I Want To Forget Feelings of Being Small And Afraid

You’re both heading toward the apple isle, landing at the same bin of Honey Crisps. “Sorry,” you say, folding your shoulders inwards, looking down. Making yourself smaller for the man. You wait for him to choose his apples first, as if choosing first is his birthright. You look around the store, waiting for him to finish. Sheesh. I really want to forget feelings of being small and afraid. I want to stride confidently to the Honey Crisps and choose the best ones first.

I Want To Forget Submissive

You wait until you’re six months along before drawing in enough courage to tell your boss you’re pregnant. “Is it mine?” he asks, laughing. “I said the same thing to Lauren when she told me she’s pregnant,” he says. You smile, swallowing your disgust. “It’s a good job, and you’re lucky to have it,” you remind yourself. “Maybe he’ll pay me during maternity leave” you think.

At 21 years old, your boss gives you a promotion. You now manage his mother, who owns the building you work in. He asks you to go to Chicago with him. “For work?” you ask. “For whatever,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. You laugh, and walk away. He asks another woman to go with him, and she does. When they get back, they sit on one side of the conference table, you on the other. They fire you. You apologize, slink out with your hair covering your face hoping you won’t trip carrying your box of photos and pens from home down the stairs, and out the front door.

I Want To Forget Harassment As “Normal”

“You tease,” he snarls when you say you want to go home. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, wondering whether he’ll let you walk out his front door. He’s sitting next to your purse on the couch, and you consider leaving it behind, but your keys are in it. He seems to weigh his options, takes a long pull from his beer. He’s had a lot of them, and you think how dumb you are to have gone home with him in the first place. “I’m sorry,” you say again. “Fine, just go, bitch,” he slurs, and throws your purse at you. You sweep the fallen contents up, and head to the door, apologizing again, for being stupid and for not being or doing what he wanted.

I Want To Forget Being Pressured And Afraid

It’s only 5:30 p.m. but it’s grown dark outside. People exit the bus and there are only a few of you left. One is the creepy looking guy who keeps staring at you. You consider getting off the bus before your stop to get away from him, but then you’d have to wait in the cold for the next one to come so you remain seated. Stand up, and sit again, unsure of your place here, or anywhere. You get off at your stop and he follows you. “Probably just being paranoid,” you tell yourself, gripping your keys between your knuckles the way your brother showed you. You walk faster, and refrain from looking behind you to see if he’s still there. You know he is. You walk past your own front door, not wanting him to know it’s where you sleep, and continue to the 7-11. He follows you but leaves finally, once you’ve waited inside for what feels like forever.

You wait a little longer, and buy a Big Gulp even though you don’t really want one. As you’re paying, the clerk smiles at you. His front teeth are brown behind his chapped lips. “Smile, pretty lady,” he says. You grimace-smile, leave the safety of the brightly lit store and run home, spilling your Big Gulp on the side of your pants and shoe. You’ll take the later bus home from work for two weeks, hoping to not see him again. Luckily, you don’t.

I Want To Forget To Smile When A Random Dude Tells Me To

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s prompt is “I wish I could forget…” and though I planned to write something very different (more of a things I want to remember from this month and this life), when I sat down, this came out. I suppose the anger and injustice I feel over women and minorities continually shrinking and apologizing to white men has been within me for a long time, although I don’t think I have ever been as aware of this as in recent years, where things like that rapist (what if it’d been a girl behind the dumpster?) getting away with three months or whatever when young girls can be imprisoned for choosing body autonomy – a basic human right. I suppose that’s one thing to thank 45 for – his gross mistreatment of pretty much everybody and everything has made me much more aware.

And The Good News Is When We’re Aware, We Roar, For We Are Women. #Resist #Persist