Sunday, October 19, 2003

Be Aware

In my life there are a few moments I expect never to stop regretting.  They’re mainly to do with things I shouldn’t have said or done, but the ones that bother me the most are mostly my sins of omission - when I should have spoken up or acted, but didn’t.  And since October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, one episode has come back to me with discomfiting clarity.

I was driving the crappy old Stanza, puttering up Guererro Street, a reasonably busy two-lane street lined with well-maintained three-story victorian homes.  It was midday and I was stopped at a red light when a woman ran past my car into traffic.  I don’t recall all the details clearly but she was very lightly dressed - maybe a cotton print skirt, a t-shirt, dark long loose hair; maybe sandals, maybe barefoot.... She was being chased by a man who looked terribly angry.  He had a goatee, sleeveless t-shirt (aren’t they called wifebeaters?), faded fatigue pants, sneakers.  He chased her into traffic and caught her by the arm, spun her around with venom in his eyes.  He dragged her to the sidewalk.  She looked as scared as he was angry.  The light changed; I drove away.  I didn’t see what happened next.

I should have put the car in park and tried to de-escalate the situation.  Lacking that, I might have been able to slow him down enough so that she could have gotten away.  Assuming that she wanted to.  Assuming it was what it looked like.  Assuming this angry muscular man wouldn’t have turned his rage against me - I doubted and still doubt my ability to withstand him were he to decide to beat me.

And really, that’s where I fall apart.  I was afraid of this man, who didn’t even see me, whose atttention was totally focused on this slim young woman.  And if I was scared, and still sort of am, how do I think she was feeling? And how is she feeling now?  And at this juncture in my chain of inquiry, I founder on my own regret.  I don’t know what I could or should have done, but for damn sure I wish I’d done something.  Every day, every damn day there are more opportunities to redress my inaction; even if I can’t help that one woman I could help someone.  And that is as far as it’s gone.  And the taste is bitter in my mouth but I can’t wash it out, or maybe I just haven’t yet.  I’ll have my chance.  I hope like hell I take advantage of it. 

MORAL: Don’t hit.  Use your words.  I’m just waiting for my chance to do my bit to set things right.