Often we read about domestic violence and assume that it tends to happen at home behind closed doors. News articles tell us that police are called to a home on such-and-such a block, and we usually ignore the details. Sometimes, however, violence comes outdoors, and I witnessed something brutal between two people last week shortly after posting for this weekly blog.
On my way home last week, I stopped to pick up dinner, and I was waiting for traffic to move from the opposing direction before heading town a secondary road. As I slowed down near a supermarket parking lot, my eye was drawn to something light moving to my right, which turned out to be somebody parked perpendicular to the other parking spaces, leaning into the back seat of a two-door white vehicle. I quickly saw that it was rather lanky man wearing sweatpants which were tenaciously held up at his hips. That makes the seat portion of any trousers wrinkle with every move like a tethered flag struggling to free itself. I didn’t pay more than a second’s attention as I pulled further forward waiting to merge.
It was then that movement caught my eye again, and as I looked over, the man had retrieved a woman from the back seat, pulled her from the vehicle, dropped her to the ground, and was now standing over her with fists raised and his voice filled with anger. The woman held up her hands defensively as she tried to back away while he restricted her movement.
In an intense moment like this, lots of things happen at once; I determined, first of all, that he was not wielding a weapon (thank goodness), then that I wasn’t sure if anybody else was in the vehicle, for my thoughts went instantly to whether children were witnessing this. My next idea was a course of action, so I activated my emergency services in my car and asked the advisor to contact the police department for me. The next thought that came to me, while the advisor was talking to me (was I in danger, what was happening that the police needed to come, etc.), was whether I should intervene, pull out my cell phone and record, or something–anything–to put a stop to what was unfolding. The police station was literally two addresses down from the shopping center, but being a weekend, nobody was there, at least not in front of the building.
In the time it took for this, a matter of seconds, the man had stepped back, and the woman got up and entered the car again through the passenger side.
The answers to my first questions to myself came up as no, and I felt my best action was to get away from the traffic, so I drove the few yards and pulled into the police station parking lot as the dispatcher came on the phone. I relayed the details of what I had witnessed. A police vehicle, which had apparently been in the back parking lot of the station, sped out of the driveway, lights flashing, as I finished the call with dispatch.
She thanked me for calling it in, and I told her that if I were in such a situation, I would hope that somebody would call for me.
I left contact information, but nothing ever came of it. I will never know if they were still there, or if the woman was okay. I will say that I believe the assistance available out there can help a person get out of a situation of domestic abuse, so I am including the Domestic Abuse Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or you can text 88788.
I’m glad I didn’t do nothing, but I can still see the images of that terror in my mind, and I can’t do anything about that. They may never go away.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 