A Moment in the Dark

I had recently moved to New York City to start my ten weeks as a summer associate at a firm. I was living in Brooklyn for that time period, and sporadically frequented The Woods, a funky and fun dance club in Williamsburg. I went out with friends and my boyfriend, and yes of course, I'd been drinking and socializing at this dance club, enjoying what it was like to be in a big city, even if for so short a time. After entering the bar, a man made a lewd, sexual comment directed at me that I did not fully catch. I did not offer up the affectation of a smile in response. It was loud and hard to decipher his word's particularities and shape when radiating thumps and thuds surrounded me. Was I to give special clarifying attention to a conversation I had no interest in partaking in? I was among friends and happy; why should I carve out a moment to appease?

Later in the evening, as I momentarily left my friends to find the bathroom, he approached me yet again and asked if he should get my phone number now or when he takes me home later. I was waiting in the bathroom line and it was hard to hear—don't all women know the woe of waiting in this long line? I was not willing to leave and be uncomfortable all night to avoid this man. Surely my only thought was, "Why choose now when I am trapped?" I declined in that manner many women have come to know—kind enough to not incite the "who do you think you are, bitch?" response, but firm enough that perhaps he will take your no to mean just that. He persisted until I was able to enter the packed women's room. Upon exiting, I did not see him and made my way back to the corner that my friends were in — dancing, enjoying one another. I felt again comfortable seeing them near. He was standing there hidden in the crowd of moving people, the moving lights and darkness obscuring his figure. As I moved past him unknowingly he quickly ran his hand up my thigh to, as I can now properly articulate, grab my pussy. He was wearing a number of rings that I could feel the cold metal of as he swiftly pulled up and across from back to front in a motion that I now realize must have been perfected on many women before me. He did it in so aggravated and entitled a fashion that my initial bodily reaction was not to defend but to scour. We made eye contact—the colored-strobing lights giving me only a peek of the satisfaction he got from watching the blood drain from my face. I said and did nothing, and returned to the corner where my friends stood, myself no longer feeling enchanted but instead thankful, for a moment, that it was dark.