Essay by Dimitrina Dimova
9:27p.m.
Spring has already bestowed numerous blossoms upon tree branches, but still the sun does not roam the sky for long and thus darkness prevails over its predecessor’s premature absence.
The movie begins at eleven. The train will be arriving some twenty minutes before.The seat which I chose in the overcrowded railroad terminal is cool against my skin and the brisk air turns my fingertips red. I await my friend silently.
The weather this evening is quite inhospitable as raindrops of considerable size plummet almost aggressively to the concrete ground. Such rainfall is not unusual for this time of the year, it seems almost intrusive, as if with a touch of righteous indignation.
Although such rainy weather ordinarily comforts me, distress is what I have to endure. Sitting by myself, I feel overwhelmed by the multitude of people in my vicinity. Though I only happen to notice male individuals. The atmosphere inside the aforementioned building is blasé, or so I expect it to be. In truth, I do not know. I am in a state of internal dispute, that I am unable to discern delusion from truth.
I am suddenly reminded of a line from a novel I read not too long ago.
“All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and the terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest.”
In every aspect I am dissimilar to them. A female has no business being here at night. Inferiority, they call it. I do not own the same privileges as them regardless of the law. I am expected to be aware of my social standing.
They and I do not share this feeling of fear.
If there are any females wandering around, my current state of mind does not allow me to perceive them. I can not seem to be at ease. Desperation compels me to cry out. Yet my body remains silent in protest.
“...assaults of apprehension…”
9:43 p.m.
A middle-aged man approaches the seat on my right. I tense up in response. “...I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest”.
.
9:45 p.m.
The man slides into the seat next to mine. He glances at me and greets me with a strange grin. I hesitate to respond to his eerie leer.
Is he aware of my fear?
I do not see a change of his expression that might indicate that he can sense my innermost thoughts. But then again, I can not be sure. For all I know he might just be a figment of my imagination.
9:48 p.m.
A group of men walk past me. I still can not seem to shake off the feeling of uneasiness. My limbs tremble and I seem to have lost complete control over my body.
I am cornered.
9:53 p.m.
My heart sinks as another man walks past me. This time I notice that he is grasping a glass bottle of some alcoholic beverage.
Will he harm me?
My hands reach my ears and offer them security. My limbs act independently. They do not await my command anymore. I can not seem to come to terms with the situation I am in. All I hear is this constant buzz. Why is it still so dangerous for a woman to go out at night all by herself? Why do I feel the need to change the side of the road when going out at night? Inferiority is eating away at me. The fear of going out alone during nighttime should be something unheard of.
So why do I, as a female, feel afraid to encounter men at night? Why is it me who needs to change the side of the road?
Why is it me that should dress modestly if I don't want to be molested?.
Why is it me and not them who is expected to comply with these social expectations?
10:18 p.m
A light tap on my shoulder brings me back to reality. Now I am able to differentiate voices once more. My vision has cleared as well and I notice that the rainfall outside has relented. Just as I recognise my friend's hand on my shoulder I come to the conclusion that I have been holding my breath. She notices my demeanour and questions it accordingly. I let her in on my fears. Her answer, though terse, sent an abrupt shiver down my spine.
“Me too.”