in the midst of metamorphosis

Riding the bus during my childhood school years became my first memories of boys and bullying and the inexcusable being excused. These boys were older and they were, by far, worse than any "mean girls" I've encountered since. They were persistent and loud. They were relentless and aggressive. and they were never stopped. My first encounter of being groped was on that very same bus. A different boy but just as aggressive, just as persistent, just as relentless. A foundation had already been formed. I was less than and had no voice, no backbone, no knowledge to fight this surrounding system of boys will be boys. and I never stopped him. Years later, I would encounter this same attitude in the workplace, the one that had me trying to avoid the handsy cook in the walk-in, that had me laughing off customers advances so that I could make enough tips to support myself, that had me scared because a forceful patron had followed me home from my job at the bar and now knew whe...

That night is shrouded in a dense, alcohol fueled fog. I remember most of it, but it is the feelings that stand out as markers throughout the experience. I cannot tell you what he looked like, but I can tell you how he made me feel. Comforted, accepted, whole, safe, wanted. I didn't know him at all. He showed up at a party. I was feeling sad, alone, insecure. He said all the right words, did all the right things. I had no reason to fear him. yet. I cannot tell you what his car looked like, but I can tell you that my intuition screamed at me the moment I was inside of it.   Get. Out! I ignored her, as I unfortunately do at times. Besides, the charm was still there - why would I worry? We talked and drove and I remember thinking, 'well maybe this night isn't a total bust'. I cannot tell you where we were, but I can tell you that fear was making her presence known. And when I asked to go back and he refused, she settled into the pit of my stomach. and some days, I...