I was sitting in my chair waiting for the hallway in to the toilets clear. Joe was trying to convince someone, who was being polite, to go first so I could get in. It was marked as accessible but it was very, very, small with little room to maneuver. And I had to PEE. The fellow finally relented, seemed to now be a bit embarrassed that his politeness was a barrier for my entrance. He nodded to me, I nodded back. It was all good.

I reached down and undid the breaks on my chair and was about to push in.

Let me stop here and tell you where I was sitting. I was right outside the bathroom facing the door. This put me a wee bit into a large corridor. I certainly wasn’t blocking anyone. People had been flowing by me the whole time, most choosing to give me more space than I needed. That wasn’t a problem because it was, as I said, a wide corridor.

But then suddenly, a fellow chose to walk towards me and directly behind me. No problem. I could wait for a few seconds longer.

He approached, walked behind me and …

struck me.

He struck me.

Two punches, hard, on my back.

He spoke.

“Don’t back up!” As if he figured that I was going to back into him. I had been stationary the whole time, I had seen him coming.

I knew he was going to be close behind me. I stayed stuck to the floor, waiting for him to pass.
There was no chance he thought he was in danger.

But, I didn’t think I was in danger.

But he struck me.

This only took seconds and he was gone, down a busy to the point of teeming, corridor.

The shock, and the pain, of being hit silenced me for a moment. He had hit me hard, really hard, and he’d hit me intentionally.

He walked towards me to strike me.

It was purposeful.

And I am left to figure how how to incorporate this into my world view, into my sense of safety outside the door of my house.

I am left with dealing with the fact of the punches.

There’s furniture in my head that needs to be moved. Work I don’t want to do, but work I have to do.

He hit me.

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