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How I Left Harlem
- The Feminist Press
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31 | rny how i leFt harlem AS SOON AS THE RAPIST turned his back and stepped out of my apartment, I slammed the door shut, not caring where he went, then went into the living room and picked up the telephone. The red power light was on, but there was no tone. After pressing all the buttons, I looked inside the phone where the batteries were housed and saw that a wire had been disconnected. I kept an extra phone in case of power cuts, which I plugged in. I sat on the gray garden chair A had brought down from Princeton. I dialed his number. “Something happened. Sit down.” My boyfriend was adamant that I should go to the police, but he was in Spain and hadn’t been threatened with a gun. Still, I trusted his advice. I called the landlord’s office and told his agent, M, that I had been assaulted. I asked her to fix the downstairs lock right away so the rapist couldn’t enter easily if he returned. She told me she would have the lock fixed.Then I looked through the yellow pages and called the 32 | rny sex crimes report line. They transferred me to the Twentysixth Police Precinct. I spoke with a woman, Sergeant G. She wanted to send a police car, but I asked her not to do this. I imagined the rapist watching, seeing the police car, and shooting me. I was afraid of walking to the police station alone, but I was even more fearful of the rapist seeing the police come into my building. My camera on the tripod in the middle of the living room was loaded with film.I took pictures of the traces the intruder had left in my apartment: the ashtray with the two cigarette butts, the white plastic cup from which he drank water, and the white comforter on the bed with wrinkles revealing the shapes of bodies. After putting on gloves, I put the cup and ashtray in separate plastic bags. I walked to the ThirtySecond Precinct at 250 West 135th Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. I knew the location as it was on the way to the recreational center where I swam. I hesitated at the door, then I went to the front desk. The process started. After relating what happened to a male officer,I was transferred to another room where I was asked the same questions by a second male officer. Another two then took me to St. Luke’s Emergency Department, and on the way, the female officer, sitting in the passenger seat, questioned me again as she filled in a report. After waiting more than an hour at St. Luke’s, I was taken to an examination room. I got undressed for the third time that day. My jeans, sweater, underwear, socks, and bra were collected, leaving me with just my jacket [44.211.188.101] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 06:57 GMT) 33 | rny and boots. I wore them along with a hospital gown that a nurse had given me. While I was in the previous room waiting to be examined , a nonuniformed man introduced himself as Detective M from Manhattan Special Victims Squad. He questioned me again and requested that I tell my new roommate not to go to the apartment. He said he needed to take evidence, and to photograph the crime scene before anybody could enter. I didn’t want any more strangers in my apartment but gave him my keys. I asked him to bring me some clothes when he returned. The doctors ran a series of tests, gathering evidence from my body. They took pictures of my vagina, of both the outside and the inside. After a couple of hours, D, my boyfriend’s brother, appeared at the door. “How did you find out?” “I called my brother to tell him that I was fired from my job. He told me what happened to you and asked me to go to your apartment because he was worried. Nobody was there. I saw a police car and asked them if they were there for any special reason, and I gave them your name. The police told me you were here.” He started crying. “Why are you crying?” “I lost my job.” It was dark when I got out of the hospital. Police officers drove D and me to my apartment. I got out...