Weasel Problem

He walked toward me in the gym parking lot, Mark an old coworker. It was the fourth time this month. Even though it is the only gym in a thirty-mile radius, it doesn’t matter what time I arrive between six and six thirty a.m. He waits to walk in with me and walk out with me. It’s creepy and can’t be a coincidence.

My husband isn’t worried. He sees the world as a place where people do their best as humans and the bad eggs are rare. I tend to over worry. He grew concerned though when Mark bumped into me at the food store, the pharmacy, my salon and concerned enough to alert the police after a note was left on my car while I picked up pizza.

We talked to the police but since Mark hasn’t shown any malevolent behavior or broken any laws, there is nothing they can do.

I changed my phone number twice due to the volume of “unknown sender” text messages. Same with my email. They contained disgusting descriptions of sexual acts and penis pictures, no threats or names attached, but I know they came from Mark.

My anxiety had increased to the point of needing medication. I looked for Mark everywhere, scanning the faces at the park, the craft store, the physician’s office. I changed my routine, and he still found me at the post office. I decided to confront him or lose my sanity. Perhaps a firm denial of all his advances will bring an end to what my life has turned into.

In the parking lot of the gym, I called Mark over. I kept my voice light as I explained he needs to stop running into me. I reminded him I’m married and not interested in him. He joked and apologized. Claimed he misread my signals. Even agreed to work out in the evening.

Two days later my husband came home and found me on the floor of our shower, with the water still running. My lips and hands were blue and trembling. Bruises were appearing on my arms and neck. A shredded soggy dress lay next to me. My eyes unfocused and dry of tears.

My voice shook as I told and retold police officers how Mark surprised me from behind and pushed me in the back of a van and choked me till I promised not to scream. He ripped my dress and underwear. I felt myself hover in the air, watching him pin my arms, shoving a knee in my abdomen. The sneer of arrogance on his face when he said, “I will have you”, clicked something in my head. I screamed, “No!” I jerked my knee to his balls and pushed him off with the strength of all my female ancestors that were ever abused by a man. He rolled off me in pain. Terrified he would get up and catch me, I ran to my car, losing my sandals in the process and drove home blinded by tears.

The policeman sighed. “Why did you shower?”

“Because I could still smell him on my skin and I couldn’t stand it for one more second.”

They took pictures of me stripped down, took swabs of my vagina and anus, scraped my fingernails, and bagged up my clothes. Mark tried to take my dignity, and they removed the last bit left.

The policeman mentioned if Mark denies my accusation he attacked me, then without any physical evidence, they can’t arrest him. Which he did.

I blamed myself. I must have sent signs of attraction toward Mark, otherwise he would never have attacked me. Right? I blamed myself for rinsing off key evidence. I blamed myself for being weak and easily taken advantage of. My doctor diagnosed me with heart palpitations. I started therapy. I went to group counseling. I added depression and panic medications.

The messages slowed down but he still waited to walk in with me at the gym. Said he was looking out for my well-being since I am struggling, mentally. He never eluded to the attack. Months later, I took my son to his friend’s birthday party. He brought me a note, said a man gave it to him, to give to me. My fingers trembled. It was unsigned. It threatened to finish what he had started.

I gathered the text messages, emails, police reports, and notes for court to get a restraining order. In the meantime, a mutilated stuffed animal appeared on our porch. My husband’s tires were slashed. I ordered our groceries and medications to be delivered. I stopped leaving the house without my husband in tow. I took a leave of absence from my job, personal reasons.

My moods ranged from instant tears to screaming anger to soul crushing shame. When the pressure built up inside and I needed a release, I sliced my skin, a straight thin line near my hip, hidden from my husband. The release helped for a fleeting moment.

My day in court arrived. My husband stayed home, worried he might fight Mark if he saw him in person. With no money for a lawyer, I gave my testimony and presented my collection of evidence. The judge said some of it was inadmissible because I didn’t turn it into the courts by a certain date, which left me with not enough for a restraining order. Case suspended for one month.

I didn’t stick around to see Mark’s face gloat. Why was this happening to me? I’m a good person I pay my taxes and volunteer at a soup kitchen for fuck’s sake! I swallowed a sleeping pill, and my husband drank till he passed out on the couch.

In the morning, my husband held me saying everything would be alright, and I believed him. My sweet man who’s faith in good people had been shaken believed it would work out. A decision was made. No longer would I allow Mark to dictate how I lived. I went to the gym and happily didn’t see him. I found a lawyer willing to work pro bono and together we built a case for a restraining order. Each day I returned more to my normal life, like dropping off my son at school and mailing a package without a bodyguard.

Back in the courthouse, this time with my husband who claimed he could show restraint, the judge waited a lengthy amount of time waiting for Mark to show up. His lawyer said she hadn’t heard from him in weeks. The judge ruled in my favor granting the restraining order.

Turns out I didn’t need it. Officers were waiting for me in the lobby.

“This morning, we found Mark’s body in a shallow grave, a hundred miles from the city, in the desert. Do you know anything about this?”

I looked him in the eye and said, “I will answer all your questions, if you ever find any physical evidence that ties me to this heinous crime.”