Mar 2013
About a month ago I was waiting inside the lobby of a bank until the bus came. I was just standing there, innocently blaring Regina Spektor in my headphones to drown out my mind as I usually am, when this tall, *****-blonde, pretty handsome boy walked in.
“Hi.” He said, standing directly in front of me, looking straight into my eyes.
“Um… Hi.” I replied, and pulled out my headphones because I didn’t want to seem rude.
“You have really nice eyes. You’re really cute. How old are you?”
“….Twenty One. Why?” I couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh.
“Because you look so young! Can I see your ID?” He asked.
I laughed and laughed and laughed and didn’t know what to do other than laugh.
“You’re joking, right?” I said.
“No, let me see it. Please.”
I should have told him to ******* right then and there but instead I kept laughing and fumbled for my wallet, took out my ID and handed it to him.
“See. I’m not lying.” I said.
“Oh. That’s weird. You look so young. Like at most sixteen.”
“Okay.” I looked out the window and stared at the traffic. The bus should be here any minute. Get here. Get here. Get here. Somebody save me.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, standing closer to me.
“Um… Nothing.” **** why did I say that why didn’t I just lie **** why won’t he just leave me alone this is so weird ugh why is he getting closer to me.
“Come for coffee with me.”
“HAHAHA! Why?” I laugh.
“Because. Just do it. Say you’ll do it.”
“Um… okay… Are you high or drunk or something?” I ask him.
“Nope. Just really tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay well this is just really weird. Like, you’re so confident and so sure of yourself. It’s weird. Not many people just walk up to someone and do this to a stranger.”
“Well I was just passing by and noticed your eyes and had to come talk to you.” He said.
Finally the bus came, we both got on, and he kept asking me questions.
I was trying to ignore how uncomfortable he was making me feel, how insane he was acting, how he was handsome but most definitely not even close to a gentleman, in fact he was the farthest thing from gentle I have ever encountered. He made me feel like an object, like an empty shell stranded on the shore that was waiting for someone, anyone to pick it up and call it beautiful. This was not okay.
But all I could do was laugh, because that’s what I do when I don’t know what to do.
“I know what kind of music you listen to just by looking at you.” He said.
“Oh, really? Guess.” I said and rolled my eyes. No he most certainly does not. Who EXACTLY does this guy think he is?
“Fleet Foxes, Joanna Newsom… You look like a hippy. A small, young, hipster.” He said.
“Well you’re wrong. Joanna Newsom is okay, but no.” I laughed some more and listed about 30 artists he’s only dreamed of listening to.
“Oh. That’s a lot of music. I’ve never heard of them.” He said.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He inched closer and closer to me until both of our shoulders were suddenly touching.
“Do you want to know who my favourite band is?” He asked.
“Who?” I said, not wanting to know at all but I was getting off the bus soon and didn’t want to end our conversation leaving the impression that I was a *****.
He leaned in close, and whispered into my ear -
“The Strokes.”
I immediately pulled away from him and laughed,
“Why did you have to whisper that?!?!”
“Because I like your mouth.” He said, smiling.
By this time, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to be flattered or insulted, to slap him or kiss him. Basically I was torn between giving him what he wanted: someone to **** and chuck, or giving myself what I wanted: to get the **** away from him.
“This is my stop.” I said.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked.
“Uh… Nothing.” I said.
“Wrong! You’re going for coffee with me!” He said.
I laughed and got off the bus.
———-
About a month later, (which would be probably a week ago, presently speaking), I ran into him on the bus AGAIN and we made eye contact but I chose to ignore him. He did not choose to ignore me, although I wish he did. He came up to the front of the bus, sat beside me and said,
“What’s your name again?”
“….Lyra.” I said.
“Hi, yeah, I thought it would be awkward if I didn’t come say hi.”
“Hi.” I said, and continued looking out the window.
“Hi.” He said.
There was a long pause of silence that satisfied me because I had turned into a porcupine the moment he sat beside me and I was hoping he could feel the sting of my quills lodging themselves into his face.
“I can go… If you want….” He said.
“Well then why don’t you?” I asked.
“You just seem interesting, I don’t know.”
“Well you don’t know me and I don’t know what you want from me but I have nothing to say or give you. So yeah, you should go.” I said.
He gave me an insulted look and went back to the back of the bus where he belonged.
We got off at the same stop which ******, but I didn’t look at or speak to him at all, even as we walked side by side to cross the street.
I felt relieved, elated, guilty, surprised, empowered, safe, in control.
I felt like a ***** and I liked it.
And I learned a lot from that one small encounter. I learned that being a ***** takes me out of my comfort zone, because I care so much about what other people think of me, I am always trying to come across as “the cute little blonde girl who laughs a lot and is very sweet”. Because that’s easier than being “the self assured woman who doesn’t take anyones **** and sometimes comes across as a ***** who doesn’t give a **** because she only returns the respect she is shown.”
I learned that it doesn’t always have to be one or the other, it is also okay to be both of those girls simultaneously.
I learned that I like attention, but I also like respect. And he made me feel extremely disrespected. I learned that some boys only want a girl for their own personal pleasure. I learned that some boys will literally do and say anything to get pleasure. I learned that it’s okay to stand up for yourself, it’s okay to turn into a porcupine when you feel uncomfortable to get the other person to leave you alone, it is okay to USE YOUR QUILLS.
I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have let men use them to get what they want, just to feel beautiful for a fleeting moment. I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have been in or stayed in a toxic, abusive relationship just to avoid being lonely. I thought of how sad it is that so many of us hate ourselves that much to let ourselves be used just so we can feel something other than pain for one ******* minute. I thought of how easy it is for so many of us to abandon ourselves like that and how no matter how many times we tell ourselves it’s okay, IT IS NOT OKAY.
I felt sad, but I felt hopeful too.
Because we don’t need someone to tell us we’re cute or beautiful or interesting or **** or funny or talented or special to feel like a ******* human who is all of those things already. We are and always have been, all of those things, regardless of who we are kissing or ******* or loving or talking to at any given moment. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes, but it’s not nice to depend on someone to make us feel like that. We do not need to settle for anything less than someone who ******* respects us and treats us how we ******* ought to be treated.
Most of all, I felt proud of myself.
And I feel like the Spice Girls or P!nk or Alanis Morisette would have been proud of me, too.
“Hi.” He said, standing directly in front of me, looking straight into my eyes.
“Um… Hi.” I replied, and pulled out my headphones because I didn’t want to seem rude.
“You have really nice eyes. You’re really cute. How old are you?”
“….Twenty One. Why?” I couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh.
“Because you look so young! Can I see your ID?” He asked.
I laughed and laughed and laughed and didn’t know what to do other than laugh.
“You’re joking, right?” I said.
“No, let me see it. Please.”
I should have told him to ******* right then and there but instead I kept laughing and fumbled for my wallet, took out my ID and handed it to him.
“See. I’m not lying.” I said.
“Oh. That’s weird. You look so young. Like at most sixteen.”
“Okay.” I looked out the window and stared at the traffic. The bus should be here any minute. Get here. Get here. Get here. Somebody save me.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, standing closer to me.
“Um… Nothing.” **** why did I say that why didn’t I just lie **** why won’t he just leave me alone this is so weird ugh why is he getting closer to me.
“Come for coffee with me.”
“HAHAHA! Why?” I laugh.
“Because. Just do it. Say you’ll do it.”
“Um… okay… Are you high or drunk or something?” I ask him.
“Nope. Just really tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay well this is just really weird. Like, you’re so confident and so sure of yourself. It’s weird. Not many people just walk up to someone and do this to a stranger.”
“Well I was just passing by and noticed your eyes and had to come talk to you.” He said.
Finally the bus came, we both got on, and he kept asking me questions.
I was trying to ignore how uncomfortable he was making me feel, how insane he was acting, how he was handsome but most definitely not even close to a gentleman, in fact he was the farthest thing from gentle I have ever encountered. He made me feel like an object, like an empty shell stranded on the shore that was waiting for someone, anyone to pick it up and call it beautiful. This was not okay.
But all I could do was laugh, because that’s what I do when I don’t know what to do.
“I know what kind of music you listen to just by looking at you.” He said.
“Oh, really? Guess.” I said and rolled my eyes. No he most certainly does not. Who EXACTLY does this guy think he is?
“Fleet Foxes, Joanna Newsom… You look like a hippy. A small, young, hipster.” He said.
“Well you’re wrong. Joanna Newsom is okay, but no.” I laughed some more and listed about 30 artists he’s only dreamed of listening to.
“Oh. That’s a lot of music. I’ve never heard of them.” He said.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He inched closer and closer to me until both of our shoulders were suddenly touching.
“Do you want to know who my favourite band is?” He asked.
“Who?” I said, not wanting to know at all but I was getting off the bus soon and didn’t want to end our conversation leaving the impression that I was a *****.
He leaned in close, and whispered into my ear -
“The Strokes.”
I immediately pulled away from him and laughed,
“Why did you have to whisper that?!?!”
“Because I like your mouth.” He said, smiling.
By this time, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to be flattered or insulted, to slap him or kiss him. Basically I was torn between giving him what he wanted: someone to **** and chuck, or giving myself what I wanted: to get the **** away from him.
“This is my stop.” I said.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked.
“Uh… Nothing.” I said.
“Wrong! You’re going for coffee with me!” He said.
I laughed and got off the bus.
———-
About a month later, (which would be probably a week ago, presently speaking), I ran into him on the bus AGAIN and we made eye contact but I chose to ignore him. He did not choose to ignore me, although I wish he did. He came up to the front of the bus, sat beside me and said,
“What’s your name again?”
“….Lyra.” I said.
“Hi, yeah, I thought it would be awkward if I didn’t come say hi.”
“Hi.” I said, and continued looking out the window.
“Hi.” He said.
There was a long pause of silence that satisfied me because I had turned into a porcupine the moment he sat beside me and I was hoping he could feel the sting of my quills lodging themselves into his face.
“I can go… If you want….” He said.
“Well then why don’t you?” I asked.
“You just seem interesting, I don’t know.”
“Well you don’t know me and I don’t know what you want from me but I have nothing to say or give you. So yeah, you should go.” I said.
He gave me an insulted look and went back to the back of the bus where he belonged.
We got off at the same stop which ******, but I didn’t look at or speak to him at all, even as we walked side by side to cross the street.
I felt relieved, elated, guilty, surprised, empowered, safe, in control.
I felt like a ***** and I liked it.
And I learned a lot from that one small encounter. I learned that being a ***** takes me out of my comfort zone, because I care so much about what other people think of me, I am always trying to come across as “the cute little blonde girl who laughs a lot and is very sweet”. Because that’s easier than being “the self assured woman who doesn’t take anyones **** and sometimes comes across as a ***** who doesn’t give a **** because she only returns the respect she is shown.”
I learned that it doesn’t always have to be one or the other, it is also okay to be both of those girls simultaneously.
I learned that I like attention, but I also like respect. And he made me feel extremely disrespected. I learned that some boys only want a girl for their own personal pleasure. I learned that some boys will literally do and say anything to get pleasure. I learned that it’s okay to stand up for yourself, it’s okay to turn into a porcupine when you feel uncomfortable to get the other person to leave you alone, it is okay to USE YOUR QUILLS.
I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have let men use them to get what they want, just to feel beautiful for a fleeting moment. I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have been in or stayed in a toxic, abusive relationship just to avoid being lonely. I thought of how sad it is that so many of us hate ourselves that much to let ourselves be used just so we can feel something other than pain for one ******* minute. I thought of how easy it is for so many of us to abandon ourselves like that and how no matter how many times we tell ourselves it’s okay, IT IS NOT OKAY.
I felt sad, but I felt hopeful too.
Because we don’t need someone to tell us we’re cute or beautiful or interesting or **** or funny or talented or special to feel like a ******* human who is all of those things already. We are and always have been, all of those things, regardless of who we are kissing or ******* or loving or talking to at any given moment. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes, but it’s not nice to depend on someone to make us feel like that. We do not need to settle for anything less than someone who ******* respects us and treats us how we ******* ought to be treated.
Most of all, I felt proud of myself.
And I feel like the Spice Girls or P!nk or Alanis Morisette would have been proud of me, too.
