Domestic Violence

I would have never thought that out of thirty-eight human beings witnessing another being stabbed to death over the period of an hour, none would call the police. Everyone probably knows a person who has not gotten involved in a matter because it did not involve them or because they feared what would happen if they were to speak up. On March 14, 1964, thiry-eight people who resided in an apartment complex were stated, by authorities, to have witnessed a murder but did not report the long and horrible incident. One of the bystanders excuse was, "I thought it was a lover's quarrel." If I was to hear yelling outside my window and below on the street in the middle of the night, I might have thought the same thing. Although this was not a domestic violence case, I can admit that I have been a witness to abuse and said nothing. Looking back on that day, I had never seen the hardship of domestic abuse before, but I didn't like what I witnessed that afternoon, and I knew I couldn't do anything to prevent it.
The afternoon was scorching after school and I was on my way to work at Mennen Arena, a nice cool ice skating rink, so I couldn't wait to get inside and start my shift. I had to take public transportation because I had had no ride there. The first bus I had been waiting for had come and went and the driver had informed me I was waiting on the wrong side of Speedwell. I went into a pizzeria near the incorrect bus stop and ordered an extra large diet coke and, after paying, puttered through the crosswalk to the other side of the street. By then the bus would come in a grueling forty five minutes. I sat down on the pavement, leaning my back against the tall building the people of Morristown, NJ call "Headquarters" and sat my purple back pack containing my school books down next to me. The Green[1] was to my left, off Speedwell, and the Marriott and the movie theatres were down Speedwell on my right. Century 21 Department Store is in front of me, so I was literally in the middle of the town. For ten minutes, I watched cars go by with their windows down, people walking heavily with heat on their shoulders and sweat on their brows, and Rita's serve water ice on one of the busiest days they had had so far that spring.

This early for the bus I was the only one at the stop, but soon I noticed a couple approach. Both the man and the woman looked a bit shaggy. The guy was unshaven wearing a white tee and khakis. The girl looked distraught donning a tank and a long skirt. I didn't think anything of them as they looked like regular characters that floated around "Mo-town" and did not seem too out of ordinary walking towards Headquarters to stand at the stop.
As they came closer towards me, I could then spot the tears on the lady's face and I wondered why the cheap sunglasses atop her hairline were not over her eyes. In his eyes, there was hatred.

"Fuck you! You get on that bus, don't EVER come back!" he exploded. She stood there shaking but did not say a word in return. I sipped my soda and both of us watched the man stagger away. The lady seemed to calm down to a degree but I could tell she was pained.
Five minutes later, the man reappeared. He strode quickly up to her and sweetly announced, "Baby, I love you. C'mon. Come back to the house with me." Then he kissed her.

Well, tried to kiss her; she had backed away. "No, I made my decision." She shook her head quickly back and forth as if she was shaking off all possibility of her return to him and what they had. "I'm done with you, you piece of trash!" Then, he lunged at her. The man did not touch her; he just did it to scare her. He left once again and this time she didn't watch him leave. She nervously jingled the coins in her hand. The $1.35 that would take her anywhere outside of town she was trying to get to. The woman was literally holding on to her freedom.
By this time, an elderly African-American woman had walked up to the stop. She stood right underneath the stop's sign, oblivious to what happened just now, because previously she was out of earshot. The bus would be here in less than ten minutes and I had had enough drama for one day, even though I was merely a bystander. I was eager to get to work; it was too hot for this crap, and my soda was almost gone.
For the third and, thank goodness, final time the man came around the corner and moved towards Headquarters. All this movement had him sweating and his forehead glistened. "You getting on that bus?" he asked. No answer. In fact, she did not even acknowledge that he had spoken to her. He grabbed her arm and jerked her towards his chest. "Are you getting on that fucking bus?" I remember the only sound I ever heard the elderly woman say was at that moment: "Humph!" The man was saying "If you leave, don't you ever come back," which was kind of ironic, considering the three times he left to walk down the street he quite consistently came back ten minutes after. It was then that I indirectly became involved. It was to the point where they were right next to me. After he grabbed the woman she backed up and at this point she was directly on my left side. If I was 'like that' I would have probably been able to look up her skirt. I moved over past my book bag that was on my right so now it would be on my left and in between the couple and I. By this time, quite a few people were on the other side of the street where I was earlier, watching, but pretending not to watch. I hoped they did not ponder if I was a part of this madness.
Just when it was beginning to get worse, the bus seemed to float down Speedwell. For some reason it seemed to be moving very slowly, and I wondered how slowly it crept out the corner of the woman's eye, as she was still gripped up by the man. I remember thinking how bad things must have been where they lived considering how disorderly and abusive the guy was acting in the extremely public center of town. When the bus hit the corner and stopped, the elderly woman got on first, paid the fare, and sat in one of the seats especially designated for passengers of her age. She didn't care what was going on. I got on, paid and sat on the right side of the bus to look at the window and see what would become of the situation. I hoped the woman would get on the bus but with all instances in the last half hour or so I wasn't sure. He was so forceful and degrading, which to her might have very well been enormously persuading.

In the time it took us two to get on the bus, the lady had either dropped her change, or the man had somehow knocked it out. The man watched her while she found and retrieved each one of the coins and seemed to enjoy the fact that the bus driver, ignorant of the situation, was beginning to get impatient.
"Are you getting on or not?" she had asked.
What an important decision. The lady looked at the man and stalled up the steps to pay her fare and the man tried to follow her onto the bus. The driver's eyes locked with the man; she was completely flustered now.

"Are you getting on or not?"
I am certain the guy was staring at the lady for what seemed like forever, but she was sitting behind me, and his icy, evil glare chilled me more than the air conditioned bus had. He walked off and kicked the side of the bus while the driver sped away. I have always secretly hoped that he hurt his foot doing that.
The woman cried quietly behind me. I wanted to say something but I just didn't know what. So instead I said nothing at all. When I got to Mennen I had told a coworker, the same stupid one that bought two cigarettes from me every day for a dollar each, what happened. He said, "I'm glad you didn't get involved. He could have hurt you. People like that have no control." None of us on the street helped but I really do not know what could have been done to assist. She was already on her way out. She had a knapsack probably full of clothes and pictures and maybe some money. I don't know where she got off, or what she did, or if she caved and went back to him. For as long as I lived in Morristown, I never saw the woman again. I just hope that she cherished her freedom enough to stay on her own. It is very likely she could have end up murdered, like the young woman in the article, with no one to report the violence until after death took its toll.

[1] A circular park in the middle of Morristown, NJ surrounded by small shops, banks, and the department store Century 21.