One night in 1976, a concert I attended at the University of Hawaii ended after 10 p.m. The buses had stopped running so I started walking to my parents’ home in Manoa Valley. After I’d walked about twenty minutes, I sensed someone following me. I turned around and saw a short, stocky man walking about fifteen feet behind me.
As soon as I turned the corner to my street, I heard running footsteps. Then, I felt an arm around my waist and a hand on my mouth. If the man’s fingers had been squeezed together, I would have been helpless. But, because his fingers were spread apart, I was able to scream loudly and shrilly. Startled, the man dropped his hands and took off down the street. I screamed again to make sure he kept going. Strangely, none of the houses lit up and no one came to my aid. I was afraid he’d circle the block and attack me again, so I hurried to the nearest house and asked if I could call my father.
“Were you the one who screamed?” asked the man at the door.
“Yes,” I said. With difficulty, I refrained from asking the obvious question: Why didn’t you come out and help me?
After telling Dad about the assault and how afraid I was to walk the short distance to our home, he picked me up in his car. I asked whether we should call the police.
“No,” he said, “I don't want the police at my house.”
But, when we got home, Dad, who was then sixty-seven years old, brought out a baseball bat and went out to hunt for my attacker ñ thankfully, without success. After all these years, I feel I should have called the police, although I didn’t get a good look at the man’s face since it was dark. I think he was haole, but am not sure.
Perhaps to compensate in part for this scary event, I married a tall, brawny man. David has never been a victim of a crime and never looks over his shoulder while alone on the street. However, I still don't feel safe walking at night, even when he is next to me. Outside, he is relaxed while I am tense and alert. When we’re strolling in Waikiki, I always hold my purse between us to prevent anyone from snatching it. I peer at people approaching us, and I’m always aware of those behind us.
Women who have never been victimized might not share my feelings of paranoia and insecurity. But, there’s a saying:
Just because a person’s paranoid, it doesn’t mean no one’s after her.