Always (9 page)

They all shifted, reminded that it wasn’t nice for southern women to insult another’s appearance.

“And, hey,” Nina said, “maybe she doesn’t wear pants when she’s not in class.” She looked at Kim. “You sure stopped wearing skirts quick enough.”

“No point flashing booty just for sisters.”

“Only makes sense,” Pauletta said.

She and Kim and Nina eyed each other, then nodded, allies.

“Besides, short hair is very attractive in its own way,” Nina said, stroking her own carefully shaped grey cut.

“Totally,” Christie said. “I think about cutting mine all the time.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Tonya said. “It’s lovely. So long and straight.”

“No one has to cut their hair, no one has to wear pants, no one has to trim her nails. It is in your best interests to know what all your choices mean. Looking as if you’re afraid means you’re more likely to be attacked. Statistically.”

“Cite your sources,” Therese said.

“My own personal experience as a police officer. The Women Against Rape survey published in London in 1985. Ongoing U.S. Department of Justice statistics.” The WAR survey had held up remarkably despite the intervening twenty years and four thousand miles.

“She was a cop,” Pauletta said.

“She’s our teacher,” Jennifer said, nodding.

“Trust or don’t trust, just don’t question?” Therese put her hands on her hips.

“What is your problem?” Suze said.

“I’m curious about what she’s trying to teach us here, exactly.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“I think that’s what she’s trying to do,” I said, and gestured for Therese to go ahead.

She struggled for a moment. I could guess what her essential problem was, but it took her a while to get there. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” I said.

“We shouldn’t have to act differently, just to not be attacked in the street. It’s not fair.”

“No. But that doesn’t matter.”

She looked puzzled.

“What matters is what happens. The strong attack the weak.” I wasn’t sure how I could make it more plain. “Big countries invade little countries, the alpha hippo savages the beta hippo, the jock beats the nerd. Why? Because they can. Because they believe they don’t have a lot to lose but a great deal to gain. In economist-speak, they have strong incentives.”

Tonya looked interested. “So what we’re doing is learning to disincentivize them?”

“Yes.”

“But we shouldn’t have to,” Therese said.

“No. But shoulds and shouldn’ts don’t matter.”

The corners of Therese’s eyes and mouth pulled away from the center and her head moved back half an inch, as though someone had shoved a bucket of raw tripe in front of her and suggested she eat it. It was the way of the world. There was nothing I could do to change it. The only way to help her was to continue with the lesson.

“Now, where were we with the role play?”

“Not looking like a victim,” Tonya said. “Disincentivizing.”

“Pretending we’re six feet tall,” Pauletta said.

“Yeah, you do it with mirrors,” Nina said. Everyone except Katherine smiled, relieved that we were all on the same side again. I raised my eyebrows at her.

“It’s okay for everyone to make jokes,” she said. “But what if you’re really not six feet tall? What do you do if a man at the MARTA station starts talking to you?”

“Would you want him to talk to you?”

“No!”

“Then say so.”

“Say so?”

“Clearly and simply: I won’t talk to you.”

“Isn’t that kind of rude?”

Rude. To a man who had invaded her personal space, made her afraid, and was testing to see what kind of victim she’d make.

“It’s neutral. A statement of fact.”

“Wouldn’t it provoke him?” Jennifer.

“Nina, would it have provoked you?”

“No-o,” she said. “No, I don’t think so. It would’ve made me shrug, maybe, and think, Bitch. Maybe I would’ve said that to her face.” Jennifer flinched.

“Something to add to your list: would you rather be called a bitch or put up with an hour’s harassment by a drunk at a MARTA station who may or may not be working himself up to jump you? Bear in mind that if you do tell him to go away, you need to also make sure your body is saying the same thing as your words: everything in line, no ambiguity.”

“But if he’s drunk he won’t listen,” Jennifer said.

“He certainly won’t if you don’t say anything. No one is a mind reader.”

Blank looks. There were times when I felt that although we had arrived in the same room, we had traveled through different dimensions.

“You have to say the words out loud. Again, fair play doesn’t matter. What you want, or what you think he should already know, doesn’t matter. What matters is what you actually say—with your body and your words. No one can read your mind. If you say, ‘I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you anywhere near me. If you so much as touch me with the tip of your finger, I’ll call the police and have you charged with assault,’ he’ll understand.” He wouldn’t necessarily listen, but he would understand.

“That seems a little excessive,” Therese said.

“If that’s the first thing you do, maybe. If you’ve already made it plain with body language, and already told him verbally you don’t want to talk, then no.”

Enough chitchat.

“Let’s practice. Pair up. No, Tonya, you go with Nina, Katherine with Pauletta.” Time to do a little mix-and-match. “Therese, I want you over here with Sandra.” Therese was physically and emotionally contained and wouldn’t intimidate Sandra. “Suze with Kim.” Perhaps the nail issue would get sorted there. “Christie, you’re with Jennifer. Nina, Pauletta, Therese, Suze, and Christie, come and get two chairs each, put them wherever you like, just make sure they’re next to each other, like a bench. Sit down. You’re on a bench in Piedmont Park, on your lunch break. It’s a lovely day. You’re by the lake. All the other benches are empty but there are people playing Frisbee in the distance. Then someone—that’s your partner, ” I said to the women still standing, “some stranger comes along and sits on your bench.”

“Man or woman?” said Pauletta.

“That’s up to you.”

“Is he—or she—a creep?” Christie.

“Anyone who sits next to you when all the other benches are empty is a fucking creep,” said Suze.

“Point,” said Nina.

“He could be blind,” said Katherine.

Or an alien or a secret agent. “He’d have a white cane,” I said. “There again, perhaps it’s simply a woman who admires your shoes and wants to know where you got them. You decide. Get as loud as you want, but nothing physical, not at this stage. You have two minutes, then swap places. Begin.”

I stood by Nina and Tonya but focused my attention on Therese and Sandra. Role play could bring up powerful emotions, and if I was right about Sandra, she was a walking time bomb.

I could tell by her open shoulders and legs that Sandra had chosen to play a man, which didn’t surprise me: it was a way to feel powerful. When s/he sat, he gave Therese a quick, uncertain smile and opened his hands and widened his eyes. I didn’t hear what he said but Therese leaned forward.

By this time Nina had already laughed in Tonya’s face, and they had switched roles. Christie and Jennifer seemed to be in a stilted conversation about hairstylists.

Sandra/the young man edged closer to Therese, who backed up a little, and it was clear from the expression on the young man’s face and the way he almost reached out to touch Therese’s sleeve, then dropped his hand suddenly and put it in his lap that he was saying something like, No, wait, please, I’m sorry, I know this must seem weird, but you’re the only one who can help me. And Therese looked around, the way we do when we wish help would arrive in the form of a loud-voiced acquaintance with whom we can leave without appearing discourteous, and the young man chose that moment to put his face in his hands. Therese hesitated.

On the other side of the room, Katherine was backing off as Pauletta said, “This is my bench, asshole. Go find your own.” Kim was sitting fairly close to Suze, smiling into her face, touching her hand, and Suze was blushing.

Sandra’s young man hitched himself just a little closer—very natural-looking, and with a pleading expression—and Therese still hesitated, and then it was too late: he had fixed her gaze with his and she was deep in the well-bred woman’s trap.

I stepped in. “Are you two all right?”

Sandra, still as a young man, said, “Fine, Officer, just fine. It’s . . . well, my dog, Earl, died, and this was the place he liked best. We used to come out here—but you don’t want to know that. I was out walking just one more time, only—it was just that I imagined I saw him, leaping up for that Frisbee, and I got this lump, and I just had to sit, and this kind lady . . . well, it’s embarrassing, but we’re just fine now, thank you.”

We. He’d taken the reins and made it impossible for polite, appropriate Therese to say anything without looking rude or stupid.

“You do that very well,” I said. No doubt because she’d been living with an expert. Sandra—because, just like that, she was Sandra again— laughed, and her laughter was low and self-mocking and shot through with bitterness. To the class in general I said, “Switch roles if you haven’t already,” and sank to my heels by Therese, who was sitting very upright.

“I fell for it,” she said. “I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“A lot of people do. That’s how Bundy worked: put his arm in a sling and got his victims to feel sorry for him. Women are trained to take care of people. It’s a habit, a dangerous one. Take a moment, then let’s see you swap roles.”

Elsewhere in the room, the pairs were becoming partners, Christie saying to Jennifer,
That was awesome. I mean, I totally didn’t want to sit on your bench. But what if I tried . . .
and Kim to Suze, who was still blushing,
So, what, you’d let any female who told you you had pretty hands get up close and personal? You don’t think a girl might be more interested in that wallet in your back pocket than your flustered ass?

Sandra settled herself on the imaginary bench and looked off into an imaginary distance. Therese took two deep breaths; her face smoothed and her shoulders dropped. She sat down on the bench. Sandra looked up at her/him—Therese’s body language was so neutral it was hard to tell—and said, “I am so very, very tired and I want to be alone. Please leave my bench.” Therese started to get up—as any reasonable person would—but then, mindful of her recent embarrassment, sat down again. Sandra said indifferently, “I’m going to stand and walk over to another bench. I can’t stop you following me, but if you’re hoping I’ll run or scream or faint in terror, you’ll be disappointed. I just don’t care.”

An intuitive leap, an apparently inexplicable impulse, can save your life or someone else’s, but it’s rare to find a person who can trust their instincts to that degree. You have to be able to get out of your own way. It’s always fascinating to watch. Therese looked up at Sandra, momentarily blank, then understanding swarmed over her face and she said in an ordinary voice, “I don’t believe that’s true. You do care. That’s why you’re here.”

They faced each other, perfectly still.

I stepped back. “Time’s up, people.” I waited until I had their attention. “Okay. Things we’ve learnt. That an assailant will use your sense of polite-ness and good behavior against you. He or she may flatter and flirt. Flattery is an enormously useful tool.” Kim nodded significantly at Suze, who scowled. Christie looked from one to the other, puzzled. “He or she will try to affiliate, to persuade you that you are in some way a team. She may ask to come in and use your phone; he may say he has had an accident. Remember, you owe strangers nothing: no explanation, no apology, no thanks, no smile, no assistance.”

“But . . .” Katherine. She shut her mouth, frowning.

“Go on.”

“It’s . . .” She shook her head in frustration.

“It’s hard,” Therese said. Everyone turned. “We’re supposed to be nice. It’s at the heart of everything we do. I hadn’t realized that. But then I was playing at sitting on the bench, and this young man comes and sits next to me. He starts talking to me, and I’m thinking,
Why’s he doing this?
because, as Suze says, you
know
anyone who sits on your bench without even asking is weird or wants something, no matter what they say, but he talks and I don’t do or say a thing. Even when a police officer comes along, I say nothing. He had me. I’m smart, I’m educated, and he
had
me. It was as though he’d tied me up and stuffed my mouth with a rag. All he did was hint I was stupid to think he was any threat—just hint, not even say it out loud. I didn’t want him to think I was foolish. So I did nothing. I knew he wasn’t right but I still did nothing. And I don’t understand.”

“Embarrassment,” I said. “Self-consciousness.”

“Yes,” she said, “but
why
?” She practically vibrated.

“Define for me the words
feminine
and
ladylike
and
womanly.
”

Silence. Then, “Pretty,” Nina said.

“Soft,” said Suze.

“Kind,” said Jennifer.

“Sexy.”

“Nice. Well behaved.”

“Weak—” said Therese.

“Nurturing,” and “Motherly!” Pauletta and Tonya said together.

“—emotional, hysterical, and irrational.” Therese was breathing hard.

“Vulnerable,” said Christie, and looked it.

DORNAN AND I SAT OPPOSITE EACH OTHER AT A SMALL WOODEN TABLE BY THE
window of Tully’s coffee shop in a neighborhood called Greenwood, sipping and watching the world go by as the sun sailed out from behind clouds, then hid again. The chairs were plain pine with a clear, polyvinyl varnish, a marvel of modern design and construction: cheap, comfortable for just long enough to drink a cup of coffee, easy to pick up and put down, durable, washable. Quite unlike the Wiram art chair I’d seen in Atlanta before I left.