There is a serial rapist in my neighborhood, so as I walk home in the dark, hobbling along with a shining silver cane, I try, very hard, not to look like a victim. Lurching along, my knee throbbing with each step, I think about how, if I was a rapist, I would definitely attack a handicapped woman. Definitely.

So as the thrill of fear rises in my throat, I start to talk myself out of it. Not one with a cane. No way. She's armed. She could totally brain you. (This thought makes me smile. Braining a rapist.) This is titanium, I think. I stop lurching along, examine my cane, decide maybe it's aluminum, and take a few experimental swings with it. I can't really plant my left foot because of the bad knee, so I totally swing like a pansy, loose-wristed and ass pushed out, no power. Shit. That is so not scary. I curse the stupid knee and the stupid knee surgery and the stupid cane and pain that every step brings.

I look around to see if anyone saw me swinging my cane like a tard, but no one is out. I can't see a car for the whole four blocks I have to walk, and no one is on the sidewalk. The huge trees block out the pitiful light from the street lamps. It's very shadowy and sinister. Feeling suddenly panicky, I start to hobble along again, faster, checking behind me every few feet.

I read that the serial rapist likes to come up behind you and grab you around the neck and haul you into some bushes or a darkened doorway. I need to be ready. I try to look ready for anything. Chin up, eyes scanning around me. Muggers come at your from angles. A former mugger told me that. Always be aware of your surroundings. Long hair can be used against you. So can wearing overalls. And talking on your cell phone. My hair is not long, my cell is in my bag, and I don't have overalls on but it does little to comfort me limping home.

I also don't have mace. It can be turned against you and I read that women shouldn't carry weapons that can be turned against them. There was a Great Mace Debate when I moved to Chicago five years ago. Mom bought me mace so I would have it. Dad is sure I will never need it and never get to it in time if I did. I think they are both right, so the mace in is my apartment where my cat uses it as a toy. Sometimes my mom asks me, "Do you have your mace?" and this way I can tell her yes and not be lying.

I am comforted by the fact that I am not usually someone who gets fucked with. I have a non-fuck-with demeanor. Maybe it's because I am tall. I am 5'9", which is taller than the average man. I actually work at squaring my shoulders and thinking don't-fuck-with-me thoughts while I walk along. I think it shows on my face. My friend Marg is always getting harassed or messed with when we are out. I think she attracts it. I picture her dark swinging curtain of hair as she tosses it while laughing at some inane thing any random guy says to her. She's little; 5'2", and tiny tiny, and Asian. Maybe that has something to do with it, her being so small. Marg is like a trouble magnet. No matter where we go, she will find the biggest dick in the place and glom onto him. If Marg was with me, I would be more worried than I am now.

I think about the poster I saw with a composite sketch of the rapist on it. Average build, short hair, 5'7", Latino. The drawing is so non-descript it could be any Latino; any man. It looks a lot like my friend Jorge who is gay and not a rapist but it scares me that it looks so much like him. I see a guy who looks like that everywhere I go and so does every other women.

There are two guys walking towards me. They are not looking at me and are about a block away. I check over my shoulder to see if this is a set up and they are working with someone who is creeping up behind me. There isn't anyone. I think that I am ok since there are two of them. Rapists don't work in pairs. It's the guys alone you have to worry about. Fuck! That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Of course they are still a threat. I mean, probably they are just walking.

I switch my grip on the cane so I can swing it easier if I have to. This, however, makes it harder to walk and I lose my balance and stumble a little. Great! Look its, Stumpy McGimpalong, come and rape her! But they don't even glance my way as near me, like good little urbanites. Both taller than me and whippet-thin, they are nattily dressed and smell wonderful. I relax. They're gay. Gay as the day is long. I inhale deeply as they pass. An expensive smelling cologne, and Downy. What a wonderful smell. Why can't all boys smell like that?

Just the same, when they are past me I look over my shoulder to make sure they didn't turn around. Can't be too careful. Just one block from home now, I turn the corner and pass the house where a dog and two cats are always sitting in the big bay window, watching people walk by. They make me feel secure, like nothing bad could happen in front of such witnesses.

Extracting my keys from my pocket, I get the door key ready in my hand. With another look behind me I jam the key into the lock, twist, scoot in the door and shut it quickly behind me. As I gather my mail, I indulge in a brief fantasy about what I would do if someone burst through the glass of the door and tried to grab me, like something you would see in a movie. Letting myself in the inner door, I struggle up the stairs and into my apartment. My cat is meowing pitifully as if he had been abandoned. As soon as I enter I shut the door behind me quickly and throw the dead bolt. I turn the light up brighter and have a look around the apartment before I relax, take off my coat, and scratch the cat's belly letting his purr fill me up with the feeling that I am finally safe.