Page 108 of Coach
When I tried to move past him, he grabbed me.
It was like the second his fingers touched my skin, he lost any control he had left.
He backed me up against the wall, ran his hands down my arms, over my belly, then up… up.
My legs unfroze, and I ducked under his arm.
I ran half-naked into the hallway, banging on doors as I went, yelling for someone to help me.
It was the dropout pothead at the end of the hall who answered, letting me into his apartment while storming into the hall with a bat swinging in his hand.
By the time he checked around, though, my coach was long gone.
The cops who showed up claimed that I had no proof there had been any sort of break-in, rolled their eyes when I insisted that I was very careful about locking my door when I left. And when I kept going with the story, they went as far as to say it sounded like I had a date over, led him on, then caused a scene when I decided not to go through with it.
As they walked off afterward, I heard them grumbling about dumb college girls.
This time, when I tried to get another restraining order, the new judge wouldn’t give it to me.
Without that barrier, Coach Dover was everywhere. I got a new phone; he figured out the new number. I changed jobs; he tracked me down. I tried to be normal and date; he told the guy horrible stories about me.
Then, worst of all, I got news that Coach Dover went to his union and forced another review of his conduct. No one spoke to me. Just the other girls who had been on the team at the time, all of whom said Coach Dover had never been inappropriate.
Horror of horrors, he was rehired.
And I just… couldn’t do it anymore.
I couldn’t go to that field every day, knowing he’d gotten away with everything, knowing he could keep touching me, watching me. Or doing worse.
There seemed to be no choice.
I had to drop out.
Quit.
Pack up.
Move.
Try to start over.
So that was what I did.
It was the first time since college started that I felt like I could breathe. Having a history in serving and bartending allowed me to get a decent job in a big city. The money flowed in, though flowed out almost as easily, thanks to insane rent prices. I made new friends. I dated. I started looking into community college courses to hopefully get some sort of degree to help build a more solid foundation.
Then one night, there was a shadow under a streetlamp.
And there he was.
In my new life.
With his same old obsession.
Again, I’d tried to get protection. But the police, while not as belittling as the ones at college, informed me that Coach Dover hadn’t done anything wrong, that streets were public, and that unless he did something threatening, there was nothing they could do.
What choice did I have but to uproot and restart again? I couldn’t risk staying and waiting for my former coach to get brave and violent again.
So I moved.
