Just because I am legally blind, and use a cane, doesn't mean that just anyone can touch me, grab my hand, take me by the arm, without first asking me if I need help. Still, people do this all the time. Sure, they think they're doing me a favor. They're doing a good deed. As the target of two attempted sexual assaults however, I am very touch sensitive. No matter what the intent of the person who touches me, if I don't know the intention, I reserve the right to react both verbally and physically if necessary.
Not long ago, I was walking from a bus stop to catch a commuter train. As I descended the stairs to the train platform, I heard a train approaching. Suddenly, someone was grabbing me by the arm and hustling me down the stairs.
Not being able to see the stranger, I shook them off roughly: "Hands off the body!" I had to yell to be heard over the noise of the train and the freeway. While I might imply that they are trying to help me, they were knocking off my balance, and potentially causing me to fall down the stairs. And that was the least of my worries at that moment.
Fortunately, the stranger, a woman, was too rushed to be offended. I let her run for the train. I decided to wait for the next one.
Five years ago, on an empty Berkeley street, I was walking toward the local BART station after meeting with friends for a few hours. As I walked, I was approached by a man.
He started asking me questions. At first, I saw no harm in talking to him as I walked, but then he started touching me, putting his hands on my arms, my breasts.
I shook off his hand.
I brushed off his hands with my own hands.
When I told the man to stop, he pushed me so that I fell against a parked car.
It was then, when someone across the quiet street noticed and shouted for my unwanted companion to stop, that I made a break for it. I managed to put some distance between us while the two men got into a verbal altercation.
That evening I happened to wear a long dress, which made hurrying through an unfamiliar neighborhood a major challenge. Even so, I kept moving, kept the stranger at some distance until I reached a major boulevard full of college students and bright lights. All the while, the man I now knew was intoxicated, shouted at me. He alternated between pleading for understanding and swearing at me.
I didn't stop to catch my breath until I was safely down the stairs and inside the BART station. Once there, I sought out the station agent, and together we called the police.
There is no reason why a good Samaritan can't ask me first if I need help. That Berkeley night is always at the back of my mind. That place will always trigger memories. That date--it happened to be my daughter's fourteenth birthday--will always be tainted now.
In 2011, while leaving a college campus where I was pursuing my paralegal certificate, there was a nearly identical incident. This time, the location was southern California. It was also broad daylight. Leaving the building after meeting with my professor, I was approached by a man who wanted to ask me a question. (Sound familiar?) Now, questions I don't mind. IN fact, I encourage them. But then he wanted to touch me. When I forcibly removed his hands and started moving away, his attempts to touch, to grab, me increased. Only when I pulled my cell phone from my purse--I didn't have one on that first night--did the man melt away. Whether or not he followed me from the school to the transit mall, I don't know. My primary concern was seeking the shelter of people.
I entered the 7/Eleven on the corner, and I waited.
The next day, I notified both the building managers and the college about the previous day's event.
these are but two events--the most serious, by far. There have been others. Annoying encounters with pranksters. Would-be Good Samaritans who want to "help" me cross a street--even if I'm just waiting for a bus.
Trust, once broken will not be restored.
