If you had chosen to do “x” or not to do “x,” what might have happened?
• How significant are the outcomes of either direction?
• If you had the chance to do this again, what changes would you make?
• How might this project or experience shape the goals that you set for your future?
• How might what you have learned affect your future learning decisions?
It is my hope that these four dimensions of reflection will add to your body of knowledge about your past experiences and increase your wisdom and understanding as you reflect, journal, and pray about your life story.
Chapter 1
Desperate
Every bone in my body trembled. Shivers from the tension and the cold pulsed through my veins. My coat was still inside. With my arms wrapped around my body, I crouched as low as I could go, hiding behind a car in the parking lot of a crowded nightclub. I tried to tell myself that he wouldn’t be able to find me there. My eyes peered uselessly into the darkness, looking for a shadow I didn’t want to see.
How did I end up in this terrifying place?
The car belonged to a classmate of mine from university who had given me a ride. She was still in the bar along with the other friends who had come with us.
How long will it take for them to come out? Am I safe here in the parking lot, or is this the most dangerous place to be? Will he find me here?
The heavy wooden door of the club creaked a threat every time it opened and closed. Footsteps crunched on the pavement. I tried to focus on my plan of action. I needed to think of a way to protect myself if he found me.
I prayed with desperation.
Lord, please protect me. Please keep me safe from him. I don’t know why I came here, Lord. Please help me to get home safely.
The plans for the evening sounded like fun the day before. Two classmates from one of my university classes invited me to a party. I didn’t know them outside of class but sat next to them in a mandatory course, bonding with them over our shared sense of humour. We kept ourselves engaged in the boring class by counting the mispronounced repetitions of our foreign professor with a thick accent. We created a code to decipher his poor pronunciations, rolled our eyes at each other, and snickered silently during the lectures.
When we chatted after class, I let it slip that my usual gang of friends had gone home for the weekend and I had no plans for Saturday evening. They convinced me to come to a “fun” party with them where many other classmates would be hanging out. They asked for my address and generously offered to give me a ride.
As soon as I got to the party Saturday evening, I realized I had made a fateful choice. The putrid smoky air reeked of marijuana, liquor, and drugs of every kind. I tried to stick close to my classmates, but it didn’t take long for them to forget about me. They disappeared into the crowd diving into the alcohol and drugs that were available. I noticed some familiar faces from my classes and started awkward conversations with a few who seemed sober. Music blared, pounding the beat into our heads.
A few hours dragged by, and then the party was on the move. The gang of partyers decided they needed more room to dance, so they were heading to a popular nightclub.
If only I’d brought my own car.
My classmates ignored my plea for a ride back to my place and dragged me along to the bar. My excuses fell flat since they needed me to be their designated driver.
It was there, on the dance floor of the nightclub, where I found myself in an unexpected and terrifying trap. It started with an invitation that seemed innocent. A good-looking, strong, athletic guy came up to our table and insisted that I dance with him. I had no interest in this dancing partner, but he was not the type to take “no, thank you” for an answer. He kept insisting I dance with him, so I consented. Even though the first few dances were fairly harmless, something about my partner started to make me feel uncomfortable. I was grateful that the bar would close soon, and I could get out of there.
After several songs, the lights dimmed, and the music slowed down for a more intimate dance. I politely thanked my partner and tried to leave the dance floor. He grabbed my arm and yanked me back towards him. He squeezed his arms around me in a tight grip that wouldn’t allow me to move. I struggled, but he pulled my body more tightly against his. He pressed his lips into my ear and spoke a claim on me that sent shivers of dread into my body and soul.
“You’re mine tonight, bitch.”
I danced the last slow dance in a frozen, rigid state, firmly stuck in the grip of my aggressive partner. I tried to get a glimpse of my classmates, but they were lost in the crowd of partyers, oblivious to the dangerous man holding me captive.
As the song came to a close and the other dancers began to separate, my dance partner lightened his grip slightly. With every ounce of fight that I could muster, I squirmed out of his grasp. I frantically scanned the club for my friends, but they were nowhere in sight. My eyes landed on the exit door, and I ran towards it as fast as my trembling legs would go. I fled for safety to the parking lot, hiding behind the wheel of my classmate’s car. The keys were in her purse. I huddled there, hoping he hadn’t seen which direction I went. I didn’t look back. Had he followed me? If he found me now, I was an easy target. I was completely vulnerable in the parking lot, and no one would hear me if I screamed.
What a stupid move.
As I crouched next to the passenger door of my classmate’s car, shivering with cold, fear, and embarrassment, I tried to think of how I could get help. Going back into the club was not an option.
Pray, just pray.
With my eyes wide open, still peering with dread into the darkness, I repeated the same prayer several times.
Lord, please protect me. Please keep me safe from him. Please help my friends to come out soon. I don’t know why I came here, Lord. Please help me to get home safely.
As the minutes passed by, my terror lessened. I tried to tell myself that if he was still looking for me in the parking lot, he would have found me by now. I was freezing, but there was no way I was going back into that bar.
A distinct memory from a few weeks before invaded my thoughts. It was the last thing I wanted to think about at the time, but the reality of my situation brought back the vivid details of this recent frightful memory.
My roommate and I were sound asleep in our apartment, the window propped open for fresh, cool air. We were both startled at two in the morning by a terrifying scream that pierced the night. It came from one of the parking lots eight storeys below our apartment in the student residences. We told ourselves it was probably just some kids partying and goofing around and went back to sleep. We heard the next morning that a female student had been the victim of a rape in the area of our residence. It had happened in a parking lot.
Rumours surrounding the rape were all over campus, and I wasn’t sure about the full truth behind the stories, but there was no doubt that the girl who was attacked that night was devastated. She quit university and moved back home. Her rapist had not been identified or caught. He was still at large.
It seemed like hours before my classmates came out of the club and found me, still crouching by the wheel of the car. I tried to tell them about my fearful situation, but they were too inebriated to care. They just laughed it off. I was the designated driver, once again, despite my trembling hands. I manoeuvred my classmate’s car mechanically down one street, one corner at a time, ignoring the ridiculous jabber of my intoxicated crew. I’m still not sure how we all managed to get home safely that night, but we did.
Was it just luck, or had God answered my feeble, desperate prayer?
As I lay safe and sound in bed at the student residence, I realized that I had survived a threatening situation that could have turned out like the girl who had been raped in the parking lot just below