Thursday, November 6, 2003

"Just one of those days…"

4th July 2001, at 04.00 on a regular Wednesday morning.
Doesn't sound like much, does it? It was pretty quiet that morning, when I come to think of it....

When I was about 15 years old, I started working as a papergirl in the summers. It was a means to earn some extra pocket money. I really liked it, despite the sometimes drenched cold mornings. It was just me, a bike loaded with papers hot off the press and a sleeping town. And considering how much I enjoyed what was meant to be work, the check at the end of the month topped it off nicely. It all gave me a sense of responsibility, fulfilment, and above all, I had an excuse not to attend school. ^_^ And yes, getting up at 3.30 in the morning does beat dragging yourself to school 5 days a week, upgrading your brain with knowledge you will not be able to remember and use.

So of course Irony had to step in and change all that. On that Wednesday morning, somewhere in the immediate past, I lost my comfort, security, and source of happiness. In return I was given fear, hopelessness, and a big black hole in my heart. Nobody asked me if it was ok, if I would be able to handle it. I had no choice …and that will haunt me, no matter how hard I try to embrace life again and make it my own.
So what was it that happened, you ask? ……


I woke up that morning, a morning like all the others before it, at 3 a.m to be precise. I headed downtown on my bike to pick up my papers that awaited delivery. As always the town lay still and quiet, and apart from the other paper-men and women nobody else was awake. Or so you might think.
I started my daily route, taking the same turns as I always do. Then I approached the Care Centre, and as I came closer I observed a black figure standing behind the glazed entry. I didn't give it too much thought, which in hindsight I should have done.

When I stopped at the mailbox in front of the entry, the black figure paced up to me and grabbed my left arm resting on the handlebar. I looked up and was faced with a man wearing black clothes, a "Friday the 13th"-mask and a knife in his right hand, gleaming in the early morning rays. My initial reaction was "this has got to be a joke".

- "Get off the bike" he said, while pointing the knife in my direction.

Ok, so it was a joke and he wanted my bike. But something started to grow inside me, a feeling that something was wrong… very wrong.

- "I don’t have any valuables or a cell phone", I said. Just in case he was thinking of robbing me.
- "I know"…

At this point the quiet voices that had tried to warn me were screaming and shouting at me. This guy didn't want my bike, this wasn't a joke! I was in a situation I had never pictured myself in, and I had to get out of it. Fast…

- "What is it you want?", I asked. I needed to stall time in order to clear my head and keep on top of everything. There was no time to panic.
- "I think you know what I want", he answered.

I knew very well what he wanted, even if he didn't say the words as they are played in the headlines of the morning papers. I also knew that no one would come and rescue me, no car drives by at that early hour. I had to keep calm, smart and save myself from what I did not want to happen. I locked eyes with him and kept asking him what he wanted, but the only reply I got was "you'll see" or "you know what I want". Of course I already knew the answer, I just wanted to keep him distracted by my questions so that I could manoeuvre myself into a point where I got in control of things.

- "What is it you want?", I asked for the final time.

He suddenly pushed the knife to my throat and with a voice as clear as ice he looked at me and said:

- "Do you want me to cut you, or what?"

Finally I realized that he wouldn't go away, he wasn't a bad dream and I wasn't dreaming.
I quickly grabbed the hand in which he held the knife and composed myself the best I could.

- "You might as well give up, and walk away right now because I’m not going to let you do anything to me. So just leave !" I said, staring straight into his eyes, cold and distant somehow. I actually thought that if he understood that he was getting nowhere, he would give up and leave.
- "……".

No answer, no reaction what so ever to my words. Just that sickening stare from behind the mask. I knew he wouldn't let me go, I had to get out of there by my own strength…


My knee in his groin, his hands loosening their grip. Me tearing myself away and running away. A quick look over the shoulder, feet flying over the concrete. The town ever so quiet. Time standing still as my mind began to grasp the danger I had been in. The nightmare still in front of me. My hand reaching for the telephone, trembling dialling 911. Tears streaming down my face and my life crumbling inside me. My own voice ringing in my ears…

- "I’ve been attacked. He held a knife at my throat……"


Wednesday 4th July 2001, 04.00-04.05
A few minutes that irrevocably changed my life. Because I was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

- Mimmi
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