Member-only story
You Have No Right To Hold Me Down
An Abusive Old Man. One Week Later, Flashbacks Started
Don’t tell me what happened; you weren’t there.
Don’t tell me what to feel.
Don’t tell me it was no big deal; it was.
One week ago, a man forcibly held me down. It was only for about four minutes, but four minutes is a long time when you are being held against your will. I struggled to get my hands free. I couldn’t.
He’d come into the room next to the sacristy where I was working and began telling me some aimless story about a woman he’d known. I was busy sorting the money, putting ones, fives, tens and twenties in order to be counted later at the central office. My hands were busy, and I didn’t stop working, just nodded absently as he rambled on, this old man.
Suddenly, he stood next to me and grabbed my hands, placing his over my hands and forearms. Holding me down. For an 83-year-old man, he had a remarkably strong grip.
Stunned, I tried hard to break free, pushing back. I couldn’t get him off me. He kept smiling, calmly telling his story. But his grip tightened as I continued to struggle. After about four minutes, he nodded, released my hands and disappeared into the next room.
