People have been telling me, recently, that I'm tempting fate walking alone at night, by myself, a woman, unaccompanied. I've stopped telling people about it. They've stopped telling me I'm tempting fate. Maybe they still think it, but they don't tell me so, since they've no proof I'm still doing it, which I am, and maybe it is tempting fate, but...
I resent the fact that I have to even think about the fact that I may be tempting fate. Take back the night, indeed. Determinism creeps up on male feet.
Yes, I've known people who have been assaulted. Of course I do. What's the statistic? One out of five women will be assaulted in their lifetimes? A woman at the office, recently, was stalked by some guy and when by chance he managed to get her alone on a dark street one evening he raped her and burnt her face with cigarettes. It's a fluke that I haven't been molested or assaulted (yet) — and I suppose I have, although it wasn't that big a deal (I don't want to devalue real incidents of abuse), but still, I remember it: When I was about five some friends of the family were visiting. Their son was in his teens, fifteen or sixteen, maybe. I guess he got bored with the adults and starting playing with me. I didn't care; I liked the attention. We started doing acrobatics or wrestling or something and he kept lifting me up by the crotch, pressing his fingers, through my clothes, against my vagina. He got a bit more aggressive and it hurt and I told him so. He went beet red and immediately left and went back to the adults.
But I don't want to be careful; I want to be able to walk by myself. For myself.
I always carry pepper spray. Who knows how effective it would be, or even if I could wield it effectively, but I always carry it. In my purse or in my pocket. Sometimes I end up clutching it, if it's in my pocket, like some kind of talisman. The plastic grows warm in my fingers and my palm starts to sweat and the slender tube slips around in my hand like something alive. Adrenaline: Fear? Anticipation?
I've never used it, never yet had the opportunity.
Last night it snowed. Late in the evening, just a little, just enough to give everything a fine layering. The light was strange – blue – but the clouds, low and heavy, glowering, were orange, reflecting the glow of the streetlights. The snow seemed to shift through the spectrum as it fell. Falling from the orange of the cloud covering through to the blue of the streets and sidewalks. It was gone in the morning.
"You are coming tonight, aren't you?" Angela poked her head into my cubicle. It was nearly five. I was busy shuffling papers around. I had stuff to do, but if I started it, I wouldn't be finished by day's end. Better to wait until Monday. Maybe. Hate having unfinished stuff lying around. What to do in the mean time...
"You haven't forgotten?"
"No," I said quickly.
"You have to come," Angela said. "We're all expecting you."
"Who's expecting me?"
"Oh," she waved her hands, "lot's of people...men," she grinned lasciviously.
"Oh, well, if men are expecting me...," I laughed weakly.
"Remember it's costume."
"I remember. Should I bring anything?"
"No, no. Just yourself," Angela assured me.
"I suppose I can manage that..."
Angela and Dennis are always having parties. Costume parties or themed parties — it wasn't enough just to have a party, there had to be that something extra. I really didn't know what to go as. I had nothing in my closet remotely costume-like and I certainly wasn't going to go out and rent something. I didn't really want to go in the first place. Except, I'd promised Angela...
But anyway, as the evening loomed solitary and the empty apartment promised nothing in the way of companionship, I gave into the need for human contact:
SOMEDAY I WILL TEST THE ASSERTION THAT HUMAN BEINGS ARE SOCIAL ANIMALS
(just not tonight).
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