After my commencement
at the University of Michigan in 1997, I took a year off because I hadn’t
thought enough of myself that I could get into law school. I’d taken the GRE,
not the LSAT in the fall of 1996, a total waste of money and time. You live and
learn. I relocated to the eastern outskirts of Ypsilanti after my lease was up
in Ann Arbor. Goodbye, college years.
I used the time to
prepare for the LSAT being offered in the fall of 1997. In the meantime, I’d
applied to Eastern Michigan University in Ypsilanti as a backup plan of sorts.
I did eventually take a semester’s worth of classes for “shits and giggles”
because before classes started, I’d been accepted to…Ohio State Law School (the
BUCKEYES?!), so I knew I would be matriculating at SOME law school.
Often, I’d frequent
bars in Ypsi; I knew many bouncers and mostly would go there to hang out with
them while they were working. It was a pretty chill and fun time in my life. I
somewhat knew my way around Ypsilanti and would mostly take the most obvious
and reliable ways home. (I-94)
One night that winter,
I decided to take a different, backway home. I don’t know why other than I
wanted to get a better understanding of my surroundings. I started taking a
less-traveled way; I figured if I started to get lost, I’d backtrack to the way
I knew. I found myself on a deserted road heading towards the Ford plant.
Because it was so late, there was no traffic. Everything seemed so quiet and
still.
Upon approaching the
end of the road, I saw something that shocked the shit out of me: a waify girl
with long blonde hair, literally naked from the waist up (no coat, no shirt, no
bra), and no shoes or socks. She was sprinting through the snow on the edge of
the road. A million thoughts zipped through my mind, and I’ve often wondered
what other people would do. (Kind of like that show on ABC, where they set up
situations with actors: “What Would YOU Do?”)
I followed my instincts
and starter blaring my horn. I pulled over to the side of the road, rolled down
my window, and yelled: “Do you need help???” She ran to my car and got in. She
repeatedly shrieked: “He’s coming! He’s coming!”
I didn’t know what to
think or do, but I believed her because she seemed terrified, plus, she was
half-naked and freezing. I emphatically told her we needed to go to the police
station, even though I had no idea where it was. I mean, I didn’t even really
know where I was. She responded:
“No, baby girl. I just need you to get me to my old man’s house.” At this
moment, I’m stopped at a stop sign. I can turn left and go to her “old man’s
house” or turn right and head into downtown Ypsilanti, which I would assume has
a police presence, if not the actual station. I can’t go back the way I came
because “HE” is THERE! And HE IS COMING!
I stutter: “Butttt, we
NEED the police!” The year is 1998. I had my first cell phone, which I’d had
for maybe a year. That was my time where I only used it when needed, which
means: it wasn’t in my hand, it couldn’t HEAR me, Alexa, or Siri, or Bixby, or
whowhatever. Basically, it wasn’t a thought in my mind. I had a pager on my
pants, ok?
“Please, baby girl,
just take me to my old man’s house.” I turned left. I don’t think we drove for
more than five minutes, with me shrugging out of my Army green Nike winter coat
that was so warm and cool that I still have it, and as I pulled into the driveway,
“she” was warming up in the car and comfort of my jacket. I got out and came
around to help her, still so shell-shocked that I assumed she needed help. I
helped her out of the car, put my arm around her, and she leaned heavily on me,
though she wasn’t HEAVY. We went around to the back of the house, up a few
steps, and the door opened: “Girl, what happened to you?” This was said by a
man leaning against the doorway, drink in hand, leering and not at all taken by
surprise by the scene in front of him.
She went into the
house, and I followed. As I watched her disappear around a corner, I tried to
take in my surroundings. Some guys were just hanging out, listening to music,
drinking, and talking. Nobody reacted. Nobody asked a question. Well, one guy did
ask for my number. He got the now-defunct pager number.
A man appeared, her
“old man”, with my coat in his hand. He looked me in the eye, handed me my
jacket and said: “You must be an Angel sent by God to be where you were
tonight. Thank you.” I nodded, smiled, turned, and walked out.
About a week later,
some friends and I were taking a cab into Ypsilanti, and we passed by the spot
where this happened, although we were coming at it from a different direction.
I exclaimed: “This is where I was! This is where I picked up that girl!”
Having recognized the
alarm and excitement in my voice, the cab driver leaned back and asked: “What?
What girl? What happened?” I told him the story. As we turned right into
downtown Ypsi, he said, knowingly: “That girl is a prostitute who took a John
for a ride. And you are really lucky that she didn’t do the same to you.”
I leave you, the reader,
to draw your own conclusions.
