Yesterday, as I was leaving work, it was raining. Correction: it was pissing down. La Niña, you know. Brings us wet winters here in Seattle. Sometimes snowy ones. Yesterday was definitely wet.
I started down the stairs at the bus station, saw the 41 waiting, and quick-stepped the last flight to the platform. The doors on the bus closed, so I kicked it into high gear, running alongside. The kindly driver spotted me in his side view, held off, opened the doors, and let me in. I paid my fare with a smile and a thank you, and decided to stand near the door for the trip up to the park-and-ride.
I held onto one of the vertical handholds and looked outside as we swayed onto the freeway and then sashayed northward. The streets were grey. The sky was grey. Beyond the filmy windscreen, the cars cruising past also wore shades of rainy grey. But the sounds, the shushing of tires, the spatter of rain on speeding glass, the grunting scrape of wiper blades as they smeared the rain around rather than really squeegeeing it off, I found it all rather relaxing. Cocoon-like. The world outside was cold and wet, but in the coach we were all warm and dry.
Halfway to our off-ramp, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned.
Are you getting off at the terminal? she asked. There was a quaver in her voice, and her eyes were full of tears unspilt.
Yes, I said. I am.
There’s this guy, she told me. A furtive glance over her shoulder. And I’m scared.
She was. I could hear it in her voice. I could see it in her face. She was young, thin, very pretty, with big green eyes and hair the color of raw honey, but her gaze flitted between me and the back of the coach, and her hand trembled as she held it near quivering lips. She was scared.
We’re good, I told her. You’re safe.
I had conflicting impulses. I wanted to put an arm around her to reassure her. I wanted to turn around and confront the idiot who was bothering her, shaming him for frightening her so.
But those instincts were wrong. My intentions may have been honorable, but this young woman, frightened by a stranger to the point of seeking another stranger’s aid, she did not need a father, a friend, or a hero. She just needed a safe place. She needed a buffer.
I asked her if she needed me to ride farther with her. No, she was getting off at the terminal. I asked her if she’d heard that they’d opened up more spaces at the park-and-ride. She hadn’t. Small talk. Inconsequential topics that went nowhere and died quickly, but while we chatted, as her voice evened out, I took a slow step back and grabbed the handhold on the other side of the aisle too, turning myself into a barrier between her and the passengers behind us.
We pulled into the terminal. She paid her fare quickly and sprinted toward the parking lot. I took my time, thanking the driver, delaying those behind me for a few seconds, and stepped off. I caught sight of her, still running, hood up and head down against the pelting rain. She climbed the steps, ran through the parking lot, and disappeared into the mall beyond. No one followed her. No one tried.
As I got in my car, I was overcome by a wave of sadness. I’m not liking our world, right now. I’m not liking it very much at all.
In the grand scheme, I cannot change the world in large, but I felt I had done my best to change that young woman’s day a small bit for the better. Were her fears reasonable? It didn’t matter; they were real, and that’s what counted. I’m deeply sorrowful that she was so frightened, and I’m angry at members of my sex who are so callous, so self-involved, so petty, or so bloody lacking in empathy that they feel it’s okay to pressure others—women or men—to do anything they would rather avoid.
That young woman will likely think of today whenever she gets on the bus. That is, if she ever gets on a bus again. One guy, just one guy being a dick, affected her life to the point where she may well change things about her schedule or her mode of transport, so that she can avoid him. Or, maybe, she’ll remember the old guy who did her a favor and ran interference for her—Nothing heroic. Just a small kindness.—and perhaps she’ll take some strength from that.
Yeah. I’m not liking our world very much, not at all.
k
[…] happened over on my Facebook author page, where I echo this blog, and it was in response to last week’s post about my encounter with a young woman who was being harassed on the bus. As it was one of my social […]
LikeLike