nurse. She was very good at yelling, but when the attacker grabbed her wrists, she couldn’t remember how to twist out and she struggled without purpose against him.
“Tell her what to do!” prompted Instructor Debbie.
“Foot stomp! Knee to the groin!” the classmates called breathlessly.
The nurse’s knee flew up and her heel crashed down on the bridge of the attacker’s well-protected foot. He released her and grabbed his foot, faking pain. She backed away and he lunged for her.
“Kick! Kick!” yelled the watchers as she landed on the mats. “Kick for your life!” cried one of the rape victims. Women on either side of her instinctively reached out to clasp her hands. “Do it!” they screamed, “Get him!”
The nurse rolled over, propped herself on one side, and swung at him with her foot. The first swipes were ineffectual and only served to push him away momentarily. He kept crawling back toward her in the menacing suit.
“Harder!” the classmates bellowed. “Take him out!”
The nurse’s foot began to swing higher, her heel coming down in a hacking motion on his head. The relentless thumping on the padded helmet felt like fireworks in the women’s chests. Finally the attacker curled into the fetal position and surrendered. The nurse jumped up and screamed “911!” as they had been instructed, barely getting it out before the group rushed toward her. They hugged her and patted her, a couple of them crying. Janiewas surprised to find herself caught up in the crowd, reaching out to pat the nurse’s shoulder.
One by one, they got their turns, the scenarios changing slightly each time. The woman with terrible acne yelled “BACK OFF!” with such intensity that the attacker put his hands up and walked away.
The older woman whose son had died went limp during her turn. She just lay on her back and cried. The attacker sat back on his heels as Debbie crawled up to her and murmured, “Bea, we’re with you. You’re not alone. You have to fight back.”
“No,” whimpered Bea, “I can’t.”
“You can do it,” a few called to her. “Come on, Bea. Just try.”
“No,” she groaned.
One of the two teenagers, the one who’d grabbed the iced coffee in the parking lot, approached. Surprising everyone, she lay down on her back next to the older woman.
“Mrs. Benson?” she whispered. “I would personally really appreciate it if you would make this loser evaporate.” And she closed her eyes.
The attacker surged to life, lunging for the girl who lay prone on the mat. Mrs. Benson groaned, “No!” and blocked him with her foot. He fell back, giving Mrs. Benson just enough time to come to a crouch over the girl, creating a shelter with her aging body. When the attacker lunged again, his mesh-covered face met with the heel of Mrs. Benson’s palm. He fell back again, one hand to the mesh, the other hand swiping at the girl. Mrs. Benson grabbed the arm and sunk her teeth into the duct tape.
The women screamed “Go!” and “Yes!” and “Do it!” They squeezed each other’s hands and shoulders; they howled their approval.
Mrs. Benson maneuvered her body to kick him, her foot coming down in an axing motion over his stomach. She continued to do this even after he had gone into the surrender position. Only the group calling “911!” cued her to stop. The teenager helped theolder woman get to her feet, and together they called out for the police, the girl throwing her fist into the air like a cheerleader.
Janie found tears leaking down her face, and quickly wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her shirt. It was her turn next, and she screamed and stomped and axed as she’d been taught. But the whole time she was thinking of Bea Benson and her dead son.
J ANIE HAD ASSUMED SHE’D have to go out and buy something to eat during the noon break. But Debbie appeared with sandwiches, sodas, chips, and cookies. It was a working lunch, she explained.
“You did great, Janie,” said the
“Tell her what to do!” prompted Instructor Debbie.
“Foot stomp! Knee to the groin!” the classmates called breathlessly.
The nurse’s knee flew up and her heel crashed down on the bridge of the attacker’s well-protected foot. He released her and grabbed his foot, faking pain. She backed away and he lunged for her.
“Kick! Kick!” yelled the watchers as she landed on the mats. “Kick for your life!” cried one of the rape victims. Women on either side of her instinctively reached out to clasp her hands. “Do it!” they screamed, “Get him!”
The nurse rolled over, propped herself on one side, and swung at him with her foot. The first swipes were ineffectual and only served to push him away momentarily. He kept crawling back toward her in the menacing suit.
“Harder!” the classmates bellowed. “Take him out!”
The nurse’s foot began to swing higher, her heel coming down in a hacking motion on his head. The relentless thumping on the padded helmet felt like fireworks in the women’s chests. Finally the attacker curled into the fetal position and surrendered. The nurse jumped up and screamed “911!” as they had been instructed, barely getting it out before the group rushed toward her. They hugged her and patted her, a couple of them crying. Janiewas surprised to find herself caught up in the crowd, reaching out to pat the nurse’s shoulder.
One by one, they got their turns, the scenarios changing slightly each time. The woman with terrible acne yelled “BACK OFF!” with such intensity that the attacker put his hands up and walked away.
The older woman whose son had died went limp during her turn. She just lay on her back and cried. The attacker sat back on his heels as Debbie crawled up to her and murmured, “Bea, we’re with you. You’re not alone. You have to fight back.”
“No,” whimpered Bea, “I can’t.”
“You can do it,” a few called to her. “Come on, Bea. Just try.”
“No,” she groaned.
One of the two teenagers, the one who’d grabbed the iced coffee in the parking lot, approached. Surprising everyone, she lay down on her back next to the older woman.
“Mrs. Benson?” she whispered. “I would personally really appreciate it if you would make this loser evaporate.” And she closed her eyes.
The attacker surged to life, lunging for the girl who lay prone on the mat. Mrs. Benson groaned, “No!” and blocked him with her foot. He fell back, giving Mrs. Benson just enough time to come to a crouch over the girl, creating a shelter with her aging body. When the attacker lunged again, his mesh-covered face met with the heel of Mrs. Benson’s palm. He fell back again, one hand to the mesh, the other hand swiping at the girl. Mrs. Benson grabbed the arm and sunk her teeth into the duct tape.
The women screamed “Go!” and “Yes!” and “Do it!” They squeezed each other’s hands and shoulders; they howled their approval.
Mrs. Benson maneuvered her body to kick him, her foot coming down in an axing motion over his stomach. She continued to do this even after he had gone into the surrender position. Only the group calling “911!” cued her to stop. The teenager helped theolder woman get to her feet, and together they called out for the police, the girl throwing her fist into the air like a cheerleader.
Janie found tears leaking down her face, and quickly wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her shirt. It was her turn next, and she screamed and stomped and axed as she’d been taught. But the whole time she was thinking of Bea Benson and her dead son.
J ANIE HAD ASSUMED SHE’D have to go out and buy something to eat during the noon break. But Debbie appeared with sandwiches, sodas, chips, and cookies. It was a working lunch, she explained.
“You did great, Janie,” said the
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