The night rain obscures the man attached to the voice. I just walked to the crosswalk. A sharp look suggests the man could be my age or older. In a flash, I notice his beard, his jacket and his cap.
I nod and turn away. No smile. I don’t watch it anymore. My body tenses, ready.
When the small white image of a walking figure lights up, I run across the street, his footsteps loud behind mine. I am aware of the rain, of the dark corridor ahead of me, of the choice I must make at the end of the crosswalk. Should I walk the well-lit street to the apartment complex parking lot, or risk the lonely, brush-lined sidewalk?
I choose the streetlights and my steps seem lighter when I reach the sidewalk. I’m in front of it and there are lights on in the nearby windows, a fire station, and plenty of potential safe spaces if I need them.
But the man is clearly upset that I didn’t respond to his “kindness”.
“Have a good evening!” » he shouts sarcastically at my quickly retreating form.
I remembered this incident recently when I saw a Instagram post by dating coach Erika Ettin who featured a conversation on a dating site in which a man was offended when a woman didn’t want to come to his house for a first date.
“You can trust me,” he told her. When she responded that she didn’t feel comfortable going to a complete stranger’s house for dinner, he responded, “I’m not a stranger! I have a professional job and life! I’m old enough not to mess around.”
The same day, the New York Times published an article about a woman who was held prisoner in an attic of a Boston rental house and sexually abused for six weeks. She met her attacker on a dating app.
Men like the one in this Instagram exchange often seem completely oblivious to women’s experience with the ever-present threat of danger or violence, as well as the hundreds of small and large precautions we take every day to try to stay safe in the world.
Her biggest concern was paying for an expensive appointment and not receiving text messages afterward. The woman was worried for her safety.
I wish every man, including the stranger I offended by not saying hello, understood this: When a man dates a woman he doesn’t know, he risks getting a bruised ego or losing a few dollars. When a woman goes out with a man she doesn’t know, she risks her life.
These risks are not equivalent.
Long before dating apps, I had two close calls with men I didn’t know. These incidents shaped the way I interact with male strangers.
Photo courtesy of Melissa Lutz Blouin
The first took place during a cloudy afternoon walk in the sleepy London suburb of Dulwich. I was 16 and enjoying the solitude of a tree-lined street when a friendly-looking man rolled down the back window of his car and waved me over. I got closer to hear him ask me for directions.
Suddenly the front door opened and two male hands grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the passenger seat. I screamed and thrashed and screamed. Two people appeared around the corner and ran towards us. The hands released me and the car sped away, the door closing as they rounded the corner. I collapsed on the sidewalk sobbing.
“Are you hurt?” » » asked the strangers. “Do you need anything?”
“No,” I replied, getting up and shaking myself, before walking briskly towards the house.
I never told anyone what happened. I blamed myself for being stupid enough to get so close to a strange man’s car.
The second time was on an afternoon walk in the kind of New Orleans neighborhood where grandmothers fanned themselves on porches while watching little children play. I had taken a short break from work in the afternoon to walk to a nearby pharmacy.
I turned the corner onto a quiet, deserted street. In the middle of the road, a white van crept up beside me. The driver gestured wildly, trying to communicate something to me.
The hairs on my arms tingled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that someone was standing right behind me, their hand in their sweatshirt pocket.
Run to the van or confront the stranger behind me? My lizard brain timed the van’s baby seat and saw the hood pulled down over the stranger’s head on a hot April day.
I flew down the street, opened the van door, jumped in and closed it. The hooded man fled. I leaned over, out of breath.
When the man next to me spoke, his voice was strangled: “He had a knife. »
Photo courtesy of Melissa Lutz Blouin
These incidents occurred in major cities, but they can happen anywhere and to any woman. I grew up in Pullman, Washington, a town of about 20,000 people. In 1979, a beloved dance teacher, Nona Rae Lynch, was hit in the head and strangled by a man who entered her workshop while working late at night. His body was discovered the next day in the trunk of his car.
I learned from these experiences that men with bad intentions do not come with identifiable T-shirts or sinister black ski masks. They look like everyone else. And for women, potential danger is everywhere, including on a sleepy afternoon in a “nice” neighborhood or in your own dance studio.
Women: Continue to do what you need to do to stay safe. If a man you meet on a dating site (or elsewhere) gets upset because you’re taking precautions to protect yourself, then you’ve learned everything you need to know. And trusting your instincts could save your life.
Men, your mission is simpler: support women by recognizing their reality and happily accepting whatever they need to feel comfortable.
More than a year later, I still relive the interaction with the man at the dark, rainy intersection. From the tone of his voice when he called me, I imagined he was thinking, “Would it kill you to be friendly?”
As I fled, I thought, “Yes. Yes, it’s possible.”
Melissa Lutz Blouin’s writing has appeared in the Seattle Times and Mountaineer Magazine. When she’s not outside or winning puns, she’s working on her memoir about resilience and mental health. See more of her work at MelissaLutzBlouin.com.
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