Danger

A few months passed, and one warm spring day, on a day like no other, I got into my car and drove myself to one of my last MCAT classes. It was humid that day, and I drove all the way into New Haven with the windows rolled down trying to get some air. I wasn’t fortunate enough to have a working air conditioning that day, as I had borrowed my parents’ car. So I sipped my iced coffee and did my best to keep cool. I was thankful I was wearing a tank top that day. While the sun exposure was concerning, becoming overheated was more concerning to my health. I pulled into my nephrologist’s parking lot which happened to be two streets away from the MCAT class. The assigned parking garage for the class was very expensive and also very difficult to find a spot to park. I was thankful to have had a backup plan. A benefit to being a chronic patient. Perhaps one of the few benefits. As I pulled into the parking lot, I quickly grabbed my notebook and purse, noting I was running five minutes behind. It was always a challenge to time getting to class in the city, given traffic and city driving. I never knew what to expect. I began to walk down George Street, as I had so many times over the past few months. I watched as people were coming and going. Birds were chirping, and a crosswalk sign buzzed as men dressed in suits began to cross the street a few blocks down. Cars were rushing. I heard a few horns beep and then someone yell. The business day was in full effect. As I walked I briefly glanced down at my purse. It was a black and white Kate Spade purse that my sister had bought me at a ‘purse party’. I wasn’t one for labels or brand names. I didn’t collect purses. I didn’t collect shoes. Sure, I liked to shop as much as the next girl. But Coach, Louis Vuitton, Vera Wang and Kate Spade were not my gal pals. In my closet, the only other bag I owned was from Kohls. But I liked it, and if it was cute, that was all that mattered to me. Nonetheless, this too was a cute bag, and somehow I felt pretty carrying it around.

As I continued down the street I couldn’t help but notice two men walking toward me. They were wearing sweatshirts which I thought was odd for such a warm day. Nonetheless, I was thankful to be out of that hot car and feeling the breeze. I looked away, not wanting them to think I was staring or being awkward, as was my general tendency. A moment later I looked forward again, noting their hoodies were up and their heads were down as they headed in my direction. I thought it was odd, as they stood side by side with heads buried in their chests, looking toward the ground. Their speed was now increasing. I held my breath for a second, unsure what to think or expect. I watched them quickly deviate, one to the left and the other to the right, only to quickly begin thrusting at me from either direction. As they entered my space from both sides, I could feel panic begin to well up inside me. I watched in terror as they raised their heads, noting the red bandanas that covered their faces. I knew this wasn’t good. My heart was racing now, and a chill went through me. What was happening? This couldn’t be real. My eyes bulged in shock, and the rest of my body froze as one of the men grabbed my purse, and the other began shouting, “Shut up! Shut up!”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My initial reaction was complete annoyance, as this strange man was yelling at me and I hadn’t yet uttered a word! A moment later I came to my senses, realizing what was happening. My body froze, including my hand, the hand that held my purse. I tried to yell for help but it was weak and I knew it, like my voice had somehow been paralyzed by my fear. The man continued to pull hard on that purse, and I unknowingly just wasn’t going to let go. My adrenaline had kicked in, and I held on for dear life quite literally. My thoughts raced. The keys to my parents’ car were in that purse. My phone was in there. How would I get home without it? As we wrestled back and forth for what felt like an eternity, I suddenly heard a loud slapping noise as the strap to my purse broke. I was not on the winning side. The man snatched what he had come for and ran swiftly with his partner down the street, disappearing in an instant. I stood there on the side of the road feeling exposed and violated. Seconds later a kind woman came to my side and with her followed a stalky bearded man who upon hearing what had happened immediately began chasing after the men. I watched as he ran down the street awkwardly, without gaining any real speed, touched by his gesture to help, knowing full well he would never catch them. I figured that would be about the type of guardian angel God would send.

The woman stood with me, calling the police for me and offering me her phone. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but my hands were shaking, and I couldn’t get them to stop. More, an ambulance had been called which I found alarming and completely unnecessary. It wasn’t until the ambulance arrived that I even noticed my hand had been cut up and bleeding from the struggle. Panic had overtaken my body, giving any pain a temporary backseat. As the EMTs cleaned up my hand, a tall police officer with light hair and strong shoulders asked if I would be willing to help identify the men who had done this. Fearful, but feeling obligated, I agreed and entered the back of his police car, secretly hoping I wouldn’t have to see those men ever again.

We drove around for a while. His car was hot, and it smelled of hot leather seats and stale summer air. I clenched my teeth together, desperate for the situation to be over. Over the next few moments I learned that these men had attacked several others that same morning. At gun point. In an effort to be initiated into a particular gang. I was shocked to hear this and couldn’t help but wonder why a gun had not been used on me. I wondered why I had been different. Why I had been protected. Why I had been spared. I had certainly put up a fight for them.

But I did know.

I knew there was only one reason. I knew God had spared me. As far away as he felt, I knew in that moment, he was there.

Isaiah 43:2 says, “When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.”

As we drove through the projects of New Haven, I became increasingly uncomfortable. This was not a familiar place to me, and visions of broken windows and rundown buildings did little to return a sense of safety. A few minutes passed, and the officer received news over the radio that one of the men, suspected to be a minor, may have been hiding at his grandmother’s house. I found myself ducking down low in the back of that car, hoping the officer wouldn’t notice my lack of bravery while also hoping to avoid all eye contact with my attackers. He parked the car and told me to glance across the street. I told him that the man we saw across the street looked familiar, but I couldn’t be sure. Really, I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. My hands still shook, and I wasn’t able to calm my racing heart. He went on to tell me that he needed to take me down to the station. I was going to need to give a statement before he released me. I was exhausted but had no choice but to comply.

As we walked into the New Haven Police Department I glanced around quickly, watching others take notice as we walked by. I felt safe walking next to him. As we headed down a long corridor I was told I would see a detective where I could leave my statement. I didn’t want to leave the police officer that I had spent the past hour with, but I wasn’t sure why. I knew I had been safe with him. I couldn’t be sure about anyone else. For a brief moment I could see how others could easily fall perhaps for men like him who routinely rescued others from scenes of terror and distress. But I was too frazzled. My emotions were a jumbled mess, and I knew I just needed to get through the day.

I left my statement in a small room with a detective who refused to smile. His lack of kindness toward me did nothing to relax my state of panic. I clenched my hands together. Moments later I got notice that my dad was on the phone.

Hearing his voice calmed my worried heart for the first time that day. I could breathe again.

I quickly learned that my attackers had somehow been spooked and dropped my purse in nearby park. Miraculously, a woman had found my purse and my phone and had the good sense to call my father. She didn’t steal my purse. She didn’t steal my phone. She didn’t steal the car keys.

All was restored.

She told my father she had the purse but was unsure as to my whereabouts. A call to the New Haven Police Department revealed all.

The drive home that night with my dad was nothing short of restorative, as I exhaled my fear, breathing in new hope, that perhaps God really was on my side.

A week later I beat back my fears regarding return to New Haven. I had my MCAT class to attend, and I wasn’t about to let my attackers steal anything else from me. I parked in the garage directly adjacent to the building where my class was held. There would be no more shortcuts for me. I decidedly carried pepper spray with me, as my dad insisted if I were to return, I would need it.

I walked down Chapel Street tensely that warm afternoon, just wanting to get to class. I thought of my classmates and envied their lives. I felt I was constantly beating back troubles of all kinds. I just wanted to be like them. I just wanted a normal life. As I neared the building, I felt someone touch my arm, and an unfamiliar voice echoed in my ear.

A chill went through me, not wanting to believe this would happen to me.

Again.

I grabbed my pepper spray, ready to blast whoever was invading my space.

I quickly turned, summoning my courage.

I glanced down, noting it was a frail homeless man who had been asking for change.

I felt like I had lost my mind.

Horrified at my reaction, I hustled away as quickly as I could, hoping to forget the past few moments. Hoping to bury my thoughts in my books. Hoping to get back to normal.

Whatever that looked like.