Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Antennae

We’ve all got them. And I’m not talking about the springy appendages that insects sport. I’m talking about intuition and sensing the bad. (There’s also intuition and sensing the good, but that’s a whole other topic.)

As many people do, I learned about my antennae the hard way. It was a summer afternoon in NYC. I was probably a year out of college. And after leaving my lunch-rush waitressing job in the Wall Street area, I’d taken the IRT back uptown. I got off at 110th Street and headed to my friend Robin’s apartment.

She lived in a beautiful old U-shaped building. The entryway was at the bottom of the U, and upon accessing the building (by way of the buzzer system), one had to walk the length of the confronting wall and hang two rights before reaching the elevator.

When I arrived at the building and buzzed Robin’s apartment, she asked who was there. Once I’d identified myself, she buzzed me in. There was a man just behind me, and I held the door open for him, letting him in on my buzz.

During the 15 seconds it took to walk to the elevator, my thumb did something very smart. It manipulated the sapphire and diamond ring that I wear on the ring finger of my right hand. It turned it so that the gems were facing the inside. My thumb turned the ring so that, when the man pulled a gun on me, he did not see the gems.

My mugger scared the shit out of me, got the seventeen dollars I’d made in tips that day, and gave me a good, strong case of PTSD that fucked with me for several months.

But I didn’t lose the ring, and the incident gave me a lesson. My thumb knew. Which means, I knew.

And for the rest of my years in NYC (and these were some tough times in that city), I’m sure I avoided all kinds of victim situations simply because I was aware that I was aware. I knew that although I may not be able to trust passers-by, I could trust me.

Fast forward: Los Angeles, 2003. I’d been in L.A. for 13 years at that point, and not having to watch my backside was becoming the norm. After 15 years in New York, it was a relief not to feel that danger could be lurking around every corner.

One afternoon, I went on “my walk.” Essentially a tour of remarkable real estate, including Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ennis Brown House. This particular afternoon, I went on the longer version of the walk, and because I’d been on that stretch enough times, I had a good sense of the topography and the presence of dogs.

I was at the top of a small hill that would go down and then up again quickly before it winded to the left and headed down for a bit (these are the hills below the Griffith Observatory). And just as I began to head down the small hill, I got that NYC antennae vibe. (“Warning, Will Robinson! Warning.”) I saw a man emerging from a driveway. He looked to be Latino, and I wondered if he were a day laborer. (I often saw day laborers in that area.) Regardless, he was heading not toward me, but in the same direction I was heading, and so in the split second I had to respond to my antennae, I decided to continue on my path. I’d rather he be ahead of me than behind me.

I continued to walk down the small hill, aware of my surroundings.

As I reached the place where the hill took its upturn, I noticed that he had stopped walking. He was now sitting on a thigh-high cement structure (something architecturally connected to the multi-million dollar home that graced that location in the turn). As I continued to walk closer to where he was, I didn’t give away my fear. But I took in his appearance. His army pants were well-pressed and tucked into polished lace-up black boots. His tee shirt, which was tucked into those pants, bore no wrinkles and indicated no sweat. His cap matched his pants, and he wore large sunglasses that were so dark there was no possibility of seeing the eyes behind them.

This was no day laborer. This was a man who brought to mind the word “guerilla.”

In addition to an olive green duffle bag, his possessions included a long brown paper bag that apparently contained a loaf of baguette-type bread. As I came within 10 feet of him, he began pulling pieces of the bread out of the bag, and he threw them in my path.

I’m so fucking dead, I thought, as I continued on my walk.

But, I didn’t give it away. I met the gaze that might have been there behind those dark glasses, I nodded, semi-smiled, and said, “Hi.”

Within seconds after my passing him, I sensed his dismounting from the wall where he had sat. And that’s when I immediately began to run.

I’m not a runner, and although I knew, in that moment, that my adrenalin would take me wherever I needed to go, I was embarking on about a quarter-mile of low-grade downhill pavement. This was really going to piss off my knees. But, I kept running. And I was so grateful to get to that hairpin turn. Because… I knew about the dogs.

There’s a hairpin turn on that walk, and guarding the house that occupies that turn are some seriously overzealous dogs. I knew they would bark as I approached, and of course, they did. And, when I got to the other side, and they’d followed me all the way – a hedge between us – they stopped barking. Their silence told me that I was not being followed. Their silence told me that I could stop running.

Their silence gave my knees a respite.

In retrospect, it might have been smarter for me to do an about-face the minute my antennae told me that the guy down the hill was bad news. But, my antennae didn’t fail me that afternoon.

They told me to be alert.

They told me to own every second.

They prepared me for the moment when it was time to run.

11 comments:

Sioux said...

What a riveting story, Katie...Not at all how I expected it to end.

Kristy said...

Intuition is our own best friend. I love reading about it and learning about it. I am learning how to listen to mine more as I get older. Hey, I think Mama Kat (Mama's Losin' It) has a prompt on intuition for tomorrow's link-up if you want to participate!

Martha Mawson said...

I remember the time you came to my place on Madison Avenue. I buzzed us in with my key and there was a guy right behind us. You turned and closed the door very quickly, so he was left outside. We took the elevator to my apartment and you came in. Several hours later, there was a knock on the door. It was the local policemen (whose I acquaintance I had made after my apartment was burgled). They told us that a man had come in and got on an elevator with a woman and he had taken her to roof and raped her. We both knew it was the man behind us at the door. I was so grateful to your antennae that night. My southern belle graciousness and country mouse naivety would have offered him entry. But you knew...and I still respect your intuition.

Theresa Milstein said...

It's hard not to let people in behind you when you get buzzed in. But I remember break ins happening in my Forest Hills neighborhood, so I tried to be better about it. Scary stories.

Deb Shucka said...

The most recent issue of "O" is about intuition, and one of the articles there talks about how our bodies know things before our minds do. Your stories bear that out.

Amazing stories.

Andrea said...

Well written and chilling. I'm so glad you trusted yourself, Katie. A good reminder to all your readers. Thanks.

Cheryl said...

I take my safety for granted so this scared the living daylights out of me. I've been in harm's way more often than I care to admit, but I've trusted my gut and come out safely. There was a stretch of time that I didn't trust myself about anything. That time still haunts me because while in that space of vulnerability I was taught things I my never unlearn. I'm working on it, yet those ghosts still linger.

Beautifully written and a must-read for folks who learned not to trust their instincts.

Lisa Ricard Claro said...

Fortunately, I've never been mugged, though I lived in Vegas for a number of years and well remember "the feeling" when you know something is amiss. I've experienced it more than once, but never had to actually fight or run. One thing I have always told my daughters: Trust your gut and don't worry about looking like an idiot if you over-react. Better to over-react and stay safe. Good post. Chilling.

Linda Medrano said...

I think women are far too quick to "not create a scene" for our own good. I was walking down Sansome Street in the financial district of San Francisco one morning. The sidewalks were packed with people. But at a stoplight, I felt the presence of someone who was standing a little too close to me. I got a firm hold on my bag, and pulled out my keyring that had about 20 keys on it and clutched it firmly in my right hand. I figured the guy would go for the purse but I was wrong. He grabbed my breast with one hand and my crotch with the other hand when the light turned green. I screamed bloody murder and hit him in the face with my keys as hard as I could. He tried to scamper away but I kept after him for a few seconds, screaming like a banshee. Yeah, people were looking at me in horror (because I looked like the nut), but I ignored that.

Another time, a guy followed me home and I had to make a choice about going to the apartment entryway that was somewhat hidden from the street. I started yelling for my non-existent husband until a neighbor came to the window and I asked them to come downstairs. By this time, the guy was wandering off down the street. These would be predators do not want an audience. I always trust my instinct too, Katie.

Sandi said...

Thank you for a riveting post! I think we all can recall moments when we just "knew" something was about to happen before it did. Usually, they aren't so scary, but I appreciated the reminder to trust my intuition!

Jules said...

Try being robbed 3 times, you get some serious antennas. :) Sorry for being MIA, work is killing me. Hopefully another week and then I can breath. :)
Jules @ Trying To Get Over The Rainbow