Write about your reaction to a crisis you experienced: This was a writing prompt from “The One Minute Writer” blog.

Not many people can claim that two of their college roommates dropped out of school, but I can. Not that I really want that particular claim to fame, but it remains true all the same. My roommate sophomore year just couldn’t get to class. During my senior year, a different roommate experienced a mini-meltdown and moved home.
As a result of my disappearing roommates, I lived alone in an apartment on campus for part of my senior year. During this time, I would set my alarm for 5am and go out for a run before my classes each morning. One October morning, I put on my shoes, bending over to tie the laces as I have since mastering the task in kindergarten, two bunny eared loops, cross them in an X, then wrap one ear down and through. Pull both ears and you’ve got tied laces! Grabbing my walkman I quick footed it down the stairs out onto the quiet street.

I never quite caught on to the college habit of embracing the wee hours of the night. My habit to rise early in the morning as a college student wasn’t one I broadcasted to my peers. It seemed like doing so would be the equivalent as getting the following tattooed on my forehead. “I would rather greet the day cheerily than party with rigor through the night.” and in italics underneath it would say, “I swear I’m not a boring loser-really.” Being a morning person in college takes a lot of explaining. I often found myself backpedaling furiously when the topic arose, hoping to convey that I was not in fact antisocial or weird. Sometimes I just didn’t have the energy or desire to defend my preferences.

Heading out into the run for the day, my lungs gratefully sucked up the inky autumn morning. As I turned right onto the main drag in campus, congratulating myself on another morning out of bed and into the world before all others, I realized that I hadn’t yet turned my walkman on. The silence of the dark morning had felt so good, peaceful and whole. I relished those sensations as my legs warmed up.

The well-lit street main drag of campus was lined with old houses on the right and the expansive Dunn Meadow on the left. I chose the open side. My skin pleasantly began to perspire under my IU rowing t-shirt. Without looking in the mirror, I knew my cheeks would have the bright red glow that earned me the nickname, “Tomato Face” in my high school gym class. It didn’t take much effort for my complexion to flush. PE teachers sometimes would furrow their brow during class and ask me if I felt ok.

My thoughts broke off as the scene before me shifted suddenly. A man in a grey sweatshirt popped up out of the bushes lining the small front lawns of the houses on the right side of the street. He must have been crouching behind them. “Hey there,” he whispered. My heart slammed against my chest. You have got to be kidding me I thought. Quickly, I scanned the street. No one in sight. No lights on inside any of the houses. There I was, on the main street of Indiana University’s campus, normally packed with people throwing Frisbees, sitting in the sun reading, smoking cigarettes and laughing with friends, and the road was barren and silent. It struck me as amazing that this man and I seemed to be the only ones awake, the only ones pulling the air through our noses into our bodies, the only ones in this sudden show-down.

Without moving my head, I looked out of the corner of my eye, he’d begun hop skipping sideways in an aerobic like manner, watching me, sensing my fear, smiling. I believed he thought my walkman was on, that I wasn’t quite aware of him. I knew I would have to cross the street and try to bang on one of the houses doors. But which one? Many were simply offices for various campus groups. No one would be there at this hour. At the end of the street Sigma Chi’s front light shone brightly. Although no lights glowed from the windows, I felt confident that if I pounded hard enough and screamed, they would come to the door. Just as I made this decision and picked up the pace of my running, the man made his own decision and darted towards me from across the street.

I remember thinking, “Oh my God, this is like a bad afterschool special. This cannot really be happening.” In that moment, a figure appeared to my left and as the man’s hand reached out for my arm, calmly said, “Scream, now.” And I did. I opened my mouth and the scream enveloped the spaces left open, spaces that would be filled in just a few hours with backpacks and bleary eyed students. I felt as an opera singer must feel on stage. The scream completely took over my body. Shocked and wide eyed, the man turned to flee in the opposite direction. Still screaming, I somehow found myself at Sigma Chi’s door, where I pounded on their door with my closed fist. After what felt like a decade, hand flew up the stairs from behind me and wrapped his arms around me, “Hey, it’s ok, you’re okay.” he said. I collapsed in his arms. The door opened and several Sigma Chi guys dressed only in their boxers stood looking down at the two of us with concerned expressions on their pillow creased faces.

The police were called. The president of the house led me to a ridiculously formal red velvet chair in the fraternity’s front room. The boys milled around, unsure of what to do. The man who found me was from the local ROTC. He told me that they were two streets over, doing their morning run, when they heard my screams. Half of them took off towards me and the other half spotted a man running away and pursued him.

The police officer arrived and I gave a description of the man and recounted what had happened. He shared that a man with a similar description was wanted for various sexual assault charges occurring over the last few months. The officer recommended not running the same route each day on my runs, that I should switch it up. He felt that the man had probably noticed I ran the same loop about 4 days a week and then just waited for me to show up. He questioned me and a few of the ROTC men, then drove me home to my apartment.

After walking into my apartment and securely locking the door, I picked up the phone to call my parents. Before I could finish the story, I started crying. I didn’t want to burden m y parents with worry, but I knew I needed to tell them. My mom said she could come out for a few days, but I flatly refused. Even though I was living by myself at the time, I felt that if I didn’t push myself to get through it, I wouldn’t ever feel safe by myself again.

Ironically, the next day at school, my mom’s assistant, Beth told my mom that her daughter, also a Kate, had called her concerned about an incident on campus. Kate also attended IU. Her boyfriend, a ROTC guy, called her the night before pretty upset. He explained they were out for their morning run, and a girl started screaming. “I’ve never heard screaming like that before,” he told her. He got to the girl in time, but that could have been Kate. Some of the other ROTC guys went after him, but guy got away. He wanted her to be careful. It shook them all up. Kate called her mom, feeling a bit freaked out. Of course the girl was me.

What pissed me off the most was not the actual experience of fear, because I had been really lucky. I felt incredibly grateful for the ability to scream and the ROTC’s presence just a few blocks away. What pissed me off was the fear that lingered for years afterwards. Anytime I found myself outside after dark, my heart pounded. Later, when I lived in an apartment with street parking, I found the need to work up my courage to walk down the dark staircase and unlock my car. I will never forget the joy I felt when Josh and I moved into our first townhouse. We had a garage! I no longer had to scope out an area before heading to my car early in the morning or at night. I can still identify a blind spot a mile away. I am constantly aware of my surroundings as I walk or bike anywhere. Because, ultimately, I think that awareness also helped me. Had my walkman been on, he may have been able to surprise me, but that day for whatever reason, it wasn’t.
I did get a new and wonderful roommate, Heidi. Was the figure that showed up next to me a figment of my imagination? A guardian angel? I don’t know. But I found myself asking for its protection and help the next week when I forced myself to get up at 5 am and take a run. I did not bring a walkman. I took a different route. I ran for about 15 minutes. The whole time I chanted the following phrase over and over in my head, “I am not scared of you. You did not win. I am not scared of you. You did not win.” And when I walked back into my apartment around 5:17, I knew I wouldn’t be lacing up my shoes early in the morning again anytime soon, but it felt good to make the point. You did not win.