How close is too close?
I heard her screams last night. It was 8:21 p.m., an oddly specific time of day, I know. I had laid down to rest my head when it happened, when he took her. Both my parents had their TVs too loud to hear the commotion — perhaps intentionally, I don’t know — but to me it was loud and clear.
Last night a young woman, a neighbor of my mine, was held at knife point by a masked man who attempted to rape her. I don’t know the girl’s name, the police don’t know the suspect’s identity. To top it all off, this happened in my own gangway, mere feet from where I sleep. Mere feet from the place I’ve called home my entire life, from the one place I deemed “safe.” As of last night, I am safe no more. Nobody in this neighborhood, really, is safe anymore.
What disturbs me is how ignorant my mother is to the subject of rape. “Oh, I always figured they wouldn’t want to rape someone like me,” she says, noting her aged appearance and somewhat frumpy-looking clothing. But when I tell her the last person who was raped near our home — an elderly woman in her 60s a few doors down — she falls silent. It can be her, I inform her. It can be me, too. It can be anybody. Rape isn’t about sex; it’s about power.
What disturbs me more is how this won’t change a damn thing in the eyes of my father, a stubborn man who refuses to allow such events to rattle him. Just on Monday night I went out to a local bar, got too drunk and had to find my way home, which I did, somehow — barely. All told, I ended up at my girlfriend’s place after she sent a cab to pick me up. But the fact of the matter is it could have been me. Walking home at 3 in the morning with little as a pocket knife and some spare change in my pockets? It could have been me.
That begs the obvious question: How close is too close? How many people have to be raped or assaulted in our own backyard before someone takes notice? How many gunshots do we have to hear before we realize one of those stray bullets may catch one of us? How many times do our garages and homes have to be broken into by common thieves before we stand up and say no more?
Berwyn, Illinois no longer is a safe place. True, bad things happen everywhere, and to everyone. To people who are strong, to people who are not so strong, to men, to women, to children, to the elderly. Gay or straight, black or white, it doesn’t matter. Crime, hate, fear, it does not discriminate. But that doesn’t mean I have to sit around and wait for it to happen to me or mine. So, what does that mean?
I want to move out. No, I don’t have a big-time job to support myself, but my girlfriend will in the fall, so when she moves this summer, I will move with her. Yes, it is risky to pull that trigger, but it is not being done on a whim; it’s being done so someone doesn’t pull that trigger on me. I am going to talk to my friends and family about keeping alert and carrying protection with them at all times. To keep their wits about them, to hold pepper spray or mace, or even a knife if they have one. To stay safe, goddammit. That’s what this is all about.
What’s the most disturbing is this piece of shit remains on the loose. Thankfully (to my knowledge), the young lady managed to escape his grasp. She kicked, she screamed, she shouted, she cried out for help. She did wonderful. But others are not so lucky. Others need to know what is going on and what to do. And maybe I’m not the person to do it, maybe I’m not the one to make that call. All I know is I am shaken to my very foundation with the knowledge that someday, it could be me or somebody I love. That it’s just a matter of time before it consumes us, one and all.
Berwyn, Illinois no longer is a safe haven for those seeking safety. It was when I was a kid, when the most we had to worry about were a few street toughs and the occasional pot bust, but today? It’s absolute murder out there. There are coke dealers living around the corner, rapes happening in my own alleyway, people being shot on my block. And I’m supposed to feel safe? Safe?! This used to be a place to raise a family, but I can say that no longer.
To everyone reading, however many or few, don’t think I’m being pushy when I ask you to keep your wits about you at all times, day and night. Crime doesn’t have a bed time. Protect yourself and yours. Keep your eyes open at all times. Watch what you drink. When you go out, go out in groups. The young lady who was victimized last night was parking her car across the street from her home. She was maybe 50 feet from her front door. While whatever heads up I can give you may help in the long run, I feel it won’t ever be enough. It takes but one sick asshole to instill a panic, and that’s just what this one sick asshole has done.
I’m scared. Scared to leave home, scared for my mother and my sister, who doesn’t even live here anymore. Scared for my girlfriend, who occasionally goes out alone late at night to study. Scared to walk through my own gangway. Scared to park my car in front of my own damn house. And scariest of all is at one time I thought it couldn’t happen here. That those people I read about in the papers in the police blotter, well, they were far enough away for it not to get to me.
Now it’s my neighbors who are in the papers. How soon before it is me? How close is too close, I ask? How close?
