facing fear

I was living in an old building with others. We seemed to be squatting for the rooms were derelict and unfurnished, with no secure windows or doors. A group of young boys sat in the entrance room against the wall. They were always there, and I did not trust them. They heckled people as they came and went, harrying them at times. I kept my distance. Although I seemed to own very little, I still had my handbag where I  safeguarded anything of value, including a substantial sum of money - perhaps my means out of there. One night I noticed my handbag missing and looked immediately to the boys. Sure enough, they had it; I could see them huddled in the doorway, rifling through the contents. I called to my friend, telling her the boys had my bag. But, though I feared them, it was up to me to retrieve it. I walked into the cold cement room and faced the gang of boys who were sitting in a line against the wall. Demanding they return my bag, I threatened them, yelling at them, saying I would get them if they didn't, I would hurt them. As soon as I had spoken, I felt great remorse. I looked at them, ashamed, and told them I was sorry, that I would not hurt them. Instead of threatening them, I spoke my simple truth: my bag is important to me and I want it back. To my surprise, they handed it to me and, upon checking, nothing was astray. Still, one of the boys jeered at me. He stood up and moved obtrusively into my personal space. Again, instead of reacting in fear, I looked at him, I really saw him. I asked his name. He looked up, into my eyes for the first time and told me. And, realising we had never before truly acknowledged each other as people, rather we had regarded one another with animosity because of our fear, I told him my name. Something shifted. The fear was gone - mine and the boy's. We had become allies, friends and, although unspoken, I knew we would look out for one another, protect one another from this day on.