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Mar. 2nd, 2005 12:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chavvahExcerpted from my journal, one year ago:
It happened like this.
I was walking from my place to Jamie's (about a three-minute walk) just before midnight. This young girl, about Michael's age, approached me and asked me for a cigarette. She was with a group of girls her own age, but I didn't think anything of it; this is a pretty common scene around downtown--young kids roaming the streets, looking for a handout. When I replied that I didn't smoke, she asked me if I had any money. I said, "No."
She said, "I think you do. Let me see your wallet."
"I don't think so." I tried to get past her and cross the street, but she wouldn't get out of my way. Finally I said, "What's your problem?"
She shrugged. "Just doing my job."
"Whatever." I tried to get past her again, and this time she pushed me. Now, I had about four inches of height on this girl, not to mention a good deal more weight. She looked as though a stiff breeze would blow her over. I said, "Look, I think you need to just back off, okay?"
She grinned. "There's four of us and one of you." And then, just like that, the whole gang of them were on me. I didn't even get a look at the other three. The girl I'd been talking to put her hands around my throat and pressed at my windpipe with her thumbs. I could feel hands fumbling around in my coat pockets. One of them had got hold of both ends of my scarf and was yanking at it, presumably to unbalance me.
I was yelling for help when a bus pulled up at the corner. I waved at the driver, desperately trying to convince him that this wasn't just a case of a few girls roughhousing. He opened the front door of the bus, and I yelled, "They're trying to jump me!" The girls scattered, and I dashed onto the bus, crying and gasping for breath. The one I'd been talking to actually tried to follow me onto the bus, but the others stopped her. I guess if I'd had any sense I'd have tried to get a better look at them through the window, but I was so upset I just wanted to sit down for a few minutes.
(I guess if I'd really had any sense I wouldn't have been walking around at that time of night in the first place.)
The men who had been standing at the bus stop, watching this happen, couldn't look me in the face as they got on the bus.
The first thing I did was to call Jamie, who got his friends together and flagged down a passing cop car. (Calling the police in Winnipeg is like calling for a taxi in New York--you have a better chance of getting one by just standing in the street and waving.) I sat on the bus through its entire route, until it came back downtown--about half an hour. The bus driver was really nice about it--he didn't even charge me a fare, and offered to talk to the police if I needed him to.
Jamie, his friend Kenny, and two police officers were waiting when I got off the bus at the same place I'd gotten on. (That part was a little nerve-wracking, since I had to cross the street and walk up the same stretch of road where I'd been approached to get to where they were.) We sat in the patrol car while I gave my statement, and then Kenny left (he'd come so quickly when Jamie called that he'd forgotten to pay his tab at a nearby bar!) we drove around for a while to see if I could spot any of the girls who'd attacked me. It turned out that mine wasn't the first, or even the second, report the police had received about these girls that evening, but I was the only person able to make a definite identification of one of the attackers. In the end, though, the search proved pointless and the police dropped us off at Jamie's and went to go talk to the bus driver.
Jamie was calm throughout the statement and the drive, but later he got pretty emotional about the whole thing--it's the first time I've ever seen him get really angry. (I was beginning to wonder if he was capable. ;)) He was furious with the girls for attacking me, with bystanders for not doing anything, with society in general for allowing this kind of thing to go on. I felt bad for upsetting him, but it was reassuring, in a way, to see him taking it so seriously. I think I would have been utterly humiliated if he had pulled the whole "it could have been a lot worse" line on me. Truthfully, it could have been a lot worse--I got away with a few bruises and scratches--but it was still really frightening. The fact that he had been frightened too made me feel a little less like a simpering coward...
So it's a year later, and even though I wasn't badly beaten or anything, this still affects me. I have panic attacks sometimes--actual panic attacks, where I can't think, can't breathe--and I get edgy when I'm alone downtown at night. Groups of young girls make me extremely nervous. When my mum is at work nights, sometimes I can't sleep because of this irrational fear that someone is going to come and attack me. (This may seem less silly when I explain that there was a murder on my front doorstep earlier this winter, and that I've had a couple of encounters with a guy on the floor above us who occasionally goes off his meds and comes knocking on doors and yelling obscenities.) More than once, I've had to call Jamie to come and walk me home from the bus stop, because I got on the bus and then realized I was petrified of getting off unless someone was there to meet me.
I feel bad, because I'd like it to be the way it was before, and I know a lot of my friends don't understand why this still bothers me. I wish I had the confidence they do--to go out at night without worrying about who's going to take me home, to stay at home alone without getting upset. I don't know how to get back the trust I once had in my fellow human beings not to do me harm. I know it was naive, but I liked that trust. I was proud to be a person who had faith in the goodness of others.
As much as I try, I'm not always that person anymore.
They never caught those girls. Occasionally there'll be a rash of reports of a group of three or four girls mugging someone outside the U of W, which is about two minutes away from where I live. But they only attack women walking alone, and no one is ever able to identify them properly.
I saw her again once, you know. The little one. She was shopping with her mother in Cityplace. It was months later, but I still knew it was her--her face, her voice, I know it's a cliche, but you don't forget those kinds of things. She just seemed so... small. So harmless. I almost wanted to approach her, to yell at her for fucking up my life, but of course common sense prevailed and I didn't.
I wish I knew what all this meant, but I really don't. I just know that sometimes, for better or worse, there are events that shape your life, and for me, this is one of them.
It happened like this.
I was walking from my place to Jamie's (about a three-minute walk) just before midnight. This young girl, about Michael's age, approached me and asked me for a cigarette. She was with a group of girls her own age, but I didn't think anything of it; this is a pretty common scene around downtown--young kids roaming the streets, looking for a handout. When I replied that I didn't smoke, she asked me if I had any money. I said, "No."
She said, "I think you do. Let me see your wallet."
"I don't think so." I tried to get past her and cross the street, but she wouldn't get out of my way. Finally I said, "What's your problem?"
She shrugged. "Just doing my job."
"Whatever." I tried to get past her again, and this time she pushed me. Now, I had about four inches of height on this girl, not to mention a good deal more weight. She looked as though a stiff breeze would blow her over. I said, "Look, I think you need to just back off, okay?"
She grinned. "There's four of us and one of you." And then, just like that, the whole gang of them were on me. I didn't even get a look at the other three. The girl I'd been talking to put her hands around my throat and pressed at my windpipe with her thumbs. I could feel hands fumbling around in my coat pockets. One of them had got hold of both ends of my scarf and was yanking at it, presumably to unbalance me.
I was yelling for help when a bus pulled up at the corner. I waved at the driver, desperately trying to convince him that this wasn't just a case of a few girls roughhousing. He opened the front door of the bus, and I yelled, "They're trying to jump me!" The girls scattered, and I dashed onto the bus, crying and gasping for breath. The one I'd been talking to actually tried to follow me onto the bus, but the others stopped her. I guess if I'd had any sense I'd have tried to get a better look at them through the window, but I was so upset I just wanted to sit down for a few minutes.
(I guess if I'd really had any sense I wouldn't have been walking around at that time of night in the first place.)
The men who had been standing at the bus stop, watching this happen, couldn't look me in the face as they got on the bus.
The first thing I did was to call Jamie, who got his friends together and flagged down a passing cop car. (Calling the police in Winnipeg is like calling for a taxi in New York--you have a better chance of getting one by just standing in the street and waving.) I sat on the bus through its entire route, until it came back downtown--about half an hour. The bus driver was really nice about it--he didn't even charge me a fare, and offered to talk to the police if I needed him to.
Jamie, his friend Kenny, and two police officers were waiting when I got off the bus at the same place I'd gotten on. (That part was a little nerve-wracking, since I had to cross the street and walk up the same stretch of road where I'd been approached to get to where they were.) We sat in the patrol car while I gave my statement, and then Kenny left (he'd come so quickly when Jamie called that he'd forgotten to pay his tab at a nearby bar!) we drove around for a while to see if I could spot any of the girls who'd attacked me. It turned out that mine wasn't the first, or even the second, report the police had received about these girls that evening, but I was the only person able to make a definite identification of one of the attackers. In the end, though, the search proved pointless and the police dropped us off at Jamie's and went to go talk to the bus driver.
Jamie was calm throughout the statement and the drive, but later he got pretty emotional about the whole thing--it's the first time I've ever seen him get really angry. (I was beginning to wonder if he was capable. ;)) He was furious with the girls for attacking me, with bystanders for not doing anything, with society in general for allowing this kind of thing to go on. I felt bad for upsetting him, but it was reassuring, in a way, to see him taking it so seriously. I think I would have been utterly humiliated if he had pulled the whole "it could have been a lot worse" line on me. Truthfully, it could have been a lot worse--I got away with a few bruises and scratches--but it was still really frightening. The fact that he had been frightened too made me feel a little less like a simpering coward...
So it's a year later, and even though I wasn't badly beaten or anything, this still affects me. I have panic attacks sometimes--actual panic attacks, where I can't think, can't breathe--and I get edgy when I'm alone downtown at night. Groups of young girls make me extremely nervous. When my mum is at work nights, sometimes I can't sleep because of this irrational fear that someone is going to come and attack me. (This may seem less silly when I explain that there was a murder on my front doorstep earlier this winter, and that I've had a couple of encounters with a guy on the floor above us who occasionally goes off his meds and comes knocking on doors and yelling obscenities.) More than once, I've had to call Jamie to come and walk me home from the bus stop, because I got on the bus and then realized I was petrified of getting off unless someone was there to meet me.
I feel bad, because I'd like it to be the way it was before, and I know a lot of my friends don't understand why this still bothers me. I wish I had the confidence they do--to go out at night without worrying about who's going to take me home, to stay at home alone without getting upset. I don't know how to get back the trust I once had in my fellow human beings not to do me harm. I know it was naive, but I liked that trust. I was proud to be a person who had faith in the goodness of others.
As much as I try, I'm not always that person anymore.
They never caught those girls. Occasionally there'll be a rash of reports of a group of three or four girls mugging someone outside the U of W, which is about two minutes away from where I live. But they only attack women walking alone, and no one is ever able to identify them properly.
I saw her again once, you know. The little one. She was shopping with her mother in Cityplace. It was months later, but I still knew it was her--her face, her voice, I know it's a cliche, but you don't forget those kinds of things. She just seemed so... small. So harmless. I almost wanted to approach her, to yell at her for fucking up my life, but of course common sense prevailed and I didn't.
I wish I knew what all this meant, but I really don't. I just know that sometimes, for better or worse, there are events that shape your life, and for me, this is one of them.
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Date: 2005-03-02 12:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-02 02:17 pm (UTC)::hugs::
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Date: 2005-03-02 03:07 pm (UTC)Every day it will get a little bit better. And hopefully one day they'll attack one too many people and get caught.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-02 03:24 pm (UTC)I didn't know about the guys that just watched. In my mind, if you're a big guy and you can do something about it, and don't, you are just as guilty as the people who perpetrated the crime in the first place. No one should let that shit go on.
I think it would have been funny if you had confronted the girl with her mom. At least you could have seen the shocked look on her face...