It was Friday in Antigua. I just wanted to go out and dance. I didn’t want to drink, I just wanted to have a fun night of dancing. It was cold and rainy in Antigua, and I wished I had jeans. I debated what to wear. I took off my dress and slipped on my white shorts. I shoved my quetzales as deep into my pocket as it could go. I didn’t want the money to fall out or have somebody try to rob me. I put on my shawl, grabbed the umbrella my friend lent me, and I headed out the front door. It was a little before 8PM.

I turned the corner near my house and headed down the street Calle de Chajon. I held the umbrella close in an attempt to keep my face and hair dry. I tip-toed around the puddles and streams in the street. I approached 3rd Avenida del Chajon.

And then I heard it. The footsteps. I knew what they meant. They weren’t slow and casual. They weren’t quick and light trying to get around the rain. They were fast and heavy, and they were coming for me.

I started to turn around, but he was already there. He threw one arm around my neck and grabbed my pelvis with the other. He tried to pull me into a door. FUCK THAT. I started hitting him with the umbrella. I started screaming. I probably should have yelled, “Help!” But instead I was screaming, “Fuck you! You fucker! FUCK YOU!”

And then, he let go. He put his hands up like he was innocent. Like the hands he was holding up, weren’t the weapons. He started trying to tell me he was just trying to go in his house. Ummmm-what?! I looked at his face. He looked normal.. He looked like any other guy in his late twenties or early thirties. Just a T-shirt, hoodie, jeans, and a hat. He didn’t look like the mugshots of predators I’ve seen. Hell, if he had walked up to me at a bar, I probably would have talked to him. I hit him one more time for good measure, and I quickly began walking away. He didn’t follow.

I was angry. SO ANGRY. Who does he think he is? What right does he have to touch my body? Go to the bar, bro. Play the game and pick up chicks the normal way. I crossed the street, and then I was crying. I was trembling and crying alone. I just kept walking my normal route to the central park.

On the next block, there was a lot more people and a lot more care. I pulled myself together and stopped crying. A moped drove past me hollering, “Hola, Guapa!” His eyes stayed on me as he drove past. I flipped him off. I was not in the mood. Another guy walked up next to me, “Hola. Buenas noches.” He might as well have said the most inappropriate thing in the world, because I just wanted to scream at him. Afraid of everyone, I walked faster.

And then, the stream of questions and “what if’s” began running through my mind. What is I had been wearing…a dress? …jeans? What if I had left five minutes earlier? What if I had been carrying … A purse? …my phone? Should I have punched him in the face? What if he hit me? What if he was bigger? Should I have gone back to the house immediately? Should I go to the iglesia to see if Suheidy (my house mom) is there? Should I go to the police? I figured ‘no’… I mean, nothing happened, right? Even Chicago PD doesn’t have time for a complaint like that, and I’m in Guatemala…

I continued walking, and I met my friend in the parque central. I wanted to go home. “Tranquila, tranquila. You’re fine, you’re not hurt.” He was right, I guess. So, I ended up in a small cafe with a warm drink listening to acoustic guitar. He talked to me, and I answered…occasionally. My mind kept wandering. I kept hearing the footsteps.

I wanted to be alone, but I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to go to a salsa bar, but I didn’t want a man to approach me. I wanted to see my friends, but I was embarrassed. I wanted to be unaffected by the experience, but my heart and spirit ached.

I decided to be honest with how I was feeling. I didn’t want to be around a crowd of people. I returned home. My friend had served as a good distraction for the evening.

But today, I sit here alone with my thoughts. Writing and releasing my feelings is helping. But I keep hearing the footsteps. And I keep thinking ‘What if?”

I don’t want you to feel bad about this.  I know other women have been through this and much, much worse. I want us to talk to other women about it and support each other. I want you to talk to the men in your life and tell them how it feels. And above all, be careful and stay safe. Sometimes, things happen that are out of control. But afterwards, don’t forget to try to share even though it hurts. That way we can support you. We, as women, are in this together. Con cuidado, mis amigas.