TWO BLOCKS. Two very, very long blocks beyond in deep darkness. It is 1953, and I have walked these blocks many times on my way to the room I rent off campus. I get off the bus after leaving the library at ten o’clock in the evening clutching books in my arms, with a purse hanging from a strap on my shoulder.
My landlady works the night shift at the hospital, so at this hour, the house will be as dark and blank as the others on this street. Everything is quiet and closed. Far ahead (or so it seems) is a streetlight. I am thinking about a paper due in a few days. What theme should I explore? Will the professor admire or dismiss it? Why are we reading Dreiser anyway?
I notice headlights coming toward me. A car is driving slowly down the street on the other side. As it passes, I glance at the driver—male, blond. I keep walking. The car slows down and stops. I hear its door slam shut. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps behind me. I keep walking; I do not speed up, because I don’t want to call attention to myself. The walker may be going to a house nearby, visiting a friend. Besides, what would be the point of hurrying, running?
I still have to get my door key from my purse. When I reach my house, I will have to walk upstairs to the porch, fumble in the dark to insert my key in the lock. Then he will climb the steps behind me, put his right hand over my mouth, knock me down on the porch floor, scattering my books, the contents of my purse. His breath smells of mint, but there is a sour smell too. There is no one to see. He will hold me down with one hand squeezing my throat, reach under my skirt with the other, and say, “Don’t fight me; don’t fight.”
I am exhausted. The scene I have imagined is detailed, brutal, and unbearable. I cannot live through what I anticipate.
I stop. I refuse to experience that imaginary assault again.
I turn around and wait for him. I wait and wait until he catches up to where I stand, with nothing to defend myself but the urgency to escape not what might happen but what has already happened in my mind.
He comes close, closer. I can see his eyes (or I think I can).
“Will you please leave me alone.” It is neither a question nor a scream. My voice is low, conversational. Nothing can be worse than what I have imagined.
“I’m not going to bother you,” he whispers, then turns around and walks back to his car.
Although this encounter was important to me, it should not be understood as appropriate action for anyone else. Confronting evil can be dangerous, bloody, even fatal. Each of us responds in our own way. But for me, a young student, it sealed the connection between my imagination and the source of courage. I did not run away.
Some people like to travel by train because it combines the slowness of a car with the cramped public exposure of an airplane.
I think my pilot was a little inexperienced. We were sitting on the runway, and he said, “OK, folks, we’re gonna be taking off in a just few—whoa! Here we go.”
“I can’t wait until your vacation is over.” —Everyone following you on Instagram
A man knocked on my door and asked for a donation toward the local swimming pool. So I gave him a glass of water.
Comedian Greg Davies
Just found the worst page in the entire dictionary. What I saw was disgraceful, disgusting, dishonest, and disingenuous.
Client: We need you to log in to the YouTube and make all our company videos viral.
My cat just walked up to the paper shredder and said, “Teach me everything you know.”
“Just because you can’t dance doesn’t mean you shouldn’t dance.” —Alcohol
@yoyoha (Josh Hara)
My parents didn’t want to move to Florida, but they turned 60 and that’s the law.
Q: What do you call an Amish guy with his hand in a horse’s mouth?
A: A mechanic.
More About Inspiring Stories
What You’re Sharing
- After Her Son Passed Away Unexpectedly, Her Church Came Together to Make a Beautiful Stained Glass Memorial
- Thanks to My Friend’s Wedding Veil Catching Fire, I Fell for My Husband of 60 Years
- How Ninth Graders from Louisiana Put a Fascinating Spin on Monopoly
- She Thought She’d Never Meet “The One.” Until He Stepped onto Her Elevator on the Sixth Floor of Wanamaker’s.
- My 6th Grade Love Story All Started Because of a Ruined Valentine’s Day Present