Eyes of New York
Dear Stranger,
In January of 2019, I saw you look at me with a haunted expression, laced with fear, trauma, and memories that seemed too fresh. You looked away quickly, but I noticed it.
I had been getting a lot of stares in the last two days, as I had a huge black eye. Some people looked at me with pity, others looked away as if I was a contagion. But you looked at me with recognition and that broke my heart.
You could tell someone had struck me. I’m sure you saw the large fingermarks on my neck. Had the weather been warmer, you would have seen hand-shaped bruises on my upper arms as well. I could tell by your expression that you had once had similar marks on your own body.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw how you looked back at me. I saw you yearning to speak to me, fighting to work up the courage to approach. I got up to speak to you, but you had arrived at your stop and left the train.
I wish I could have told you I was safe, but I don’t know if you would’ve believed me. You may have assumed that I was making excuses for hours behind closed doors and trying to keep what vestiges of my pride from admitting to the world that I was a victim. You may have been remembering your own moments of hiding the skeletons and demons in your closet, behind a smile and an iron-willed determination.
I wonder if you got off the train and regretted not speaking to me, and wondered if I would be okay.
Well, I am okay and safe . And despite us only sharing a glance, that look of recognition has been seared into my mind. I don’t remember your face well, but your hazel-brown eyes are etched forever in my inspiration.
I wish we could have spoken. I could have assured you that I was a student of Krav Maga, and that my injuries were unfortunate training accidents. I would’ve opened my coat, so you would’ve seen the black training shirt that marked me as a martial arts student.
I would tell you about the wonderful people who were so much stronger than me, but have devoted their lives to helping me find my power. I would have told you that you weren’t alone, and that there are others who have walked this path and have found the support to get away from dangerous situations. I would have asked if you wanted to take a class with me.
I hope you are safe. I hope that the look of horror was remembering a situation you had left, instead of a nightmare you were enduring. I hope if you were experiencing that nightmare, then seeing my battered face made you realize you deserved better and you left the abuse behind. I hope you are living well and free and happy. I hope your dark memories have faded into the background of your mind, and you know your own self-worth.
I wish I knew you were okay. I am scared to think your story ended as a grisly statistic of domestic violence. I imagine you must worry the same thing about me. Did I end up just another broken body?
Some things may never been known. Just know, I have never forgotten you. Every time I helped a new student, I thought of you and hoped you were helped by others. Every time I fall into self-pity, I think of you, fighting demons of your own.
Thank you for being my inspiration,
Elke