Presently, I like to think of myself as someone who can put her foot down and speak up for herself when the need presents itself. But there have been many times, in the past, when I froze. I wanted to get up and stand up for myself, but I couldn’t physically get myself to do so.
I was a senior in high school, though many would say I looked like I was still in middle school, and on the train at 9pm. I couldn’t wait to get home, have dinner, and do some light reading so that I could watch an episode or two of Gossip Girl. The train car I was on was fairly empty, perhaps there were five or six other people besides myself. A woman was sitting across from me. I remember her smiling at me when I first sat down. I put my headphones on, but no music, and I busied myself with reading “Tiger Eyes” by Judy Blume. It was one of my favorite books, and it must’ve been my fourth or fifth time reading it.
I didn’t notice him walk in at the previous stop, but I definitely noticed him when he chose to sit right next to me — even though there were several other seats. I looked over without thinking, and he was just smiling at me. He must’ve been my father’s age. I could’ve given him a “sit somewhere else” look, but instead I nervously smiled back and tried to go back to reading my book. But I couldn’t focus on the pages; I was growing more nervous by the second. My destination was only two stops away, and I started contemplating getting off at the next stop.
He put his arm around my shoulders, and I felt like my body was shutting down to shield me from the uncomfortableness of it all. I could still see him staring at me from the corner of my eye. “How’re you doing beautiful?” I pretended not to hear it, thanks to my headphones. But he took that as an invitation to squeeze my shoulders. I couldn’t pretend not to have felt that. I took off one of my headphones and looked at him. He asked me the same thing again. I remember saying I was fine and that my father was waiting for me at my stop. To which he replied with: “I can be your daddy and walk you back to my place.”
I felt embarrassed, even though I had no reason to be. I wanted to confront him and tell him to leave me alone. Tell him to go sit in one of the other thirty or so empty seats. To remind him that his attention is unwanted. I was practicing it all in my head, trying to say it without stuttering. Before I could bring myself to say any of it, the woman across from me spoke up. She said everything I wanted to. She did not hesitate and stared him down. He didn’t like it and stood up to intimidate her, telling her to mind her own business. Luckily my stop was next and so was hers. I hurriedly got up, and she walked out with me.
As much as I wanted to speak up, I couldn’t bring the words to leave my lips. I was scared of being the next girl on the news who said “no” and got beat up or killed in a rage. I felt that I had a better chance of making it home if I was just polite to him. I felt like I had to be nice to him so I wouldn’t get hurt. Today, I wouldn’t wait for another person to speak up for me; but my younger inexperienced self was not as vocal. It feels like there is a continuous tradeoff to being a woman and being alone in public settings. How much do I want to avoid being harassed or attacked? And how much do I value my personal safety?
Edited by Ayoko Djisseglo.
Images by Markus Spiske and Oleg Ivanov from Unsplash.
