Nancy Finton - I Never Saw His Face

 

Summer after my junior year of college, I was ready for big adventure. Moved to New York City, found a sublet in Inwood, got a job in an Italian restaurant in Tribeca as the world's shyest bartender. [audience chuckles] The regulars used to lean over the bar and try to draw me out. [audience laughter] So, every night after work, late at night, I'd take the A train up to Inwood, like 200-something blocks. Then I'd walk through these really quiet streets to my building. Some nights that was really creepy, but I actually wasn't afraid because I'd worked out my own protection system.

 

Every night on the A train, I'd spin these stories in my head. Different details, but always the same plot. Me versus the rapist. And just by my wits and incredible internal strength, I always won. Some nights when I was really pissed off at the world, I'd imagine it like this. I'd just look inside myself and dredge up every bit of anger that I've stored since the womb and hurl it in his face. [audience laughter] And in the face of this huge and incredible anger, he'd just run away. Most nights I took the opposite tack, though. And I would just imagine myself being so good, so calm and so kind that nobody could ever hurt me.

 

Three summers later, I was living in Norway, waitressing again at a sweatshop of a restaurant. It was a cold, bleak summer with the sky hanging like this far over my head. And I just broken up with a boyfriend, just working all the time, trying to save some money to go travel and find myself or something again. The night it happened, we'd all gone out for one of the waitress birthdays. And it was like 3:00 in the morning, we were standing in front of the bar, figuring out how everyone was getting home. Nobody was going my way. I remember one nice guy offered to take me in his cab and loop around and drop me off. I said, "No, it's all right, I'll walk. I always walk."

 

I remember it was a quiet night because I was wearing these new leather shoes. And after wearing Converse high tops for three years, I was really proud of these leather shoes and the way they'd make a sound on the concrete. And I was so proud of them, I'd worn this little miniskirt to show them off. So, I walked through the lighted shopping street and up this residential hill. I lived up on the backside of the hill, and on top of the hill there was this red brick church with a little park in front of it. And it was surrounded by buildings that looked like houses, but the next day when I went back there, I realized they were university buildings, so they were empty at night.

 

I was crossing this little park when for the first time in my life, I understood what people meant when they say time froze. Because I still have this millisecond in my mind, frozen there. And inside it is one sound. Sound of somebody else's shoes behind me, running. And one thought, "If he grabs me, I'll kick him hard with my new shoes." [audience chuckles] But it was only a millisecond because I never got time to turn my head around before there was an arm around my neck and a body pressed up behind me. Every muscle on my body clenched. I just wanted to hurt him. But nothing moved.

 

So, I moved to plan B. Prideless begging. "Please don't hurt me," I said. "Please don't Hurt me, please. I'll do what you want. I'll do anything you want. Just don't hurt me." He dragged me closer to some bushes and threw me on the ground and lay down on top of me. And immediately he took one arm and he shoved my face to one side, so I never looked at his face. And with the other hand, he started to tear up my clothes.

 

And somehow when I was on the ground, the panic started to lower just a little bit and a little bit of my brain lit up and I started thinking. In probably the least neurotic moment of my life, I started taking in only essential information and translating into action. I knew two things. I think he must have said something, though I don't remember what, because I had this idea that he wasn't Norwegian, maybe he had an American accent. And the other thing I knew is that it was different from the man in the story I wrote. In the story he had a focus-directed violence and rage, but this guy was just all over the place. I couldn't see him, but his movements were jerky and weird and he seemed chaotic and kind of desperate.

 

So, I started talking in a mixture of English and Norwegian, just trying to find the language that would reach him. And I started to try to cut through the chaos and just calm him down. "It's okay," I said. "It's okay. It's all right. Everything's going to be all right. I know. Believe me, it's okay." I heard something rip, but I still felt covered up. I couldn't see myself or him. Luckily, I was wearing this vintage dress. It was thick material with good seams, and I was wearing thick black tights because that's what you wear in a Norwegian summer. [audience chuckles] "What do you want?" I said. "What do you want? What do you really want? This isn't it. I know this isn't it. Tell me what you want."

 

I have no idea how long I'd been lying there with him sort of struggling and tugging. And I was completely scared and I knew that he could do what he wanted, that I still had no power in this situation, but still part of it, it just started to seem like I'd been there a long time. And it started to seem awkward and ridiculous, [audience chuckles] like you're just not good at this. [audience laughter] I guess he started struggling harder because the arm that was leaning on my neck to push my face aside started to lean harder. I started to feel like I was choking. "Could you please move your arm," I said, "because I'm having some trouble breathing and I know you don't really want to hurt me?" Then everything changed. He answered me one word. "Okay," he said. And he jumped up and I jumped up, and I had the Swiss army shoulder bag on. And he grabbed one strap and he pulled.

 

And without thinking, I guess I was winning, I grabbed the other strap and pulled and he let go and he ran. So, this would be a good place for the story to end. This is about where it ended when I wrote it down. Unfortunately, it's not where the real story ends. A few weeks later, I was cleaning my house and listening to the radio and the local news and I heard this 10-second news report. A young woman had been raped in front of the church on the hill by a stocky blond-haired foreigner. Same guy. I didn't tell the police. I didn't do what I could have done to protect this woman. And the worst thing is that one of the things I felt when I heard this news report was a little bit of satisfaction.

 

See, when I wrote the story, it was all clear. I played both parts. I knew what was in their heads and I knew that this woman had made a connection with this man and used her power to get rid of him. Somehow when it happened, it almost seemed less real than the written story and I just didn't get it. Was he inept or did I really make a connection? Did my plan really work? And when I heard the news report, I knew it had worked. I'd done it. So, I thought about it a lot. I thought about why I didn't go to the police. And I know at the time I told myself that I hadn't really seen his face and it wouldn't do any good because I couldn't describe him, but that was bullshit.

 

I know that part of me felt that the police would just say, "What a stupid woman for walking home so late and all drunk and alone in a miniskirt." But I could have gotten over that. And I think the real reason is that I was just so used to spinning these stories in my head. I was just so wrapped up in my version, my power against the world and how it all affected me that I just didn't stop to realize that it wasn't only my story.