Friday, August 04, 2006


Another hazard of being 21, in Manhattan, and apparently very naive and stupid- sometimes, you get attacked.

I'm sitting in front of my Upper East Side apartment at about 11 pm, talking to Sober on the phone. I don't get service in the apartment, and I normally talk in the backyard, but one of my roommates was out there, so I went in front this time. My head is down in my knees, and some guy comes up and asks if I'm ok. I say, "yeah, I'm fine," he goes away, and I keep talking. Then, about five or ten minutes later, he comes at me. He's basically on top of me, holding my arms and my neck, and my phone hangs up and goes flying away. He tells me not to talk, not to scream, and pulls me with him. I resist at first, and kind of see if I can get away, but I suddenly can't remember if Oprah tells you to fight as hard as you can, or to just go along. I keep hearing her say "don't let him take you to the second location," but that's totally not helpful right now. Then I think maybe he has a knife or a gun, and then it's hard to breathe and my legs aren't working, and then he's dragging me with him.

I'm terrified he's going to bring me to a car, but he brings me to the door of my apartment and tells me to open it. Then we're inside the little tiny area in front between the two doors, and he tells me to open the second one. It's actually not locked, but I don't tell him that. He's still holding me around the neck, and I can barely breathe. I keep moving my chin down to my chest because I think maybe that will keep him from totally choking me. He keeps telling me to open the door, and I really am trying, but I can't. The knob is all messed up, and I thought the landlady just fixed it, but apparently not, because suddenly it's off the door and in my hand. He keeps screaming at me to put my keys in the door and unlock it, and I try to be really polite and keep telling him, "sir, I just can't do it. The door is messed up." He keeps telling me to shut up, and I have five seconds, and then he starts counting backwards. I don't know what happens when he gets to zero. I just keep telling him that I'm trying. I try to hold up the knob and show him, but he's holding me so tight that I can't move. My arms are shaking, and if he wasn't squeezing me so tight, my legs would certainly give out. He keeps counting backwards, and finally he gets really mad and pushes me down to the ground. He tells me to stay there and not move. I don't think I could if I wanted to. I can't feel my body at all. He tells me to count backwards from five, and runs out the door.

I can't move. I'm shaking and I'm screaming. I still can't get the second door open, but I'm terrified to go outside. I stay there in a heap, and finally, I think maybe he's gone. I push and push and finally the door opens- the knob is still in my hand- and I stumble down the hall and into my apartment. My poor roommate has no idea what to do, because I can't even talk- I'm just crying in a ball on the floor. I finally manage to tell her what happened, and she asks me if we should call the police. I don't know. What can they do? But it seems safe. Maybe they can tell me if I should be scared or not. So we do. I want to call back Sober, but we can't find my phone. He must have picked it up when he was running away. We wait and wait, but the police don't come. She calls again, and they say they came and left, but will come back. I want them to get here, because a uniform sounds safe. They never end up coming.

My other roommates come home, and rub my back and give me water. I take a shower, because I smell like him. I take my stuffed dog and my stuffed cat and lay in my bed, but the room seems too big and sleep seems too scary. I can still feel his arm around my neck and it's hard to breathe and I feel like I'm going to throw up. But I think I probably shouldn't be upset, because really, nothing happened. I only lost my phone. I'm alive. I'm fine. I should be fine. I honestly have no idea- am I being melodramatic right now? Is this no big deal? I don't want to be a baby, and I don't want to overreact. I figure it's ok to write a blog about it, because I'm anonymous, so it's not like I'm trying to get attention or anything. But I'm really really scared. And I can still feel his arm around my neck.

**And while nothing about this is funny... even I can admit that I'm pretty damn lucky that I'm such a fucking klutz. Who ever heard of someone foiling an attacker because she is just too inept to open a door? I would.


posted by Lion @ 8/04/2006 01:45:00 AM |


<< Home