I lived in Venice, California, and although my father didn’t want me to I was walking home from a friend’s house late at night. “A grade-schooler should be in bed at 10 pm” I remember him saying. I lived just a few blocks away. So I thought I would be fine, but I always felt nervous walking home alone at night. Venice has always been known for its kind of high crime rates and homeless population, infused with countless numbers of home-brewed drugs that created a new breed of addicts in my area. Zombies we call them. They are the half-conscious, barely alive people that just stumble around the streets. They often don’t know who they are and what they are doing but occasionally they lash out when they see an opportunity to steal some money or something valuable. Hell, sometimes they could attack you because you have food on you or you carry a drink that they want. It’s sad, I know but I have no intention of becoming one of their victims. Unfortunately, most self-defense equipment is more or less outlawed now. But even though it is a grey area I always made sure to carry a small can of pepper spray with me wherever I go.
The walk was short, and whenever I would encounter other people I would simply smile at them and pass them by as unassumingly as I could. It was late, and I was nervous, but I tried my absolute best not to show it. I didn’t want to seem vulnerable in any way, shape, or form. I was wearing an old backpack that I’d used in high school, but I had it slung over my shoulder to one side and covered with my arm that I had in my pocket, to try to deter thieves. You can’t be too careful. So I was just walking making progress step by step to my front door. Until I heard an old man’s raspy sort of smoker’s voice behind me.
“Excuse me”
“Got any spare change?”
I turned around to see what appeared to be a homeless woman in her mid-50s with a huge bloated body on thin gangly legs that were covered with boils and lesions. Her clothes were torn up with plenty of holes, her hair was messy and her eyes seemed to be wild. It almost seemed like her thoughts were wandering as she was talking towards me. I just shook my head and told her that I didn’t have any money and that I was sorry, but she didn’t seem to appreciate that.
“Come on, just a little bit.”
She persisted, her voice growing more aggressive with each word spoken. “A nice kid like you is bound to have at least a few dollars on you.”
I hated talking to strangers, let alone a person who was apparently as unpredictable and mentally unstable as she seemed to be. I didn’t want to deal with the situation any longer and decided ignoring her statement would be the best option. I didn’t want to upset her any further and make things harder on myself by rejecting her request for money again, so I just whispered a quick, “I’m sorry I got to go” and started to walk faster away from her, trying to put as much distance between us as I possibly could. The woman followed me without losing a single moment, throwing insults at me here and there, and eventually resorting to making threats.
“You rich folks always think you’re better than us.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
I was gripped by an unrelenting terror, my heart’s rhythm a primal drumbeat pounding my chest from within. I hastened my steps, almost breaking into a full sprint. I had this primal urge to put as much distance between me and her as I could. Astonishingly, she pursued, her presence maintaining an unsettling proximity despite my desperate attempt to outpace her. The adrenaline-fueled escape, once a flight from a singular figure, now seemed a precarious dance with the enigmatic pursuer who defied the constraints of expectation.
I started to hear her getting closer, and I was terrified that she was going to attack me or hurt me. I reached into my pocket, and I grabbed my pepper spray, ready just in case. The moment I felt her hand grabbing my jacket I felt my heart on my throat. Instinctively I turned around. I pointed the spray at her face and yelled as loud as I could master, “Leave me alone”. I tried to sound brave, but it just came out as some little squeal. The homeless woman just laughed in a way that gave my whole body chills. And then she took a huge step closer. I in turn did the only thing I could think of doing, I aimed the pepper spray directly at her face. “Don’t come any closer, please. I don’t want to hurt you. Just leave me alone, and I’ll forget this ever happened. Ok?” I warned her, and my voice was shaking, but she didn’t seem to listen. She just kept coming closer and closer, her eyes were just transfixed on me, her breath was a pungent assault imbued with the essence of decay, that seemed to claw its way into my lungs with every inhale. I hadn’t used pepper spray before, but I could not take it anymore I squeezed the trigger, and a burst of atomized droplets shot out, hitting her directly in the face. She screamed and buried her face in her hands as she stumbled a few steps backwards.
I started to feel tears in my eyes as well, but I took that moment to run, and my feet pounded against the pavement as I raced back to my home. I locked the door behind me. My hands were shaking as I tried to catch my breath. I technically was safe now, but I just couldn’t shake the fear that was beginning to creep over me. I knew that I couldn’t let the homeless woman’s insults and threats get to me, but it was hard to ignore the fear that was beginning to gnaw at me. The fear that she would come back someday and try to hurt me again. I spent the rest of the night lying in bed, just sort of staring at the ceiling. The night stretched before me like an eternity, each passing second laden with an inexplicable weight. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, that the woman was just outside of my house, waiting for me to come out. Now, I knew that I should have called the cops right then and there, but I’ve had issues in the past, and unless you’re essentially being cooked alive, the authorities would not do anything to help you.
Days turned into weeks, and eventually, I started to feel more confident again. I started getting out later in the afternoon and walking home alone again. And since I didn’t see her anywhere, I got the impression that she moved to another area. People like her move constantly I thought. I thought that maybe I was safe now, but I was wrong.
One night, as I was walking home from my friend’s house, I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned around, and there she was again, her eyes seemingly blazing with anger, and it was like that entire night was playing over again in my mind, and it was clear that she had not moved on from it at all. “It was you, you little shit” she yelled, and she started to lunge toward me. I let out a scream, while I reached for my pepper spray, but it wasn’t there, and I suddenly remembered setting it on my desk and forgetting to grab it before I went out for the day. I turned to run, but she was too fast. She grabbed me, her long fingernails digging holes in my skin leaving a thick brown residue as they pressed more and more onto my flesh. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a jagged shard of glass with a few twists of paper tape to make a makeshift hilt for her. The moment I saw it, I fought with everything I had out of sheer terror and panic for what may come next. I screamed at the top of my lungs, fighting with everything I had to break free from her grip, but she was too strong, her grip was unrelenting. She laid her glass blade flat on my cheek and slowly started pushing it upwards. Parsing my skin more and more as blood started falling on my shirt. I was screaming, punching, kicking, anything to get her to let me go, but nothing was working.
Just when I was starting to lose hope of escaping her unharmed, I see a police car pull up, and two officers jumped out, rushing toward us. The homeless woman released me, and I stumbled backwards as my knees buckled underneath me. The officers were able to apprehend him, taking her into custody, and I was finally safe. I sobbed as the officer told me that I would have to make a formal statement, and after that night, I never walked home alone again. I never forgot that fear I felt that day, it stayed with me. The sensation that coils in the pit of my stomach is a near-constant reminder of what could happen to you when you aren’t careful enough or prepared enough at all times. In those moments, the illusion of control dissipates, leaving a bitter taste of helplessness. I know that it’s just not safe enough to walk home on your own, and there’s nothing you can really do about it. The streets that were once familiar turn into shadows of uncertainty, where a solitary path can quickly transform into a treacherous encounter.
That woman was charged but she never received any jail time. I guess the jails in my area were already overpopulated, or maybe they felt sorry for her. What I do know it that they informed me that they had to set her free. Obviously learning that I could not rely on the authorities, did not calm my nerves nor did it reassume me in the least. Hopefully, I’m the last person she ever does that to, no one else has to feel the same fear at the hands of that woman.
But something tells me that I will not be that lucky should something like this happen to me again.