I will remember June 21st 2010 in a weird way. That day, a little over three weeks ago, I was battered, without much reason at all, by some soccer fans.
On the way to the supermarket with my girlfriend and her dog, we had just made it 50 meters from her apartment, when a “happy” group of soccer fans, all dressed up to celebrate their team (it was the world cup, mind you), came our way on the pavement.
Shoulders brushed – not really accidentally on the other side. I apologized anyways, to be on the safe side. Don’t argue with drunken people, I have learnt. Their logic does not compare to yours. “It’s all good, just walk on” I said.
“What if I don’t want to walk on?” was the reply, yelled at me from behind.
The next moment the shoulder-brusher grabbed me so hard it caused bruises through the leather jacket I was wearing. First I was yelling back at him to stop and at his friends to get him to order. Soon enough I was just screaming for help, of the top of my lungs, for the first time in my life. In a matter of seconds the situation had gone out of hand – I realized that I was not strong enough to get that man off me, I lost control. Moments later he pushed me against a parked car and choked me with both hands, so that I couldn’t scream anymore. Then the setting changed, I was thrown to the street and with the help of one other guy I got some kicks in the stomach as well.
It all lasted all but a minute, then my attackers were convinced by their entourage that it would be wise to get away before my calls for help were answered.
They got on their way, I got on my feet. My girlfriend, who had ran for help, returned with the most worried look on her face you can imagine. I looked battered – I was, but I wasn’t bleeding, I was walking by myself – by all counts, I was good.
For a moment I considered to just let it be. They would be gone anyways, long before the cops arrived – and I sure as hell would not run after them, asking for seconds. But it did not ring right… for the first time in my life I had screamed for help, because I feared for my life. That could not be let go like this. So I called the cops.
They arrived ten minutes later, the attackers long gone, and looked disappointed to just see me there, with my leather jacket in my hand, and a ripped-apart t-shirt underneath. Still, they called an ambulance to make sure I am OK. By the time the ambulance arrived, I had started shaking, the adrenaline wearing off. To be on the safe side, they drove me to the hospital for a complete checkover.
We waited. And waited. Of course, the “polytrauma” in the other room had a higher priority than me. I had walked into the emergency room myself, so by definition I wasn’t an emergency. When the doctor came, he ordered an ultrasound and an x-ray scan of my abdomen to make sure my internal organs were OK. Luckily, they were. I had officially come away with bruises – on my neck and on my arm.
The next day: More doctors. First the forensic medicine department of another hospital, to get an official report on my injuries as evidence, should the thing go to court (I had filed against my attackers, regardless of them being gone). Then the “normal” doctors for a sick certificate.
And some time to think.
Nothing really happened. And a lot. I had never gotten into a real fight in my life. Somehow my world had been shaken a little bit, and I needed some time to deal with that. A lot of talking. This blog post. Realizing and accepting that although my body was left quite intact (thank god!), it still had an effect on me, and it is OK for me to not be over it immediately.
A week later, somebody bumped into me from behind – just ever so slightly. I got pale, and my heart started racing…. apart from that, it seems that the way I dealt with it helped. I’m just a bit more cautious now when coming across drunk people. Their logic does not compare to mine, at all.