I learned to S.I.N.G. from Miss Congeniality. It escaped my mind, though, when I needed it most. Why couldn’t I have just remembered Solar plexus, In step, Nose and Groin? Where would I be now if I had followed Gracie Lou Freebush’s self-defense advice? Instead, I am balled up on the crusty, blood-stained carpet, thinking about my favorite movie and everything I should have done. Regret. Fear. Shame. With no concept of time, it feels like I have been gone for years. Maybe it has been. How would I know?
My run that night was brisk and enjoyable. I thought I had started with plenty of time before sundown. Rookie mistake. Instead, as I was nearing the halfway point, about 1.5 miles from my house, dusk was coming on the horizon. This realization hit me as I saw the red van come around the bend… again. Unease creeped into my stomach. My empty hand longed for the comfort of the pepper spray I decided to leave behind that day. Mistake number two. As a young woman, I knew that I should have brought some protection. I thought I was close enough to home. That the light would stay longer. When the van disappeared behind a house a street over, I took a sharp left, a shortcut, and ran like hell. Sprinting as fast as I could, my breath quickened but I didn’t dare slow down.
Thinking I had outsmarted the van, I continued my fast pace, but I relaxed a little. It’s not like I was in the middle of nowhere; I was in the thick of a suburban neighborhood, usually full of middle-aged men mowing their lawns, children playing hopscotch, grannies sitting out on their front porches. That night, however, it was quieter. I don’t know if it was just the impending darkness, but I didn’t feel like I had people on my side, people who would see if I disappeared–
The creak of the door pulls me from my memory. I don’t look up, though. I know who it is. Footsteps come closer, the cold metal of the gun grazes my neck. Just pull the trigger, coward. My mind is fiercer than my body, and I allow the nudge to put me in an upright position. When I look up, however, it isn’t a gun at all. It is a cup. Of water. I don’t think of potential poisoning when I take a sip. I just need hydration. My captor smiles his grimy, cavity-ridden smile. With the refreshment, my brain starts to register my surroundings. He left the door open. Rookie mistake. While he is most likely armed, I can see no visible signs of a weapon. Mistake number two. I compose myself, trying to keep my hope from alerting my keeper.
One gulp of water. Two. Three. I have just enough to spit on him. The DNA-infested water spills over his face and shirt. Before he has time to register, I am on my feet. I sprint for the open door.
I sprinted for the refuge of home, not looking back. Feeling the car coming to me, slowing, I got away from the road and started towards a house. The lights were off, but I still hoped someone was home. Mistake number three.
I slam the door in his face and look at my next obstacle. It is a cluttered, dark house. No, not a house. A trailer. I quickly assess my escape: a door to my right. The door opens with ease–no lock. Mistake number three. Once outside, I don’t have many options. No neighbors. Not much light; the moon only slightly offering a path. Without much time, I pick a direction and go with it. North. Toward the star.
The car stopped as I banged on the door. I didn’t want to look behind me, to accept my fate. With no one coming to my rescue, I tried running again, but I felt the sting of something hit me in the back. I stumbled, fell, and woke up alone in a puddle of my own blood.
I hear the door open behind me. I have covered some ground, but he is fast. I don’t dare slow down, mentally preparing myself for a fight. As I hear his breathing coming closer, I abruptly stop, upsetting his momentum. I elbow him in the solar plexus. Wasting no time, I take a step in on his foot, getting him off balance. I shove all of the strength I can muster up his nose with my bony elbow. Blood gushes as I redirect my arm to hit him in his groin. Covered in blood and writhing in pain, he crumples to the ground. Not wasting a second, I sprint, my breath quickening considerably.
I run like hell and say a silent thank you to Gracie Lou Freebush.
Faking It Made 