2001-06-26 - 3:41 p.m.

Then they left, and I went out to meet P and Brad for what is becoming a weekly outdoor dinner with the dog ritual. I met them at Restivo in Chelsea, and I stood across 7th Avenue, waiting for the light to change, and wished I had a camera. They were sitting across from each other at an outdoor table, the dog curled up at P's feet, with P speaking in his usual hand waving animated way, and Brad leaning his elbow on the table, chin in hand, listening with an intent look. The umbrellas were up, the restaurant has window boxes and awnings and a brick front, and dark was just falling. During the course of dinner, two different homeless people accosted us. The first was when P was in the bathroom, and Brad and I just ignored him, persistent though he was, until he went away. The second, however, had the misfortune to approach after P had returned. He gave us some story about how he needed money to get the Long Island train home, someone stole his wallet, blah blah. Now. If that were me, and that legitimately happened, would I accost strangers on the street for money? Uh, NO. I would go to the train ticket window, explain my situation, and get a damn voucher, to be paid back later. Come on now. Anyway, P said no, very politely. The guy wouldn't stop, until P ended up, in a very aggressive tone, telling him we weren't interested in his story and he better just keep moving. Which he did. And that brings me to the point of this entry, really.

I wish I could do that. Not that I'm not mouthy and bold, in my way. But I am always aware of the physical danger. I sometimes wish I could verbally defend myself against this kind of harassment, without fearing for my safety. It's frustrating, really. I try not to let people intimidate me. But there is always that nagging fear in the back of my head that the person could be crazy, or armed.

So after dinner, Brad walked me almost all the way home, until I finally turned him around. "Go, go, I'll be fine!" And as I walked, I noticed my heightened awareness of what was going on around me. How I take the route that leads me down the busiest streets - if I turn here, I'll pass a restaurant, bar, restaurant, all night deli. If I give up this shortcut and go to my actual street, I'll pass two restaurants, the firehouse, the parking garage, and Taj in the newsstand. Safe. Safer, I should say. I think it was that girl being attacked in her own vestibule. As I pass all that, and approach my corner, I see a dirty construction worker type guy in front of my building. As I get closer, he stops and leans on the leftover Gay Pride police barricade, and takes out a pack of cigarettes. I instantly decide to keep walking. The modulated male voice of one of those safety messages in my head, "If you feel like you're in danger, don't go home." So I go around the block, and take out my cell phone to call the boyfriend. Who doesn't answer. Then P, who also doesn't answer. You know, to be on the phone when I come back to the building. Safer.

And as I walk, I am aware of everyone who passes me. I watch shadows on the sidewalk to make sure no one is turning around after they pass. Cross the street, where there are more people. Stick close to the people I deem safe. Couples, neighborhood people walking their dogs, the elderly, most women. When I turn back onto my block, I instinctively look up to see if Matt, the neighborhood vigilante, is home. If his light is on, and his window is open. And then I see that the police barricade is deserted. So I go to my door, and as I do, the boyfriend calls. So I go in, and all is well. And probably would have been anyway. But I'm not taking any chances.

The disturbing thing is that I do all that unconsciously. Automatically. Every time I'm walking alone, late at night. Especially now. After that girl. Better safe than sorry, I think.

last - next