Opinions

 

 

 

Violence Lurks Where we Least Expect

By Laura Kelsey, Opinions Editor

aa are days when you know
there is violence waiting for you.

You may not know when it will jump
out, but you do know that with the start
of the day began a deadly game of hide-
and-go-seek—and as the sun sets, you
are running out of places to hide.

The feeling strengthens as you leave
the familiar surrounding of friends and
set off on your own toward home. You
walk through the seedy district of town,
all the while expecting an encounter of
the worst kind. A woman walks by, and
she hungrily eyes your purse. You meet
her gaze and brush by her, gripping the
handle of your umbrella as if to use it as
a weapon.

The moment passes, but your feeling
of uneasiness continues. You just
know there will be negative contact
with another human tonight. You filter
through the songs that emit from your
headphones for any sound of danger.

You pass by a bar and visit more
friends. The feeling, an ominous version
of fear’s shady brother, subsides for a
while in the comfort of acquaintance.

It begins to build up again when it is
almost time to leave.

Quickly, you are on your way again
and you board the Skytrain. A scruffy,
pungeant man blocks your way to a
seat and mumbles multiple obscenities
at you. You glare at him and tell him to
move. As if moving through the thick
tension in the car, the man slowly sits
down.

But somehow you know there is still
conflict awaiting you—something much
worse than a swearing bum.

From across the aisle, another man
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glances at you every few minutes as the
train sketches along its track above the
tiring city. You wonder if he will be the
one to hurt you tonight. Clutching your
purse tighter, you watch out the window
as the darkness blurs together until your
station is announced.

Upon exiting the train, a gang of
youths approach you on the platform.
Would it be easier to just hold your
breath and await the violent fate that
is stalking you tonight? The thought
passes through you as the kids walk by.

You push on through the night,
preparing for the moment when you
will be tested—isn’t that what life’s all
about?

men walk on the other side of the street,
stepping in parallel synchronization
with you. They have not looked at you.
Then, you turn down your avenue, and
they are gone.

So, you are five minutes from
home—two blocks, to be exact. Were
you wrong about the feeling, the
impending doom that has followed
you since you left your friends? Are
you just paranoid? Your mind floods
with wonder as you continue down the
sidewalk.

A group of girls is walking towards
you. You see them, but you are still
too lost in your own thoughts to care.
But suddenly the feeling returns with

“But somehow you know there is still
conflict awaiting you—something
much worse than a swearing bum.”

Continuing with transit, you
board a bus that is destined to your
neighborhood. A strung out couple
gestures to your purse as you sit down.
Drums pulse through your headphones
and you focus on the beating intensity,
absorbing it.

Your arms are full; books and a
discman in one arm, the coveted purse
in the other. When the time comes, you
will have to decide what is relinquished
to the ground so you can defend
yourself.

The bus ride lasts almost twenty
minutes; it ends when you see your
stop and hop off. Two men step off
behind you, and you feel that the time is
nearing....Crossing at the crosswalk, the

a vengeance and you struggle to wade
through all the thoughts in your mind.
Just as you think you are reaching the
surface of your cesspool of strange
brainwaves, there are a pair of eyes
intent on you.

Your eyes meet the angry pair and
hers widen. Finally there is the impact
on your face: Face has met fist.

The books and discman go flying,
and a guitar solo is ripped from your
ears. One arm is now free. Throwing the
widened eyes to the ground, your boot
meets face—again and again.

Now you hear the screams, the
apologies, but it is too late. You tell the
girls that it is unacceptable to go around
punching random pedestrians in the

face, even if you are drunk.

Another of the girls step towards
you. Your fist meets tear-streamed face.

Then your mind jumps back to your
property, now that you know that your
life is not in danger. You vaguely notice
as the girls help up their friend who has
made neither a move nor sound since
your boot crushed her skull. You collect
your strewn about items.

Some of the girls begin to run away.
You are too intent on finding your
headphones to chase them. They are
out of sight now, but you can hear faint
voices from their direction. Empty
threats from empty heads echo down
the street. The headphones are gone,
and they are sorely missed because you
need them now to drown out the sound
of their screams.

And the feeling is also gone. Fate
met you as your face met a fist. You
were somehow warned of these events,
and you are thankful for it. Everything
happens for a reason, and perhaps
tonight you aided someone in a horrible
way. You taught a valuable lesson that
will awake with someone the next day
as the blood from her nose drains down
her throat, and dries on her swollen lips.
For a few weeks, with every glance in
the mirror, she will think of you and
her lesson as her bruises balloon with
mauve, and then settle to green and
yellow. And as they subside, you hope
that the bruises will be replaced with
knowledge.

You arrive home and prepare for
sleep; but rest will be difficult, and you
simultaneously thank and curse the
adrenaline that still races through your
exhausted body.