A man followed me home last night
A man followed me home last night.
A threatening man followed me home last night.
A threatening man who tried to touch me followed me to my home last night.
This man brushed his arm against mine as we walked down the stairs from the subway. This man tested to see whether I would move away, whether I would say anything.
This man walked behind me, keeping my brisk pace, walking too close for night time, walking in my shadow.
This man slowed when I slowed, he grabbed my arm, he tried to hand me his jacket, he motioned for me to help him put it on.
When I put my hands up and said loudly, “Get away from me,” he laughed. A confident laugh that said, “I’m scaring you and I like that.”
He stepped toward me and I backed up.
I took a wide circle around him, I walked into the nearest open store, a pizza place that sells slices of cheese for $2.50.
He looked at me through the window and smiled, then turned to walk slowly away.
Inside the pizza shop, another man looked at me. He asked if the man outside was bothering me, he said he had seen him around, harassing many women at night. He offered to walk me home.
At first, I declined. Wait a few minutes, I told myself. That man will be gone.
But the pizza guy smiled kindly, saw my nervous glances out the window. He told me where he lived, said he could walk me partway home. Just in case.
Because someone will ask, it was late. About 2 a.m. on a Tuesday morning.
Because someone will ask, I was coming home from work after staying an extra hour to edit an obituary.
Because someone will ask, I was dressed conservatively. Teal corduroy pants, sneakers, sleeves to my elbows, a down vest.
But even if I were naked, nobody should touch me. Nobody should feel entitled to touch me, to follow me.
As we left the pizza shop, I scanned the street for that man. I hoped he had continued to wherever it is that harassers go when the women are finally at home.
The man was waiting, slouched against a bus stop and hidden by an advertisement for a new TV show or a health plan.
He was waiting for me.
He followed as we walked to my street, as we turned the corner onto my block. My companion asked what he wanted and he yelled, “I want you to suck my dick.”
He stopped walking only when I called 911.
He stopped only when I called the police.
I am certain that my companion is the only reason he did not touch me again.
As I walked my dog this morning, a man whistled at me. It happens almost every day, some whistle or comment, “Hey sexy” or “I’d like to tap that ass” or “Girl, wanna come home with me?”
The threatening man didn’t injure me. He didn’t actually molest me. He just made me feel unsafe in my neighborhood, unsafe on my way home from work. He just added another rule to my list for how to behave at night.
- Don’t make eye contact with men.
- Don’t smile.
- Don’t react to any comment, any question at night.
- Cross the street if someone suspicious is near.
- Notice which stores are open, just in case you need refuge.
- Keep your hands free in case you need to defend yourself.
- Watch your surroundings, keep track of where the men are.
- Don’t walk alone if at all possible.
- Don’t read on the train.
The list goes on, but it’s the last point the threatening man added. He followed me from the train. Had he noticed me while I leaned against the door, reading a novel, instead of scanning the other passengers? How had he decided that I was the best next victim?
Every one of my friends has a street harassment story. Every woman I know acts differently at night, makes different choices to minimize the risks of physical or sexual assault.
I am tired of street harassment influencing my decisions on where to go or when. I am tired of the comments, the “praise,” the attention my body gets from men who feel entitled to remark on it. I am tired of other men saying, “It’s just a compliment, chill,” and the tacit acceptance by their silence when they see it happening.
Not every man is threatening, not every man harasses women on the street. But I have to treat every man as a threat because I don’t know who is a danger. Enough.
