A Survivor of an Assault

I was eight or so at the time and every day I would walk home from my elementary school. A beat up looking Toyota would slow down enough for a couple of white guys that looked like they were in their mid to late twenties to follow me and yell insults. For years I live in fear that man with the greasy blonde hair and pimple scarred face eventually get to me. The next night I went back and brought her some food in an Amazon gift card. He said something I'll never forget. I'll get her, one way or another.