The corner of Nuance and Nostalgia

There I am, standing at the intersection of nuance and nostalgia, with a cell phone in my hand talking my old friend. The entryway to the Housing Authority of Portland is on my right, I am swinging slightly around this pole with a 90 minute parking sign posted an arms length above me. I am barely looking anywhere: antiquated building, cinder block sides, green solar parking meter, red car. I am lost in my chatter of lunch plans, waiting for the goodness of my friend to reemerge with her hands empty of that damned application. Instead, a big blue shirt emerges.
Big Blue Shirt is walking straight toward me, his chest puffed out like a pigeon, nostrils flaring so much that I can see a pocket of snot on the inside of his left nose hole. Suddenly I feel small, it’s been a long time since I felt this small, and Big Blue Shirt must be about a foot and a half taller than me. Dark complexion and angry as fuck he's coming right into my space and he's saying You gone call the fuckin' cops, You call them fuckin' cops. I am mid-cell-phone sentence so I say, I'm not callin' the cops man, I'm on the phone.
Big Blue Shirt throws down his right foot with a single stomp, pushes that big Blue Shirt further out, his eyes widen and he grows another foot wider Should I just rape you right fucking here, huh? There is a voice on the other end of the phone that I can't understand, my eyes shift from right to left as I take a step back, a step back, What?! Big Blue Shirt is taking steps with me, Huh? Huh? he's asking me. Backup man. I put out my free hand and he steps back a few steps from me. I have moved into the middle of the sidewalk, somehow, and it seems Big Blue Shirt is retreating You get on with yourself he says and mistakenly, I say, Yeah, you just get on goin' yourself when Big Blue Shirt pivots and starts back at me at the same time my free arm goes up and my cell phone arm and I squint, his arms are coming up too. He grabs them both.
What the fuck'd you say, What the fuck?
Stop, stop! My arms swinging about. He hits me, flat palmed, on my forearms and knocks my arms down. Stop! Stop! is all I can manage to get out as he walks me backwards down the street yelling - all his words gelling into, not even sound, now its just Blue coming at me.
Then Big Blue Shirt stops, pivots and starts walking the other direction. His mouth is moving but what's he saying. I put the phone up to my ear and the person on the other line says, So when are we going to meet? I look to the other side of the street Hold on I say. There is a couple walking, they aren't looking at me. There is man in a top hat, dressed in black on the sidewalk behind me, smoking. Um. Yeah. Genie's. We'll be there in a few.
I hang up and stand there. The sky is overcast. My friend emerges, her hands empty of the application, she is smiling, we are leaving, and I am shaking.


It's been a long time since a strange man has touched me. I have never had a man throw his hands at me or hit me. Not in my life. I said I would never tolerate it but in that moment I realized it didn't matter if I wouldn't tolerate it. I was small, much smaller than him. It made me refocus on the randomness of some events and that although I am 30 and far out of the range of targets for violent / sexual predators, it doesn't mean that it can't happen. Apparently it can even happen in the morning in downtown Portland in front of strangers. This event occurred at SW Third and Ash.
I'm shook. I haven't stopped thinking about it since it happened. Tonight, I would rather not be alone but I am going to be, and I am going to be fine. But I am deeply saddened by the event and the trauma it brought up, and once again, it brought up shit from past events. I have the resources inside me to deal with this emotionally and mentally but I am taking inventory. What could I have done differently? And I'm angry. Angry as fuck. Angry and fucking scared.
People. Don't disregard violence that is going on around you if you can, at all. I know we all got triggers and safety issues, don't get me wrong I understand this, but damn it no one came to ask me if I was ok and there were plenty people around - even watching.
I didn't call the cops. No. Why? You take a mentally ill person to jail, they get two hours and are free, and the repercussions are endless. Loss of housing, loss of income. Come on; call me out, excuses-excuses right? But you know the points I am making are true. We don't have the systems to help these people. It’s the streets or jail. Neither work.
I am prideful of my ability to navigate the mentally ill being that my other mother was the tyrant of my household for many years and I am saying, I usually know how to speak and act to keep myself safe and this time, I didn't have the words. Maybe I am out of practice.
Maybe I am fragile; not so tough as I thought I was.
Maybe this kind of assault shouldn't go unreported. But it does. And even though I advocate for others to report, I decided not to because I couldn't put a finger on what it was.

I can't end this rant without resources because this shit happens all the time.
Maybe I should call.

National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800-656-HOPE
Portland Women's Crisis Line 503-235-5333
Multnomah County Crisis Line. a. 503-988-4888