Another Story ...

Well, nothing new on the homefront so I figured I'd just tell another story to help pass the time here. This actually isn't anything funny, but rather the scariest thing that has ever happened to me.

Two years ago (July 9th to be exact - it was my parent's wedding anniversary), I was on the first day of my vacation and I was returning home from visiting a friend. It was about 11 o'clock at night and I had to get up the next morning for a job interview in New Jersey.

I live on a small quiet tree-lined street just south of Rittenhouse Square. It's a neighborhood that has been on the upswing for several years, with houses being refurbished as doctors from the neighboring Graduate Hospital and professionals from Center City and nearby University City started moving back into Philadelphia. Although it bordered an "iffy" neighborhood to the south (now seeing its own revitalization), I really never had any problems in the six years I had lived on the block...

Until this particular night...

It was a warm summer night and the walk home was calm and uneventful, I walked up to my door and pulled out the keys. I unlocked the wrought-iron gate and slid the key into the door, unlocking it and stepping inside the threshold. As I turned to shut the gate, I suddenly spotted a tall husky dark skinned black guy a few feet away from my stoop. The only thing I remember outside of his size and skin color was an oversized blue football jersey with big white numbers on the front.

I had one hand on the gate and the other holding the key, ready to put it into the lock. I still wasn't thinking much of the guy standing at the foot of my stoop. People walk back and forth on my street all the time.

"Are you Angie?" He asked.

The question threw me. Did I look like an Angie? What kind of an "Angie" would sport a buzz cut and goatee? "What?" I replied, still in the same position; key in hand, holding the gate closed.

"Are you Angie?" He repeated the question.

It had all happened in the matter of seconds and before I knew it he was grabbing the gate and was trying to pull it open.

"NO!" I yelled, trying to pull the gate back to me. Thinking about this after the fact, I realized I should've just jumped back and slammed the door shut in his face, but my mind was telling me that this wasn't actually happening. In fact, several things started racing through my head at once, but I figured this guy would give up quickly and head off down the street.

Unfortunately, that wasn't what happened.

He pulled the gate open and pushed me back into the house. "Get in there!" His voice was a deep, harsh whisper and I could see now that he was a good six inches taller than me and easily out-weighed be about 60 pounds. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and kicked the door shut behind him. "Gimme your money!"

Being summer, my livingroom window was open, but unfortunately, since I overlooked the street and passersbys always seemed to glance in, I had the blinds drawn. I screamed for help, all the while trying to push him away and break free from his grip. With one hand clutching my shirt, my eyes grew wide in panic as I saw him reach into his back pocket and pull out a large knife.

"Get down on the floor." He commanded.

I continued to pull away until he wrapped an arm around me and pushed me down on the ground, face down. His entire weight was put on me as he layed down ontop of me and whispered into my ear: "I don't wanna hurt you. Don't scream." I can feel the knife against my neck, but I couldn't shut up. I screamed again, my yells muffled in the rug. I felt a pressure around my neck as my screams were suddenly cut off. I realized with a rapidly growing fear that he was strangling me. "I said I don't wanna hurt you. Don't make me. Just shut up." I tried quieting down, but every time his grip relaxed around my neck, I would yell again and his grip would tighten again, harder that previously.

I remember seeing white spots infront of me and feeling his free hand rummaging through my pockets. I knew I had no money on me, but I couldn't tell him this because every time I spoke, the hand around my neck would tighten more. He pulled out my wallet and emptied on the floor around me. He pulled out my cigarettes out of my front pocket.

There were two scenarios going through my mind while I lay there with his fingers clutching my throat: he would realize I had no money on me and leave or he would realize I had no money on me and kill me.

The answer came quickly enough...

"Let's see what you got upstairs." His hot breath was on my ear as a new thought and a greater fear entered my mind. My bedroom was sealed off. I had the air conditioner going up there and, if no one was hearing my pleas from the first floor open window, there was no way I was going to survive being taken up to the second floor and into a dark bedroom.

He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me across the hardwood floors. Across the back of one of the dining chairs was a pair of dress pants. With one hand gripping my shirt, he grabbed the pants with his free hand and quickly felt the pockets for anything before tossing them onto the floor. Then he got a better grip on me and started dragging me up the tightly winding stairs towards the second floor.

As we neared the top of the stairs, it became apparent that this was going to be my last day on earth if I didn't do something. On one hand, this guy was much bigger than me and I was no match for him. I was exhausted from my struggle already and I was convincing myself that this was it. I was a dead man. Random thoughts of my friends, family and my ultimate demise floated through my head like confetti in a ticker-tape parade. Who would find me? Would it be painful? This would destroy my mother. Would I suffer? Will it be several stabs or a quick slashing of the throat?

On the other hand, something very strange entered my head among all the fears and images. Guests that I've had in my house, I had always had to warn them of the steps and their head. It's not a spiral staircase, but a tightly wound circular set of stairs and, if you weren't careful, you can easily bang your head on the ceiling or take a spill if your feet weren't properly placed on the tread. My last hope for survival was knowing my stairs!

We reached the top of the stairs. All the while he was dragging me up, I tried to make myself as much dead weight as possible. The guy was strong, but had tired himself by the time he reached the 2nd floor. The hall was dark. It wasn't even a hall really, more so just a small landing about 5 feet by 3 feet with my closed bedroom door to the right, a 2nd bedroom door at the top of the stairs and the bathroom to the left.

The guy slipped on the last stair and fell on his ass on the landing, but his grip was still on my arm. I figured what did I have to lose at this point. I was either going to die in the bedroom or right here on the stairs, so I may as well give it all I had left in me.

Screaming, I started swinging my free arm every which way. I was on the stairs and he was on his ass on the floor. In all the commotion, I had forgotten that he had a knife. I saw him reaching behind him, searching the floor. He dropped it!! This was my very last chance. I swung, punched, pulled and yelled. Every ounce of adrenaline pumped through my body in a last ditch effort to save myself. I blindly swung my fists and suddenly felt him release me. If I had been smart, I would've run at that time. But smart wasn't happening. Fear and anger kicked in and I continued swinging on the guy. He was still on the floor and trying to get himself up, but I remained on the stairs and continued punching. I wasn't even sure if I was hitting him and I really didn't care.

Finally, he squeezed by me and shoved me up against the wall. This was his chance to do some damage, but he shoved me aside instead and rushed off down the stairs. I sat down on the step and watched him head for the front door. My chest heaved, trying to catch some air and I felt a dull throb on the side of my head, but it was over. I couldn't believe what had just happened, but I survived!

"You scream like a bitch." He said over his shoulder as he reached the front door and pulled it open.

Something inside of me snapped at that point. In one second, I was thankful to be alive, but in the next, after he had the balls to call me a bitch, a blinding rage took over. I screamed at the top of my lungs and went running down the stairs after him. All thoughts of what I had just been through had vanished. All thoughts of his size or the weapon he carried. All of it was wiped from my mind as I went running after him.

He calmly walked outside and threw the gate closed behind him just as I was reaching the doorway. The metal gate banged inside the frame and I wrapped my fingers around the bars.

"Fuck you!!!!!!" I screamed at him as I watched him running down the street. I slammed the door shut and twisted the lock before running to the phone. I quickly dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1. What's your emergency."

"I was just attacked!!!" I screamed into the phone.

"Just calm down. We have your address. I'm sending police there now. Are you okay?"

I don't know what my reply was. I paced back and forth through the livingroom trying to tell the operator what happened.

-Was he in the house?
-Yes.
-Is he in the house now?
-No.
-Are you injured?
-Yes...no...I don't know.
-I'll stay on the line until the police arrive.

I then saw the knife.

It's amazing how much detail you can give when telling a story, but how quickly you can forget things while all sorts of emotions are coursing through your body. Remembering seeing him pull the knife out, remembering the knife to my throat, remembering him searching for the knife on the 2nd floor, I had completely forgotten about the weapon as I was speaking to the 9-1-1 operator. There it was, lying on the sofa at the bottom of the stairs. When he had dropped it, it must've toppled over the landing and landed on the sofa. It was a kitchen knife, the blade about 8 inches long. I imagined it slicing through my neck.

"Oh God!"

"Sir? Are you okay?"

"He had a knife!"

My legs turned to jell-o and I fell onto a chair just as five or six police cars pulled onto the street.
A policeman drove me around the neighborhood looking for the guy, but he was never found. They took the knife and my wallet (since, other than me, the guy didn't touch much of anything else) and checked for prints. Nothing was found.

I spent a couple of hours at the police station giving a statement, but nothing was ever done. I don't know how much (if any) effort was put into looking for the guy. Being a gay man, I suspect they probably figured this was a casual hook-up gone bad, but there's nothing I could do to prove my suspicions accurate. I'm just glad to be alive.

I spoke to some of my neighbors and, although my next door neighbor thought he heard something, most were ignorant to what had happened. A block meeting was scheduled for the following month and the block captain had written a really nice story of my struggle and how I had defended myself. I am proud of that. Here was this guy who was taller and bigger than me, probably high on drugs, and carrying a weapon, and I was able to fight him off and survive the attack with nothing more than a few scratches (from the knife or nails, I don't know) and a bruised throat.

I never let the attack scare me away from the city or the neighborhood. I still live in the same house, although I'm a little more vigilant when coming and going, especially after dark. My only hope is that the guy had overdosed on drugs and died somewhere in some dark alleyway.