I Am Not A Victim

I work in an industry where writing words like “attempted kidnapping” and “jumped out of a moving car” trigger thoughts of mystery, thriller, and action adventure stories with powerful plots and exciting characters. In my world, I’m the reader, editor, business manager, and book pusher experiencing things through the mind of the author, not the actual person in a story.

Not this time.

This time I’m front and center in a truly surreal situation. I’m struggling to tell the story because I still feel outside of it. Disconnection from an upsetting event allows me to view it from an objective standpoint, and compartmentalizing is my favored coping mechanism in most emotion-filled instances. I dislike drama, so telling a dramatic story about myself is difficult because I want to temper my words and refrain from making people think I exaggerate using sensational descriptions. I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises…

Emily is more than just one of my clients.  We talk, text, or FaceTime nearly every day, and we were meeting in Miami for a business trip. With innumerable things to discuss and plan, we were taking the opportunity to meet in person for the first time. Grasping at the chance to escape winter, we made reservations and waited with anticipation. The night before my flight, a “wintry mix” (screw you, winter) hit our area.

10:30 p.m. February 10^th

I received a text saying my first flight was cancelled for “crew reasons”. *sigh* Phone call to American Airlines secured me a new flight.

2:40 a.m. February 11^th
My eyes popped open hours early, and I checked my phone for the hundredth time. My flight was still on time—YES!

4:30 a.m. February 11th
It was time to leave, but my car was stuck in the garage because my steep driveway sported a slick coat of ice. Wes and I made our way down to his truck without killing ourselves and were forced to wait as the stubborn ice adhered to the windshield. A few minutes later we cautiously pulled away from the house knowing a challenging trip loomed. It was a pretty short trip. Long story short, we slid down the first hill and landed perched halfway in a ravine. Ironically, a danger sign prevented us from hitting the bottom. (Insert picture) The uphill quarter mile walk in the dark without a coat was fun. Fun details: No coat, 18 degrees, pulled my suitcase up an icy hill. At the time I remember thinking, “Wow, that was scary.” I had no idea I’d know true fear before I slept again. Oh yeah, I missed that flight, obviously. *sigh*

11:10 a.m. February 11^th
Another phone call to American Airlines, and my new flight was due at 1:50 p.m. and would arrive—wait…no, never mind. Flight cancelled. New plan, fly out at 6:30 p.m. and arrive at 12:30 a.m. The tricky part was my layover was VERY short, and if I missed it I was stuck in the airport until the next day.

9:30 p.m. February 11th
The flight left relatively on time, and I hit the ground running—literally—and dashed through the airport. I had NO energy, was in an accident that morning and only slept 2.5 hrs the night before, but I stripped off my hoodie while I ran, pushing my suitcase, and carrying a backpack. I wheezed my way skidded to a halt at the gate literally ONE MINUTE before boarding, but I made it and knew I would be with Emily in only a couple of hours.  

12:30 a.m. February 12^th
I’d been awake for 22 hours, but I was IN Miami! YAY! I was cautiously optimistic, but when I look back at the texts as I stood waiting my turn to exit the plane, it gives me a chill.

I called her as I walked through the airport and searched for the taxi stand. I walked out the nearest exit and quickly realized I was in the wrong area, so I went back inside and found signs leading the way to the taxi area. When I found the correct place, I hung up with her.

Whoa! Hang on, don’t go anywhere, it isn’t over. If you’re still with me, do you remember the descriptive phrases in the beginning? Those are coming. In fact, you could title the next part Terror in the Tropics or maybe Taxicab Traitor, and this is the point where I mentally pulled away in order to tell the story. In fact, my hands literally shook on the keyboard typing this because the untapped emotions struggled to break free from the box where I neatly packaged and tucked them away. I’m okay...or I will be. You know why?  I’m not a victim...but I nearly was. Of what exactly, I don’t know, but it was bad, regardless.

I wasn’t scared to leave the airport alone at 12:30 in the morning. I was cautious, but I was determined to finish the trip and finally hug Emily. I’ve never needed a taxi before, but people use them every day, so it wasn’t a big deal. I followed the signs to the stand and found a lone taxi driver waiting.  I approached his car, and he rolled down the window and just stared at me. I asked him if he was available, but he just stared for several long seconds before asking where I was going in stilted English. I gave him the address, and he repeated it back to me one word at a time and nodded. I was already uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to be the idiot who let a language barrier deter me. He got out and tried to put my suitcase in the trunk, but something told me to refuse and insist I keep it with me. I listened to THAT inner voice, but I ignored the one telling me not to go with him. I didn’t trust myself, and that was a huge mistake. I thought I was merely nervous about the late hour and his lack of English, and I didn’t want to be THAT person, you know?

He finally pulled away from the curb and left the airport. A few minutes later he asked if I had cash. WTH? He was suddenly fluent in English. Yes, he had an accent, but he was communicating JUST FINE. He spent a couple of minutes trying to talk me into paying him cash and wanting to take me to an ATM.  I told him I wanted to use my credit card because I only had $20 on me. He kept insisting he needed cash and I made a big show of searching through my bag and finding a $20 tucked away. I knew the fare should only be around $35, but he told me it was going to be a lot more money, and I needed to use my credit card at an ATM. I told him I KNEW how far it was, and I could not do that with my card. He wanted to know why, so I lied and told him my card didn’t allow it. He stopped talking completely again and went back to pretending he couldn’t speak English, hear me, or understand me.

I climbed in, and he spent a couple of minutes fidgeting in the car, not speaking to me—just sitting there and messing with the windows and air conditioning. It was so hot inside the car, and it smelled as though he chain smoked inside. I've asked myself so many times, "Why didn’t I get out?" The answer is pretty simple: I did everything right. I followed the signs in the airport, went outside  the correct door, and found a taxi waiting. I told him where I needed to go, and he nodded after repeating it back to me.  Of course I wish I'd climbed out again, but why would I believe anything was wrong? I did everything I was supposed to.

At some point I told him he was going the wrong way, and he asked the address again.  He (fluently, mind you) told me that wasn’t the address I gave him. That asshole repeated the address back to me before I got in the car at the airport. He knew.

I have a weirdly in tune sense of direction, like a pull in my chest, and I couldn’t shake the apprehension building within me. Everything felt wrong. I called Emily and started talking loudly about where I was, how long it should take, and making sure he knew someone expected me. I knew my tone of voice wasn't normal, and that was my intention.

The true shift from nervousness to fear happened for me when she asked me if I felt safe...and I told her no. No, I wasn’t safe. She asked me where I was and told me to pull up GPS on my phone. I put her on speaker (intentionally) and told her we were on I-95 She immediately responded we should NOT be on the interstate and told me to make him get off. The GPS showed he was getting further away from my destination. He was going the wrong way, and no matter what I said to him, he refused to talk to me.  I tapped his arm, and he ignored me and eventually pointed to his ear like he couldn't understand me.

**Typing this forces me to view this in a way I haven’t yet. My heart is racing, my hands are shaking, and the veil between that reality and this one is so thin I can smell the fetid atmosphere in the cab and feel the terror wash over me in a cold shower of dread. I want to stop, tuck it neatly away, and stay in my protective bubble…but I won’t. Screw him, I’m in control.**

Everything I’ve read or been told about situations a woman might face says to get loud, get aggressive, use extreme and foul language, and don’t go quietly. Make yourself too much trouble to be worth whatever they intend. In a part of my mind, those reminders kept flashing, and I started yelling. I’ll sensor the rest of what I said language-wise, but I told him I did NOT feel safe, and he better get off the highway NOW. Use your imagination for the rest, but rest assured I told him exactly what I wanted in undeniably clear language.

He ignored me. I screamed at him to pull off at the next exit. He moved over like he was going to get off then moved to the far left lane of the highway.
He was playing with me.

I grew louder and more hateful. He kept glancing at me with the strangest look on his face. Looking back, I know I saw an internal struggle in his eyes—could literally see the indecision on his face. He wasn’t sure if he would get off the highway...but he wasn’t expecting me to get aggressive and was deciding what to do next. Emily and I were talking the entire time, and she was a rock. She heard every word and tells the story far better than I do, as a matter of fact. She told me to get his medallion number, and I looked around until I found it. The inside of the cab was so DARK. Things weren’t illuminated very brightly, but I finally found and read the number to her. When I did, I saw him look at me, his eyes wide.

But he didn’t get off the highway.

I repeated I did NOT feel safe, that I wanted him to let me out. I kept screaming at him to get off the highway, and he mumbled a couple of times.  I pointed to the next exit, and he started to move to the right then pulled away again, asininely saying, “I missed it.” I didn’t realize I COULD scream as loud as I did when the next one zipped up. What I said wasn’t remotely nice, but for some reason he finally took an exit.

Keep in mind we passed several exits with me screaming at him, telling him I would call the police, Emily on speaker, and all the while I could see the GPS going further away from her.

7 minutes away…
8 minutes away…
9 minutes away...

At some point during the ride I took off my seatbelt, put my backpack on, and clutched the handle of my carryon suitcase. I was completely terrified, but I wasn’t panicking. I knew I couldn’t. Hope bloomed when he finally took a ramp, but it didn’t last long as he didn’t stop at the first place I pointed to. Then I saw three gas stations to the left and told him to let me out NOW. For a split second, I thought he would pull in and it would be over.

He didn’t.

He passed the gas stations and moved to the left lane, never coming to a complete stop but slowing to go through the intersection. I kept screaming everything I could think of at him.  He argued with me and told me it was okay because he’d take me. 

I wasn’t getting on the highway again. I wasn't, but he wasn’t letting me out of the car. I fumbled with the door, but I couldn't get the door unlocked. I finally managed to get my fingers around the lock, yank it up, and while the car was rolling I started to open it. Looking back at me wide-eyed, he yelled about me not paying him. The opportunity to distract him dawned on me, and I was still clutching the cash in my hand (no idea why, I just was), so I threw it at him.  As he took his foot off the pedal and slowed, I grabbed my suitcase and jumped out of the car. I realized later he said, “Ma’am, are you alright?” like I was a hysterical female, but it didn't sound sincere. It was rude and hateful sounding. As I jumped out with my things, I dropped my hoodie on the ground. For some strange reason, I stopped to grab it, and the only real reason I have is because I wasn't letting him keep one piece of me—not one piece.

BUT I WAS OUT OF THE CAR.

Emily asked me if I was okay or what was happening...it's hard to remember anything in that moment other than the overwhelming relief I was out of the cab. I was out...I was out...I was out...

It was a little after 1:00 in the morning, and I was walking through Miami in a dark neighborhood towards a group of three gas stations, but I was out of the car. Emily was still on the phone asking me what was happening. I remember wanting to sob in relief and almost letting go of all the pent up fear when I gushed something about jumping out and walking away from the intersection towards the gas stations. I could see the lights on and just wanted to get inside. That gas station beckoned to me like an oasis in the desert, but when I pulled on the handle, it was locked. The man just looked at me. I’m a woman outside at night, with a suitcase, and he wouldn’t let me in. I walked over to the window and told him I really needed to come inside, that something bad happened with a taxi driver, and he said, “What, do you want to call the police or something?” Now, you might be inclined to argue he didn't know who I was or why I was out there at that time of night. It's possible he thought I was part of a plan to rob him. You know what?  I don't care. He didn't offer to call the police, and he didn't want me to call the police.

He wouldn’t let me in.

Instead of arguing with him, I turned around and started to cross the parking lot, heading toward the next station across the street. As I started to step into the road, a car pulled up in front of me. At this point, I wasn’t even afraid. I was in shock, but I wasn't afraid of who was in the car.

Because I was out of the taxi.

When the window rolled down, something amazing and beautiful happened. A woman asked me if I was okay because she saw part of what happened and came to check on me. I never saw her while I was jumping out of the car, but she circled around in the middle of the night because she saw something wrong. She could’ve kept going, minded her own business, but she listened to the voice telling her it was wrong and came back. Her name is Dawn, and she’s my other angel.  Emily was my first.

(In a text after the incident, Dawn told me the story of how she ended up on her way home at such a late hour. All I can say is God put her exactly where I needed her, and I'm thanking Him constantly for it.  I thank Him for her, and she ranks up there with one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I'll never forget her.) 

We moved back against the building, and she got out of her car and listened as I quickly explained what happened.  Emily was STILL on the phone with me, and Dawn assured her she would not leave me alone again because it was a very unsafe area. Emily wanted to send a Lyft for me, but we needed a physical address since I didn’t have the app on my phone. Dawn lived around the block, so she gave Emily her phone number and said she would take me to the front of her house and wait until they arrived.  Emily assured me she could track me every step of the way.

It was hard getting in Dawn’s car, but I knew I couldn’t stand there outside the gas station and risk calling attention to us. I climbed in her car, and we pulled away near the intersection where I jumped out. Dawn pointed out he was still hanging around, and when I looked over, his car was still there. A couple of minutes later, we pulled up in front of her house. Emily, every patient on the phone, told me the name of the driver coming, the kind of car, and how close he was. When I saw the Lyft car pull up, I knew I had to get in, but I’ll admit I was scared. I think I might’ve asked Emily if it was really okay, but she calmly reassured me it was. At one point she told me she would get a Lyft ride to come meet me and take me back so I didn’t have to get into a car alone, but that was an important moment for me. Even in my shocked frame of mind, I remember thinking I wasn’t weak, and I wasn’t going to let that taxi driver make me feel that way. I was capable of finishing what I started.

I knew Wes was waiting to hear I was safe, so I created a conference call and added him in with Emily..  He texted a couple of times during the ordeal, but I was multitasking with watching GPS, talking to Emily to stay connected with someone, and screaming at the driver. I couldn’t bear to hang up with her even once I was in the Lyft ride. I very briefly explained what happened, assured him I was safe, and explained Emily was on with us too. Apparently, he tracked my phone when I didn’t answer the texts and saw I was at a Mobile station somewhere in Miami. He asked if I was okay, but he was so quiet while Emily and I explained everything. I knew he felt helpless, and for some stupid reason I apologized for not calling him sooner. Don’t ask, I don’t even know why. I was sorry he was worried, sorry for scaring him, sorry for…*shrugs*

I will never forget the moment we pulled up in front of the house where Emily stood waiting for me. The moment I saw her face illuminated in the porch light is burned into my mind forever. I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, and I don’t think I’ve ever hugged someone so hard. I finally knew I was safe.  When I told her I have never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life, I absolutely meant it—still do.

I wish I could tell you the police came to my rescue and found the guy. Why lie at this point? I went inside with Emily and called 911 only to be repeatedly transferred and forced to tell the story SIX TIMES before someone begrudgingly wrote down a few details and said they’d “look into it.” Each of the six officers said it was the responsibility of another jurisdiction. No one agreed where the crime actually began. They wouldn’t send an officer to take my statement because I was in the wrong district for every officer I spoke to. 

No one was coming. 
No one seemed even remotely concerned. 
It could be someone else next.
No one cared.

I get it, okay? I understand what jurisdictions mean. I understand officers are overworked, underpaid, and stretched so thin. I get they are out there dealing with lots of crimes in a large city.  But you know what? I don't care. I was terrified, and I kept trying to make them understand it could happen again to any other woman. Not one of the people I spoke to in those many transfers showed me the smallest ounce of concern or compassion. I gave up, deflated and let down by the people who we're taught to call when we're not safe. So when people ask why I didn't call the police while I was in the car, the answer is simple. Emily was my lifeline. I couldn't hang up with her, and I had nothing I could SAY to the officers. I didn't know where I was other than watching GPS and knowing I was on the highway going the wrong way. So no, I didn't have faith they could help me, and I obviously wasn't wrong. When you're terrified and shaken, you don't care about jurisdiction—you just want help.

I don’t know what the taxi driver intended to do. Did he plan to take me to an ATM and try to force me to withdraw money so he could rob me? I don’t know. He had plenty of places to get off the highway and do that if so. He was going somewhere specific, but I have no idea where. Did he intend to kidnap me when he picked me up at the airport? I don’t know. Did he intend to take me somewhere with more people like him and do God only knows what?  I truly don’t know. He was weird from the moment I climbed in his car, but I was trying to tell myself not to be judgmental, not to make assumptions about someone based on a language barrier.

I should’ve listened to my instincts, but who would think a taxi driver outside an airport wanted to harm you in any way?  Before you ask, yes the cab was legitimate. Everything inside was what you expect to see right down to the credit card machine on the back of the seat. I know there are 100 other things I should’ve done, but until you’ve been in a situation like it you truly don’t know what you’ll do.  I survived, and that’s what matters. I can already hear some people say, “I told you so.” about being a woman and traveling alone. I’m not going to stop, and I’m not going to let fear rule me. I learned valuable things about myself. I’ll be back to Miami too. Yeah, that’s right, Miami was awesome. One guy doesn’t represent the entire city, so I'll be back.

I didn’t stop shaking for hours after it happened, and I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes it replayed in my head. Images of his eyes glancing back at me, the fear of what if, asking myself what I should’ve done differently…they burned through my mind and coiled in my stomach. I didn't sleep for days. It may be awhile before sleep comes easily. 

From sliding into an icy ravine (Did you already forget?) to grabbing Emily for the first time and hanging on tight, the remaining two days were filled with wonderful memories. We made the most of every moment together. We strategized, made plans for the next few months of our business, and decided we were planning another trip later this year.

That’s right, I’m traveling again as soon as the next need or opportunity arises. Why? 

Because.
Because I’m pissed.
Because screw him.
Because he can’t steal my independence.
Because I didn’t panic, I took back control.
Because I refuse to be afraid or live in fear.
Because my gender does not mean I’m weak.
Most of all...

Because I am not a victim.