As I was pedaling to Kinko's this morning, I saw a guy in his early twenties chasing a woman of about the same age. They were in the parking lot of a gas station, running around feverishly and shouting. At first I thought they were perhaps playing some sort of game like "Oh dang! You threw a water balloon at me and I'm gonna totally get you back." But then she ran into the middle of heavy traffic, yelling and looking seriously distressed. He followed her and pushed her to the sidewalk, where she curled up into a fetal position.
I looked around. Not counting drivers, a half-dozen people were watching this scene go down: me, two white women, an old Latino, a white dude watching from his condo balcony, and a black woman. We all stood there with concerned looks on our faces, waiting for someone to do something. Everybody looked worried, but nobody moved. The original couple was still in trouble.
The guy pulled the still-screaming woman back through traffic. The spectators gawked. So I darted into traffic, looking really tough while pushing a Free Spirit "Brittany" bicycle (with basket). By this point, the guy had pushed the woman into the back of a SUV. I hurried up to the car. "Hey, it looks like there's a problem here," I said as forcefully as I could. "BITCH," the guy replied, hurling something (a bottlecap?) at me before driving away. So I dialed 911 to report the bastard (for what he did to the woman, not to me). Half of the witnesses then came forward chanting variations on the license plate.
I wish I could say that I was really heroic and that I instinctively did the right thing. But I'm ashamed to admit that I hesitated, and I really didn't want to get involved. I kept hoping that it was all a joke, or that someone bigger and stronger than me would have stepped in. I keep thinking that if someone had acted faster—if I had acted faster—maybe that woman wouldn't be in such a bad situation, at least for now.
I looked around. Not counting drivers, a half-dozen people were watching this scene go down: me, two white women, an old Latino, a white dude watching from his condo balcony, and a black woman. We all stood there with concerned looks on our faces, waiting for someone to do something. Everybody looked worried, but nobody moved. The original couple was still in trouble.
The guy pulled the still-screaming woman back through traffic. The spectators gawked. So I darted into traffic, looking really tough while pushing a Free Spirit "Brittany" bicycle (with basket). By this point, the guy had pushed the woman into the back of a SUV. I hurried up to the car. "Hey, it looks like there's a problem here," I said as forcefully as I could. "BITCH," the guy replied, hurling something (a bottlecap?) at me before driving away. So I dialed 911 to report the bastard (for what he did to the woman, not to me). Half of the witnesses then came forward chanting variations on the license plate.
I wish I could say that I was really heroic and that I instinctively did the right thing. But I'm ashamed to admit that I hesitated, and I really didn't want to get involved. I kept hoping that it was all a joke, or that someone bigger and stronger than me would have stepped in. I keep thinking that if someone had acted faster—if I had acted faster—maybe that woman wouldn't be in such a bad situation, at least for now.
Labels: chicago
0 Responses to “i feel bad about this.”
Post a Comment