Friday the 21st was the coldest day in January that year,
but that didn’t stop her from smiling as she walked out of the Alcott House and went west on Burton under clear skies and sunshine.
She was on her way to Stanton Park Pool,
feeling hopeful that a few laps there would ease the restlessness of injury.
If you’ve never had illiotibial band syndrome,
well,
I’d suggest thanking the gods you never got it,
and then spending the rest of your life not getting it.
Anyhow,
about halfway to LaSalle is when she saw him coming toward her.
Perhaps the icy sidewalk was a distraction that morning,
or perhaps the voice on the other end of the phone was to blame.
Or maybe she simply assumed him harmless,
like any other pedestrian you’d expect to encounter around noon in the Gold Coast.
Whatever it was,
though,
this man was different,
and she did not see the violence in his eyes till it was too late.
As they passed each other,
he gave his fist to her face with enough force to break bone,
then split for the initiation he must've been late for,
seeing as how he nearly wrecked his body on the cars of Clark Street before disappearing around a corner.
…
Bleeding and screaming in the snow with a busted phone at her feet and her left eye swollen up the size of a golf ball is how I found her.
I was on the same sidewalk that day,
you see,
and I saw him first,
and he passed me first.
But unlike her,
I did see the violence in his eyes,
and in response I showed him my own with a stare that said You fuck with me,
and I swear to all the gods I'll leave you right here bleeding and screaming in the snow.
But —
that day,
when I saw him,
and used my eyes to say Stay the fuck away,
I did not know there was a young woman just a couple dozen paces behind me,
and the thought to turn around and announce his violent eyes to all within earshot did not occur to me.
And —
to this day I still sometimes think about her,
and every time I do,
I want to take myself back to 2011,
and find a way to turn off the violence before it's too late.
…