So I Was on the Six Train...

Good stories never start that way, and this story doesn't start well, although it ends brighter than anticipated. This is a story of sexual assault, and fear, and a few very brave, very kind men who helped me out of a terrifying situation. 

I was on the 6 train, headed downtown to the Flute Bar for a friend's concert. My roommate and I were dressed up, a rare occasion for make-up (though we couldn't bring ourselves to travel in heels, so we carried them in our hands) and fancy clothes. A middle schooler gave me a once-over and I was amused. She was sitting, and I was standing, holding the bar over her head.

We were two stops away from our destination when it happened. A burly man, reeking of beer, his eyes rolling around disturbingly in his head, tugged at my sleeve.

"You look so beautiful."

"Uh, thanks!"

"None of the other girls here even compare."

I smiled, flattered, but a little wary. Then he stood up, lurched towards me with his hand out, offering a slurred, incomprehensible version of his full name. Marcello? Mark? Marmaduke? Hard to say. He asked for mine.

"Uh, Lars."

"Where are you from?"

"Uh...here. New York." 

I started to wish I had lied more about my name, given an alias rather than a nickname.

"What's your last name? You're from here?"

My roommate stepped in, trying to deflect attention. "She's from this subway car. The very one." He didn't even react to her.

Then time slowed to a crawl while events escalated. The drunk lurched forward again and kissed me, putting an arm across my back. Instinctively I began to back away, now terrified where I had been only creeped out. His arm held me in place, though. I was shooting panicked looks around the train, from my roommate to other people on the seats, but no one seemed to know what to do. When the drunk realized I was trying to back away, he began whispering threats in my ear.

"I'm an ex-marine, you know. You can't run away from me." He started fumbling in his jacket, and suddenly I was worried he might have a gun; he could certainly over power me, particularly in my current state, literally paralyzed with fear, so scared I couldn't even cry.

At that moment, two men who had been conversing urgently behind me sprang into action. The first, a short but broad-shouldered middle-aged man hustled his way under the drunks arm, pushing me back and breaking the hold, letting me free. At the same time, a tall, lanky man in his late 20s or early 30s began ushering me and my roommate towards the door as the train approached a station.

"Don't touch her. Get away from this creep, girl, just go. Don't you put your hands on her. I will fucking punch your face in if I have to, you stay away."

I heard myself yelling "This is my stop!" as though I had just had a friendly encounter with a kind person, then bolted from the train. The drunk tried to follow, but the first man held him back, the second stepping onto the platform to make sure we got into the next car ok. 

I was shaken; my legs were trembling, and my heart was racing. I thought I was one of those girls who could stand up for herself, protect herself from creeps and crazies, but when the moment came, I forgot everything I ever learned about how to handle the situation. The only thought running through my head was "Don't make him mad, don't give him a reason to hurt you," like I somehow owed it to this man to be nice, as though his advances were a consequence of my behavior. I don't like it. I didn't like feeling that way. I never want to feel that way again. I never want to be in that situation again. But instead of feeling completely disgusted, totally disheartened with men, I feel an immense gratitude. The heroes in this story out number the villain. Two total strangers were willing to stick their necks on the line to help a scared girl out of a scary moment. Two people who know nothing about me were brave enough and strong enough to fight a battle I couldn't. In a city where so many blind eyes are turned, how grateful I am that those two were watching.