I didn't have much time to assess the situation before it all happened. It looked like he had just climbed through my
second story window; I found out later he had been in the house for a while. I didn't know where my sister and her friends
were; I found out later they had gone out to watch the thunderstorms. In the flat lands of Illinois, you could watch the storms cross
the farm fields for miles, lighting striking the ground as it goes. It can be quite beautiful.
I had gone to bed early because I had to work the next morning. My waitress uniform was hanging up, ready to
go. I was working my way through
community college. My sister Grace and
my two other roommates were grad students and had teaching assistant positions
to subsidize their living expenses. One
of Grace's best friends from New York
was in town for a visit. I left them
downstairs partying with some of our other friends when I went to bed. Our two other roommates had not yet come back
from their summer break.
The four of us had just rented a house together. The houses in the neighborhood were run down
and the rent was low, which is a draw for college students like us. I got the smallest room at the top of the
stairs and was given a break on the rent. We had put some sweat equity into the house;
painting and doing some minor repairs before we moved in just days before. We didn't even have our phone hooked up yet.
I think it was more of a crime of opportunity than anything.
He saw everyone leave à ‚¬" not knowing I
was still in the house à ‚¬" and decided to see what he could get. We later found a camera, a checkbook and some
other smaller items on the floor by my window. Maybe this was just a first pass to see what
we had and he grabbed items that would be easy to carry. When I woke up, maybe he decided I was an easy
target. I don't know. All I know is that when I did wake up, he was
coming towards me.
Before I could get myself fully aware of what was happening, he was on top of
me. He had my arms pinned above my head, holding my wrists with one hand, and
the gun in the other. I was very glad I
had my underpants on. He would have to
get them off before he could rape me. Perhaps
the gun was interfering in his ability to hold me down, but for whatever
reason, he put it down à ‚¬" and that is when I made my move.
I really don't know what made me do it. I was always a tomboy. I was on the swim team and was pretty strong. I had a friend in high school who wrote in my
yearbook that he always liked me even though I could beat him up. I was also brought up in an age of female
empowerment. I was not going to go down
without a fight.
Before I could think about the possibility of dying I grabbed for the gun, but
he wrestled it from me. He put it to my
forehead and pulled the trigger. The gun
went off and I was momentarily stunned. I
put my hand up to my forehead and instantly realized that I hadn't been shot. Either the gun wasn't loaded or it jammed, or
it was a starting pistol like they used in my swim meets. Whatever it was, my forehead was stinging from
the burn of the gunpowder.
At first I was relieved to be alive. Then
I got angry.
I starting punching and clawing at him, screaming every vile word I could think
of. I basically went berserk on they
guy. I guess he figured it wasn't worth
it so he got up, put his pants back on and left the room. I had won! I got up, turned on the light and put my
bathrobe on. Moments later, he came back
in the room saying he forgot something. It must have been the stuff he had gathered
and put by my window.
I have no idea why, people tell me the adrenalin had worn off and that I was in
shock, but I started to help the guy! I
had dreams for months afterward that instead, I picked up a swimming trophy
from my dresser and hit him over the head with it, sending him tumbling down
the stairs, breaking his neck. I also had dreams that I shot an intruder,
explaining to him that that I was killing him because of the other guy à ‚¬" sorry.
But no, in reality I was helping the
guy, but he must have been as flustered as I was because he left without taking
anything except the tip money from my dresser.
So there I was, alone in the house with no phone and no idea where my sister
and her friends were. I was afraid to go
outside to get help, so I turned on every light in the house, got the biggest
knife from the kitchen and waited for my sister and her friends to come home. It seemed like hours before anyone got there. When they did, someone rushed out to phone the
police and my sister stayed with me. When the police got there, they were pretty
impressed with me for fighting him off. I
was just thankful to be alive. The
possibility that it could have easily gone the other way was already sinking
in.
I was taken to the hospital where they performed their usual rape kit
screening. Even though I wasn't raped,
he had left behind certain evidence on my underpants and perhaps on my body and
under my fingernails. The police bagged
my sheets and my underwear.
I never set foot in that house again. I
stayed with my boyfriend until we found another house to rent. Whoever did this gave us all another very good
reason not to come back. When my sister
and her friends were out running errands the next day, they found a machete
stuck in the middle of the living room coffee table when they got back. The machete had been left in the house when we
moved in and my roommate Jon decided to keep it, but he had put it in the very
back of his very large closet. This
means that whoever did this, found it and made a point of letting us know he
found it. We got the message loud and
clear. Grace and her friends packed all
of my things for me that day and everyone cleared out.
The only physical injury to me was the nasty burn on my forehead which, thanks
to vitamin E oil, left no visible scar. The
mental injuries left scars that have taken a lifetime to dissipate. I am not even sure they are all gone, even after
30 years. My writing this is proof, I
suppose, that those scars run pretty deep. I can only imagine what it is like for the
unlucky ones, the ones that didn't fight off and beat up their attackers.
The manager of the restaurant where I worked read about what happened to me in
the paper. Instead of sympathy, I got a
lecture about leaving my window open in a neighborhood like that. I couldn't believe it. I was in my own bed, in my own house, in the
middle of the night and somehow it was my fault. I can only imagine what it is like for women
who are date raped. Did the man have no
sense of decency? Thankfully, he was the
only one that uttered such stupidity, to my face anyway.
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