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Remember that time when you hadn’t seen that so-called
friend who stalked you and then you walked into a conference and he was there? For me, that time was last week.
On campus and in town, I’ve haven’t laid eyes on the man who
came to my house, expressly uninvited, and stood waiting outside my door until
I opened it to take the dog outside, for six months. On his part, that day was
no whimsical drop in—he had to drive almost an hour to my village, park his car
down the street where I couldn’t see it, and stand outside my door without
knocking—just waiting.
I didn’t register his presence when I first arrived at the
conference last week, even though there were only 20 or so people in the room.
I was busy looking over the event brochure. Then I scanned the room for people
I knew; I saw a former professor, a former classmate and then him.
My stomach sank and for a moment I contemplated leaving—but I
had driven an hour to be here and I really didn’t want to let this man’s
actions prevent me from taking part in the conference; even though his being
there certainly distracted me and I barely heard the opening remarks.
I had been dreading the day when we would inevitably be in
the same room again. After the stalking event, I sent him a message telling him
what he had done --because I have learned from experience that stalkers don’t
usually identify their behaviour as stalking—and that he should under no
circumstances contact me again or purposely be in my immediate vicinity. He
hasn’t. And I haven’t seen him, which is surprising given the size of this
town. But this is a small place and I knew the situation was inevitable; I just
wasn’t expecting it. I hadn’t for a moment considered that he might be at this
conference.
After I notice him, two tables away from me, I see that he
notices that I noticed him. Our eyes didn’t meet or anything like that, but I
could see him shrink in his chair and pull his ball cap down; trying to become
invisible without much hope of succeeding in such a small group. I keep looking
at him and past him, so he knows I am not leaving. It’s his turn to feel
uncomfortable. What if I tell everyone what he did?
There’s work to be done and before we are split into groups
according to our registered preferences, I wonder what will happen next and
what I will say. What if we end up in the same group? There are very few people
here and the probably is high.
With all that has gone on with the #MeToo movement in recent
years I decide that if we are in the same group, I will say that I can’t work
with this particular man. I wouldn’t want to say more and I doubt that I would
be pushed to; but I do know that I will not choose a group I don’t want to be
in just so I can avoid him. And I also know I won’t just suck it up and work
with him in the same group silently seething contempt. Those days are over for
me and hopefully for all women and girls—though I doubt we have come that far
yet.
While I run scenarios in my head, everyone starts to make their
way to the one of four tables where topics have been assigned. He stands up, clocks
where I am headed, makes some brief comment to the table where he has been
sitting and leaves the conference.
He’s afraid of me, and that’s good. After he took away my
feeling of security in my own home, I hope he feels some fear of repercussions
for his actions. I hope he didn’t return to the conference on the following
days because he worried that I would be there. I hope he knows I want to make
him uncomfortable.
The day following my personal showdown with the stalker, I
heard about the uproar caused at France’s version of the Oscars when actresses
walked out of the event when Roman Polanski (who was charged and convicted of a
sex crime) won top awards. The protest was expected, but what was more interesting
to me was the fact that Polanski hadn’t attended the award ceremony because he
was afraid for his safety. I have to admit, that news made me smile.
Polanski and people like him, people like my stalker, should
be afraid. Not necessarily of violence but of being confronted by the people
they have harmed—the people they made feel unsafe in their workplace, their
school and in their own homes.
