Today was a scary day.

Can I tell you? So much drama.
I'm actually having a bit of trouble typing because my hands are starting to shake again.

As you may already know, we're four days into the summer intensive theatre program over here at Youthworks. Today, during the lunch break, as I was returning to the building from the nearby food court, four of my students (all girls aged 10-15) were walking about thirty feet ahead of me. They passed by a man, who started calling out after them, and then proceeded to follow them. The girls were so great, they didn't freeze up, or dawdle or engage him in conversation, they kept their heads--they took one look at him and bolted together towards the building. They outstripped him, and so he began to shout obscenities after them and proceeded to hump the nearest tree and shout the things he'd like to do to them.

I felt this burst of adrenaline: fear and more predominantly anger. It was as though there was a five second delay between my reason and my reactions. All I felt was: Protect! Stop him! Fight! I know I wasn't reasonable because the man was huge, he had a good sixty pounds and a half foot over me. It was just this sense that he was a coward or mean spirited to try to pick on little kids. There was just something about the image that enraged me, to see this big white man harassing little black girls.

I ran up to him and started hollering at him: You shut up! Stay away from my kids! What's the matter with you? Don't you ever come anywhere near here again! You're not a human being! Go away right now!
That's when I realised that he was mentally disturbed or intoxicated, because he wasn't making any sense at all in what he was saying to me. Suffice to say, most of it doesn't bear repeating, and I've already begun to block it out of my memory. I can't handle it.

But he backed down, and so I ran after my students and accompanied them up the elevator to the office. They told me then that they recognized him, because security guards at the food court had already ejected him from the building. (I'm not sure if that happened that same day, or earlier in the week, they weren't clear about that.) And the youngest girl told me that something similar had happened to her this year as she was going home from school. It breaks my heart, the poor thing. But they were safe, unhurt, and didn't seem to be in any way traumatised; basically, they were no more fazed by the situation than it warranted. They laughed it off, and stored it upfor their annals as an anecdote to tell their friends.

Five minutes later, he came back upstairs into the office looking for them. All of the students were there having lunch, so they called out that he had come back and was headed for the emergency exit. All I could think was that if I didn't do something right then, they'd never feel safe, and I ran for my cell phone and chased him down the stairs, dialling 911 at the same time. I was telling the operator the situation when halfway down the stairs, he heard me speaking, turned back and came at me. Just as he pushed me, two of my colleagues were already running downstairs and caught up with us. Luckily, one of my colleagues is a big burly black guy, and the other is a little wiry girl with the spirit of a pit bull when she's roused. So while I'm talking to 911 and the police, telling them what's happening, he's shouting at us, and keeps making lunges at me. We herded him down the stairs and out into the street. Again, none of his talk bears repeating, and in any case, he was hardly making much sense.

Once outside, he threatened to come back to the building and cut off my foot and set the building on fire. Since the police were so slow in coming, I stayed on the cell with the operator and we kept watch over him. It was really unsettling because he wasn't going away, he kept weaving back and coming towards us, but it was a two steps forward, one step back kind of thing. He meandered around the neighbourhood, and even tried to break into peoples' homes. Not to get away I think, because he always remained in view.

But more than that, I just couldn't let him out of my sight. What if the police couldn't find him? What if he came back? Finally, the police came, we identified him, they apprehended him, and they promised to come back and to take our statements in ten to fifteen minutes.

As they were loading the guy into the back of the cruiser, he started shouting again and looking back over at me. Once he was safely inside the cruiser, I started thinking: What am I going to tell all the parents? How could I tell them what happened? How could I have let this happen? Why did I confront him? It was my fault that he came back after us and followed us to the building. What if something had happened to the kids? Are they even safe with me as a teacher? Maybe if I'd have left him alone, he would have just gone away.

When the police left, we started walking back to the building, and for the first time, it registered: I felt his hands pushing me in the chest again, and I cracked. All of the fear rolled over me, washing down my face and into my stomach and back up to the top of my head and then my feet and hands got so cold. That was so scary. What if I had shown even a little bit of weakness? What if Bruno and Naima hadn't come down the stairs at exactly that moment? Maybe things would have been worse. It started to get loud in my ears, and I had to push it out, push it away.

Thank God for coping mechanisms, and that mine tends towards activity, to productivity. I still had kids and colleagues to look after. (Well, not so much the latter, but I needed some purpose to cling to.) Everything became all about keeping the workshop going, sheltering the kids from the incident, keeping things going as normally as possible. Thankfully another one of my colleagues had remained upstairs with the students, and so I sent Bruno to go upstairs to them, reassure the students and start up the classes right away.

There was no way I was going back into the classroom until I had gotten myself sufficiently calmed down. There was absolutely no need to be a hero or to prideful, as though the workshop couldn't go on without me. I just didn't want to scare the kids, I didn't want it to become all about me, you know? I went upstairs, got some photo I.D. and planned the course of action to take for the next three hours with my boss.

Then I went back downstairs to wait for the police and give my statement to them. It was weird, all of a sudden, it seemed like every man that passed by weighed 250 pounds and was wearing a green shirt. No, seriously, you'd think there was convention or something, like there was a homing signal beckoning every man fitting that description in the city of Montreal to come and pass by the building where I was waiting.

Another police officer pulled up to take my statement. He invited me into the cruiser to write down all the information while he waited for another officer to come and bring him more forms. And it crossed my mind that for the first time, I was going to step into a police cruiser. And I was for some reason embarassed and ashamed to have to do so, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. All I could think was: how does this look, a black woman stepping into a police car? (I sat in the front seat.)

Thank God he had air conditioniting, because I kept having hot flashes. Anyway, we all gave our statements, I went upstairs to call the girls' parents and make sure they got picked up from the workshop. It's amazing what you can do when you have to, to be calm and reassuring because someone else needs you to be, when all you want to do is go curl up in a ball, bawl, and throw up (in no particular order). I mean, the girls were fine, very calm and unfazed at the moment, but what if it hit them later on tonight, or tomorrow? So they needed to be prepared to talk it through with the kids. I felt horrible: all of their parents were worried about their kids, and of course I felt guilty about the whole thing. And then we had to call all of the parents and let them know what happened.

Not a fun thing for a gal who hates and avoids confrontations and such. I'm the proverbial ostrich, normally. But I learned today that that's only the case it it concerns just me. I don't know how you parents do it. That terror, that protective instinct...it's just so overwhelming and overpowering. And you live with that latent current running thorugh your veins 24/7. I'm more convinced than ever that I could never have kids of my own, because I'll always have that running inside of me now. I never want to have to feel that burst again--agh, I don't know what I feel. I'm grateful for that instinct to have kicked in, but that power is a scary thing, that feeling that you would charge like a bull and destroy someone. I want it out of my body.

Anyway, although the experience was highly unpleasant, there are so many providential things to consider. First of all, I had a great staff on hand to hold down the fort. I was done teaching my sections for the day and had other workshop leaders who could take over for me while I was dealing with all the legal, administrative, and emotional stuff, and neither the kids nor the schedule were disrupted.

Second of all, that man was obviously sick and in need of help--crying out for it, I think, otherwise, why didn't he just run away as fast as he could? And because he assaulted me and issued death threats, the police had sufficient grounds to book him, and I had sufficient grounds to press criminal charges and request a restraining order so that the kids can be safe. Because of the criminal charges, they were able to pick him up and legally procure for him a psychiatric evaluation to see if he was competent to stand trial. One way or another, he'll get the help he needs. The policeman called me back and told me that the man is in custody and is going to appear in court tomorrow morning.

Third, I'm grateful that the situation kicked in protective instincts and the adrenaline to see things through to the end, and fairly quickly. There's something to experience in facing down an aggressor that is liberating--no, restorative. When you face down a threat and challenge it, push through your fear to push back, at least you feel as though you've at least done something, if not your best. I feel as though I've had a personal victory, that I will not be a victim of fear and intimidation. I'm not helpless. I didn't just let someone run roughshod over me, I didn't roll over, curl up, and cower. The survival instinct tells you that you have the right to be here, to be alive, that you have worth.

When I think about all the ways things could have gone so badly, I'm grateful that things happened the way that they did. Everything was contained. Everyone is safe. We did do the right thing. I have enough work on my plate today and over the next couple of weeks to keep me busy and functioning so that I don't collapse, until I have time to properly process it. I'm not hurt. Well, nothing that won't heal.
I think a sleeping pill is in order tonight. And junk food. Don't you?