Default to Submission

"Hello, my name is Tarythe."

"Tyler."

He shook my hand, and as we released our grip his fingers lingered in mine. I pulled away.

"Nice to meet you," I said with a nervous laugh.

He responded with the same, and I nodded my head once and looked at the ground. Who was this guy? Caitie, Emilie, and Cassidy had brought two of them back from the hot tub: Bryan, whom they had known since last September, and Tyler, his tag-along friend.

"Me and Bryan go way back," Tyler was laughing. "Back to when we were young and would watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together." I didn't comment on his improper use of the word 'me'.

"Do you still watch it?" I asked. "Oh yeah," he replied. "In fact, we have it on DVD."

"Lucky," I responded. "We only have it on VHS." I walked over to the shelf where we keep the movies, picked the video up, and (per his request) revealed that Raphael was my favourite turtle. I looked at the cover for a short moment, and was about to extend my arm to hand the video to him when Tyler walked over and stood close enough to me to make that movement impossible. He looked at the video I was holding. He then reached around and placed his hand on the small of my back, and in one smooth move dropped it down even lower. Oh, he was quick. I handed him the video and stepped out of his reach, walking around him into the kitchen. I could feel his gaze following me.

"Just breathe," I told myself. "It was an accident - he didn't realize where his hand was." I took a swig of my rootbeer (and yes, I just used the word 'swig' to describe the drinking of soda), and chatted with Cassidy for a couple of minutes. I then walked back out to the living room, picked up my laptop, and sat down to work on an essay I was writing. I was immediately joined in my corner of the couch by Tyler, who appeared very interested in what I was doing.

"Homework?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.

"Indeed."

My tone of voice wasn't rude, but my answer was short; I felt no need to elaborate, and volunteered no further information other than that about which I was specifically questioned. He proceeded to ask me where I was from and which countries I'd thus far visited. He compared my travels to his own. All this while he was sitting way too close for comfort, watching to see what I was working on and coming nearer and nearer to leaning all the way over my lap. I scooted as close to the arm of the couch as I could.

The time finally reached midnight, and the boys got up to leave. Tyler shook everyone's hands, and as he got around to me, said, "You'll have to join us the next time we go hot tubbing." The look he gave me was meaningful, and (I can only assume) meant to be seductive. Or something. I meant to reply with some very cruel and sarcastic remarks, but instead just stared down at my computer. Oh, the things I could have said. I went to bed later with a sick feeling in my stomach, almost as if I myself had done something wrong. I slept for a grand total of an hour and a half that night.

Now comes the point of the story: Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I simply get up and walk out of the room? Honestly, why can I not stand up for myself? I’m extraordinarily good at defending others, but when I myself am put in a compromising situation I freeze.

There were a number of times over the summer, when colleagues and I were out on the town, that I had to come to the rescue of friends of mine who were plagued with over-enthusiastic (and drunk) men. Most of them got the point when I glared at them, yelled at them, or simply pushed them out of the way. For one particularly persistent jerk, it took me backing him up against the wall, my hands at his throat, for him to understand that I was serious. I probably would have sworn at him, but I didn't figure that it would get my point across any clearer. After that, I didn't have to spare any more energy on him; he stayed on the other side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.

As quickly as I rush to the side of my friends to kick the trash out of people who violate their personal space, I do nothing for myself. Instead, I become weak and passive. As soon as I feel threatened, my brain stops functioning and I default to submission mode. The question I must ask myself, then, is: Why? And how do I change that?