Let Me Tell You Something in meh...

Though I’m in a jovial mood at the moment, I’ve been thinking about this, thinking of sharing this.

When I was 17, I was late for school one day. I was bussed out to the county so I would have to ride the regular bus. No biggie. I’d been riding the bus for a while at that point. I never liked sitting in the back of the bus. No particular reason why, but after this, I really prefer to not sit in the back of the bus.

This particular day, I had worn an outfit that me and a friend had gotten to match each other even though she was pregnant. They were these one piece, front button rompers. I’ve always had big boobs and no butt and I always got my clothes baggy enough not to accentuate either flaw. So, I get on the bus and noticed how crowded it was and I had to make my way to the back, sitting as near to the back door as possible.

I tried to shrink and not be noticed. My folder, tote bag with books, etc. I don’t remember if these men were on the bus before me or after me. What I do remember is not paying attention to them, but someone said something that made me realize they were discussing me. They were saying vile things. I didn’t know if they were supposed to be flattering, but I was young and they were disgusting. As of right now, I don’t remember all that was said, but they were discussing my body. Perhaps they were already on the bus because there wasn’t much they could see with me sitting down. Being a survivor of molestation, I’ve been leery of males for a long time, so that may be why I tried to shrink and not be noticed.

The talk kept on. there was a man seated near all of this who wore a suit and a tie and I thought surely someone would come to my defense. Nothing doing. I felt angry, and I was near tears because I also felt helpless. They were being so nasty and I just remember sitting there wanting to cry and wondering why NO OTHER MEN said to leave me alone.

So then it was time for me to get off the bus. I pulled the indicator and was using my folder to try and cover up as much as I could, if I could. One of the men said something like, “Yeah, let’s see what that fish looks like,” or trap or something like that. I remember getting up and holding my folder over my butt as I got up and walked off the bus. I hear this loud “OOOOOOH!!!” full of disappointment when I did that and I made sure not to let me be seen afterward. When the bus moved and passed, I put my finger up at them and after I crossed the street, I cried.

I felt dirty, ashamed (because how dare I have a somewhat nice body) and violated. At that point in my life, I would say I was use to being objectified, but in a capacity where there was an audience, I was horrified. I was used to being called “thunder thighs” or “jugs” because those were just facts to me. I knew what I had and I knew boys/men weren’t shit. However, when I am the object of unwanted attention and it feels in my soul that one is trying to invade, it’s different and it’s wrong and it’s trash. Not all, but some men are just. fuckin. trash.

So in light of all the Me Too stuff, I’ve been silent because this has been a part of my life since I was young. You learn to adapt and adjust and learn how to maneuver. You pick up on social cues and your own instinct to know what’s okay, what’s a joke, and what it outright not okay. In some instances, not all women take things the same. Right now, I have a friend in Security, that when we see each other we pretend we are getting undressed in heated passion. He makes these lewd gestures and I do the same. We’ve done this for years. I even call him, “my unconceived baby daddy.” He refers to me as “Chocolate Thunder” and I refer to him as “White Lightning.” Because it’s just jokes. This I get. This I participate in, but say if…The creepy guy that gets on the bus, just doesn’t pick up on the cue that I don’t want to be bothered. I’m bothered by your insistence on invading my thoughts with your voice. Trying to MAKE me pay attention to you, saying something that may be offensive instead of flattering…Then we have a problem. Some things, I tend to laugh off because the person who is trying has no clue that it isn’t working. They think my laughter is a sign they are breaking through. I’m laughing at their efforts because I already know when they first start talking, I’m not interested. That kind of veered. This is not to discredit or vindicate victims or the accused. This is my story. This is me. This is my view. Has this affected my life? Yes it has for positive and negative. It’s made me weak and strong.

That’s all folks…
Take care, treat each other well.

Kindest regards,
Sister