Beyond The Plot

Often I hear “Hey. Are you okay?”, which I usually am so my go to reply is “That’s just how my face looks”

Except that it not “just” how my face looks. It’s a mask I’ve had to place on. 

I bled for the first time. A celebratory affair. My aunties all gathered to welcome me into womanhood… At the age of 9. 

A fourth grader. 

Soon after came the rules. As we know being a woman comes with a long list of “you need to’s” and “You can’t’s”. 

> “You need to hide your curves. You are too young to attract that kind of attention.”

> “You need to be aware of your surroundings. You are a woman now.”

> “You can’t sit like that. People will think you are fast.”

> “Remember to be kind. You never know how they will react.”

I paid no mind. I’m always kind. I don’t understand why I can’t run around like my brother. But okay. I don’t understand why I can’t wear those shorts. But okay. 

And then came the leers. 

Glances that strayed too often, and lingered too long. 

And then the commentary. 

> “You are pretty little thing. You’ll break down hearts in a few years.”

> “You are shaping up to be a beautiful  woman. If only I were younger.”

> “Your dad is going to have his hands full with you. God bless him.”

With each lingering glance and concerning comment my happy- go-lucky outlook cracked and dimmed. 

The continuous discomfort from the world outside of my home turned my smile into a scowl. My jokes into sharp barbs. 

Then the comments changed. 

> “She’s a mean one heh.”

> “She’s not one to play with.”

And then the leers became more infrequent the disconcerting commentary rarely struck my ears. 

I became a kid again. Running around, making new friends. 

And then my very first stalker, at the age of 12. 

A reminder that my no’s can be dismissed. 

A reminder that my concerns will not be taken seriously. 

Because we all know “boy will be boys” and “girls need to control themselves to prevent boys from being boys.”

The scowl returned. The barrier firmly in place. 

Perfect timing because I was entering my teenage years. 

The commentary on my body came back, ten fold. The leering more aggressive. The grazes almost as frequent as a breeze.

I spent those years figuring out the best ways to extract myself from being cornered. The best practices to be aware of lingering cars, people changing their direction mid walk, dark corners that hold danger. The perfect ways to say no. 

Until that perfect way fell on deaf ears. 

My first adult stalker, at the age of 20. 

Friendly banter misconstrued as interest. A simple rejection dismissed with ire. Relentless messages. Fear stricken so deeply, a folder of screenshots was created just in case something happened. 

My softening scowl returned again. A thicker barrier in place. 

While young girls are taught to control every aspect of themselves, boys are taught they can get away with anything if they can show that their victim didn’t follow the rules.  

Because we all know “boys will be boys” even once they are men. 

My resting bitch face keeps me safe. 

While I have not been physically assaulted, I have been sexually harassed since I was 9 years old. 

While I’ve not been physically assaulted, 4 out of 5 of my close friends have. All to varying degrees of brutality. 

While I’ve not been physically assaulted, I am fully aware that the chances of my no being dismissed are high. 

And if that happens, my life will be torn apart to figure out what I did to attract such danger upon myself.

For I’m a woman, and should have been following the rules put in place. 

Because we all know “boys will be boys” even once they are men. 

And their lives shouldn’t be ruined. 

As for the lives they ruin… well they should have been following the rules. 

So, Frankly I don’t give a fuck that you are offended I didn’t smile at you, you stranger.