Taking out my headphones probably saved me.

When I was 16 or 17, I was coming home to Brooklyn from a movie in Manhattan with my friends. I was the only one who lived in BK, so I walked home from the train alone.

I was used to being out late by myself— I had a midnight curfew but I frequently broke it because I thought nothing bad would ever happen to me, despite an uptick of rapes/assaults in our neighborhood at the time. This night, however, I was actually slated to get home on time for once!

It was the summer after I graduated high school, and I was feeling AMAZING. I’d had a little to drink and a little to smoke and I felt like I was on top of the world. it was SO hot out, I remember that I was wearing this long sheer cape thing with a very tight and revealing little dress underneath (not that anything would have probably been different if I’d been wearing shorts and a T shirt). However, because of my fun little outfit I was feeling myself and being so stupid, taking selfies while I walked down the dark streets and listening to music with both headphones in, not paying any attention to my surroundings. I think I even sang as I walked.

I got to my building after finishing my 10 minute walk from the train, and walked up the steps to our apartment. We lived in a brownstone with apartments in it, and ours was on the third floor— we had a gate at the bottom of the steps separating us from the sidewalk. I pulled out my headphones and began to fumble with my keys at the top of the steps.

Just as I had found the correct key, still humming to myself and thinking about my great night, I heard the latch on the gate clank as if it were being opened. I turned around, and I saw a man standing at the gate, staring up at me.

He was young, probably early 20s, wearing a grey hoodie with the hood up , covering part of his face. But I could see his eyes, and immediately I knew something was off because of how blank yet nervous his expression was. One hand was on the handle of the gate, as if he were about to open it completely, but stopped once I turned around.

Somehow, my fight or flight instinct didn’t kick in yet. It was probably the alcohol. I cautiously called down, “can I help you?” and he didn’t respond. I looked him over more closely, and realized then that his other hand, the one not on the gate, was moving. Fast. Low. Near his waist. I registered that he was touching himself, gasped, and within milliseconds, he was sprinting up the stairs behind me, reaching out his hand to grab me. My brain clicked into place and I started screaming at the top of my lungs as I jammed my key into the door and slammed it behind me. I ran up the stairs to my apartment screaming for my dad, not even stopping to make sure the door was locked, thinking that if he followed me upstairs, he’d soon be met by my very tall father and our very loud dogs, who slept in the bedroom right next to our apartment door.

As I looked over my shoulder while tearing my way upstairs, I saw his face pressed up against the glass window, still watching me, but now his eyes were furious. I ran into our apartment, still screaming to my parents to call the police.

My dad went downstairs and looked around, but he was gone. The police came anyways after my mom called, and came upstairs to take my statement so they could make their report. The two cops who showed up asked me to describe him. I did, and they said they’d cruise around looking for him and regardless of if he was found a detective would call me soon to make a more detailed report. They never called me.

There were many more rapes and assaults that continued to take place in my neighborhood for the rest of the summer. I shudder every time I think about what would have happened if I hadn’t taken out my headphones before I began unlocking my door. I don’t know how long he was following me for, and as far as I know he was never caught. From that point on, for those last few weeks before I left for college, I would call my dad and make him meet me at the train station so he could walk me home safely.

Now, as an adult, I am far more cautious than I was as a teenager. I am always extra aware of my surroundings, especially at night, and I don’t look at my phone while I walk home. I’ll never get the image of his blank stare as he lunged towards me out of my head. I will never forget the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized that he followed me home, watching me and touching himself, and was now waiting to strike.

It was like being a deer realizing it’s being stalked by a tiger, because the tiger accidentally stepped on a twig and gave itself away, right before it could pounce on its prey.

EDIT: Thank you all so much for the love and well wishes, it’s very appreciated! I’m glad (but also sad) that this story can serve as kind of a lesson for people, especially young people— always be aware of your surroundings, even when you think you’re in a safe place! I was literally right at my doorstep but so close to danger. It sucks that young women have to worry about shit like this even so close to home. We shouldn’t have to, but we do.