Community Essay : ‘My Indignation Turned to Fear’ : An incident in an alley feels like a threat, but is it just a misunderstanding? The author returns to the scene to find out.

I was in my small town, running some late-afternoon errands. As I was exiting an alley, three teen-agers ambled in front of the car, blocking the driveway and seemingly ignoring my attempt to get out onto the street. They just kind of “hung” there, as teen-agers do, carrying on a conversation.

I was sure that they had seen me and equally sure that they were just being disrespectful teen-agers, the kind who put graffiti on our neighborhood stop signs and sidewalks.

I edged my car closer out of impatience, I said, “Next time, pick a direction and move in it!” That was admittedly a little harsher than I had intended, but still, I felt, a just consequence of blocking a car to carry on a conversation.

One of the young men responded with, “You better get your ass out of here, lady.” I didn’t really know what he meant when he said that, but I did hear an unspoken “or else.”

My first impulse was to pull the car over and give these young men a good tongue-lashing, as I would have done with my own son had he been so disrespectful and threatening.

But in a split second, my indignation turned to fear. Perhaps this is a good time to mention that these three young men were black, and I am a white woman in my late 40s.

I felt I was being threatened, and since this young man had a beeper conspicuously attached to his pants, I jumped to the conclusion that he probably also had a gun (yes, I jump to conclusions under pressure). I muttered the equivalent of, “Well, of all the nerve!” and drove off, probably a little faster than I should have.

My heart was racing and my frustration level was on overload--both at them and at myself, for all the awful things I was thinking--all the stereotypes I was running through my mental computer, all the categories these three boys fell into, all the reasons we should be leaving Los Angeles.

By the time I got home I was furious, confused and ashamed. Had I “asked for it” by making my irritation known? Should I have just let them “get away with it”? How, then, do young people know what’s expected of them in society. Then I thought, “So what if I was impatient--if you screw up, people yell at you. That’s what stops you from screwing up again!” (A premise that usually applies to everyone but teen-agers and contractors.)

But perhaps I had made assumptions based more on my fears, fed by daily newspaper and television reports, than on reality.

I got back into my car and went looking for those kids. I didn’t want to yell at them, I just wanted to talk to them--to understand what had happened.

I found them and asked if we could talk. They were agreeable. They said they hadn’t realized my car was there. I apologized for assuming they were just being provocative, and also asked for an apology from the young man who “threatened” me. “I’m sorry,” he said, a little embarrassed, “I was just . . . “ His voice trailed off and he kind of kicked the ground the way errant children do.

I probably lectured about paying attention on the street and jumping to the wrong conclusion, race relations and general civic responsibility. I am a parent, after all, and it is in my nature to do so. I’m sure they won’t remember anything I said (I speak from the experience of having a teen-ager).

But I hope they will remember that someone tried to clear up a misunderstanding, rather than just sit with some ugly feelings; that someone went looking for them in order to talk it out rather than fight; that someone was trying very hard to communicate with them rather than categorize them.

We shook hands. They were both smiling. I walked away no longer angry, no longer afraid.

We’re trying, Los Angeles. We’re trying.