Even as I sit to write this story I must acknowledge that I am
still affected by it. I’m not affected in the same way as on that traumatc day, but my passion is fueled by it and my heart's memory is still green. It drives me to do my small part in building a
world of peace. In that regard, this terrible experience has purpose. And part of that purpose is manifested in my willingness to share my truth with you and your willingness to hold space for me as a reader---For that I am grateful.
My story begins with a day like most other commuter days
for me back in 1993. I was living in East Orange, New Jersey and working in New
York. I was born in Trenton and lived a great deal of my adult life between Trenton
and Newark. So none of the commuter danger was foreign to me. The commute, the
people, the energy and even the risks, were all too familiar to me. Believe it or not, commuting also brought a
lot of joys with it as well; such as meeting new people, the comfort of seeing
the same friendly strangers every day and the opportunity to people-watch
without the woes of daily traffic.
THEN THINGS
CHANGED: On this day I got off work early in New York and made my way
back to Newark via the Path train. It was only 1 o’clock in the afternoon so I
figured I’d do a little bit of downtown shopping. I walked around for a bit but
found nothing of interest…honestly, I was probably more interested in the stroll and
people watching than I was in purchasing anything. I walked to the corner to catch
the bus that would take me home, to Prospect Street.
As the bus arrived the line of people waiting to get on had quickly formed; everyone wanted to find a good seat. I hustled my way
forward and made it to what was ultimately the middle of the line. There were
quite a few people in front of me and in back. I was standing there with
the usual “mind my own business”
glare that you acquire as part of your survival in city-living.
Suddenly I felt an aggressive
choking sensation around my neck that sent me immediately into shock. I wasn’t
sure what was happening, but I was sure that the sensation felt like someone was
gagging me. Oh my God--Someone was choking me! Was I about to die right here on line for the bus? In those brief moments it took me to understand what was
happening, I froze. My body was frozen but my mind was racing.
Just as I began to react by turning around to see who was
doing this, I realized someone was trying to steal the necklace off my
neck. My necklace was a gold Bismarck chain that I had spent quite a bit of
money on...and was proud to own. It was thick and hard to pull off, especially
LIKE THIS! This predator had clearly decided that MY necklace should belong to
him, with no care or concern for the potential injury to my neck. He pulled. And he pulled. And he pulled.
Before I had any real cognitive thoughts, my reflexes sent my
hands to my neck for protection. Finally the necklace popped…POP! Oddly enough I could hear the snap
like a firecracker near my ear. In that moment this thief also grabbed my
purse. Fortunately, I had just taken my wallet out of the purse in order to
show my monthly bus pass to the driver. My purse was on my right shoulder and
the wallet was clutched in my left hand, which at that point was at my neck.
When I was finally able to turn around, I got a brief glimpse
of him running and people making a path for his escape. He made his escape
through the crowd standing behind me just as he did before the attack. Still in
shock, I was able to put 1 foot in front of the other to get on the bus. I made
no sound, but was acutely aware of the sounds around me. More accurately, I was
acutely aware of the lack of sounds
around me. There was no one shouting, “Are you okay?” There was no one rushing
to my aid. This sea of brown people…brown
like me…my people…they made me invisible on that day.
As I set down on the bus and raised my head to look around, I
realized that most people had continued their well-taught “mind my own business”
glare. No one even offered a compassionate stare to meet my pain. I felt so
many feelings in that moment: anger, rage, violated, embarrassed, lonely and
ashamed of not being able to protect myself. Tears streamed down my eyes and I knew
that the theft was not the sole cause for my weeping. This violation was so
much deeper than that. No these were ancient tears…the weeping of ancestors who
fought hard for all of us only to bear witness to such terrorism between
brothers and sisters. My soul was wounded and my heart was broken on that day.
I cried in silence all the way to Prospect Street.
I stepped
off the bus different than when I stepped on. Although the thief in this story stole my property and my naive sense of safety, he didn't steal my unwavering commitment to see and be the love I want to experience in the world. He didn't steal my commitment and belief in PEACE. --- ©2014 all rights reserved
FOR SUPPORT IN DEALING WITH TRAUMA:
The Effects of Dealing With Trauma
Common Responses to Trauma
Get Help to Deal with Trauma
FOR SUPPORT IN DEALING WITH TRAUMA:
The Effects of Dealing With Trauma
Common Responses to Trauma
Get Help to Deal with Trauma
Ankh-Udja-Seneb!
Imani Evans,
MA, EdDc
CHANGE ACTIVIST / SPEAKER / AUTHOR
CHANGE ACTIVIST / SPEAKER / AUTHOR
Women Healing
Women, Inc.
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