Hello, Sue

by Anne Hill
Western Australia, Australia

Having just left my dentist’s office in mid-afternoon at age 17, I was walking towards a bus stop at the edge of the central business district. The nearly deserted street adjoined a park frequented by street people. It looked superficially safe but gave you an uneasy feeling.

Suddenly, two middle-aged men stepped out from behind a bush and confronted me. One stood directly in front of me, and the other stepped between me and the road, effectively boxing me in.

The man in front of me grinned — I smelled alcohol — and asked me to come into the park “for a talk”. I was uncomfortable, but, taught to be polite, explained I had to catch a bus home, and my mother would worry if I was late. I tried to step around him, but he and his friend blocked me and moved closer.

I stepped back, and the second man moved behind me. Neither tried to touch me, but the first man kept urging me to “be friendly”. Terrified, I wondered whether I could move quickly enough to dodge around them and run back to the dentist’s office.

Then I heard a cheerful shout. “Hello, Sue!” I saw a young man crossing the road towards us. Since my name isn’t Sue, I thought he was hailing a friend and would ignore us. To my delirious relief, he headed straight towards us, speaking in a loud, friendly voice, “I thought it was you, how are you? Haven’t seen you in ages, what’re you doing these days?” He gave my two tormentors a cheery smile, neatly stepped between them, and took my arm.

I finally found enough presence of mind to join in the charade, stammering “Hi, Chris” (my brother’s name) and smiling up in what I hoped was a natural manner. The two men gave a conciliatory wave and vanished into the park wordlessly.

My rescuer urged me down the street as I gasped my thanks. “Sorry to intrude, but you looked like you needed help.” He tried to reassure me, saying they were probably harmless drunks who wouldn’t have dragged me away against my will or attack me on the street in broad daylight.

I appreciated his efforts, but I couldn’t stop shaking. He introduced himself and stayed with me until my bus arrived, chattering about harmless topics, though I wasn’t in a state to be much of a conversationalist. He waved as the bus took me away, then turned and crossed the street again, presumably to resume his own interrupted business.

This young man saw a girl in trouble and risked his own safety to help. He was quick-witted enough to intervene in a way that seemed natural and non-threatening to my tormentors, minimizing the risk that the situation might turn violent.

“Chris”, if you’re reading this, please know I’ve been grateful ever since, although I couldn’t express it well then. To this day, 30 years later, I vividly remember your common sense, courage, and kindness.

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