impatience and annoyance with what he saw as flakiness/laziness/over-cautiousess on my part, so I firmly ended the conversation, hung up and spent the evening at home on aforesaid couch.
The underlying problem that caused this tiff between two good friends is twofold. Firstly, it's my belief that most guys and even older women don't understand what it is actually like for young women walking down the street alone. For instance, I work downtown, and when I head down the street on my lunch break wearing nothing more spectacular than slacks and a pea coat, I can expect to be stared at, whistled at, kissy-kissy'ed at, or just plain accosted by some male person who feels that he must say something to me. Regardless of my physical attractiveness at any particular moment, the fact that I am a woman walking alone apparently sparks some deep-seated male urge to attract my attention by any means necessary. I'm not about to start analyzing the evolutionary causes behind this phenomenon, as I am sure there are entire libraries devoted to these kinds of subjects. My point is that taking a walk alone is no relaxing thing, let alone easy or safe - especially at night. Cat-calling and staring that can be ignored or laughed off during the day becomes sinister and even terrifying at night. Compounded with the normal experiences of any woman is the fact that earlier last year I was robbed at gunpoint (twice) while walking home one night. Now when I walk down the street at night and I see a man walking towards me, especially if he's wearing a hood,
especially if he's got his hands in his pockets, I immediately go into panic attack mode. Heartbeat-skipping, can't breathe, all-consuming terror. Even if I am with friends I literally have to force myself to
keep walking, and not turn around and flat-out run, screaming bloody murder.
Why? Because when you've been forced to do something for fear of your life, knowing that there's nothing you can do to stop the situation from happening, you find yourself days, weeks, months (probably years) later still re-imagining the scene in your head over and over; you can't stop yourself; your mind keeps replaying it and you can't stop thinking about all the "I should haves." I should've grabbed my friend's hand and ran as soon as we saw the gun. I should have screamed as soon as I saw the gun. The gun could have been fake, I should have knocked it out of his hand and ran. I should have grabbed the gun and pointed at HIS head, kicked the shit out of him, made him cry, made him bleed, should have screamed into the night "
you think you're bad ass now? you little fucking punk shit, I'll kill you for daring to put a gun to my head, I'll kill you for touching my friend's pockets, I'll kill you for going near my mother with a gun, you fucking piece of shit."
The experience isn't something I talk about often, but it's there, always, in the back of my mind. I have so many regrets about what I should have done, but I'm alive. I made it. And I am so grateful. And never again will I be so unprepared. Now I have an instinctual plan, I have the post-traumatic stress that instantly triggers a gut reaction to grab my companion, scream for help, run, run, run. Instincts, I have learned, should be listened to; helplessness is not cowardice; fear is a source of strength, not a sign of weakness.
It's easy to see mortality as a news item, to view the bad things that happen to good people as something that won't happen to you. It's easy to fall into comfort mode, get drunk with strangers, walk home late at night and never expect in a million years that someone out there is watching, waiting to take something from you , maybe even at the cost of your life.
Staying home alone on a Saturday night sometimes means staying safe. I wish you safety, my friends. I wish you great adventures, I wish you full lives. Life is precious. Be careful with yours.
