trigger warning: sexual harassment.
“If you won’t smile, I’ll take you out back behind the autobarn and make you smile.”
It is 8AM. I’m at my desk and Wes the mechanic is just walking by with his coffee. I stare hard at the screen, checking emails.
Later that day I mention to Tim in the Parts Department that my stomach hurts.
“Well you know the best cure for a stomach ache?” he looks at Grant next to him and smiles knowingly. “What?” I ask.
“Bend over.”
I’m 17. I’m not fast enough on the draw, so I laugh. I guess it’s funny.
My boss Keith, Tim’s Dad, tells me he only hired me for my legs.
I liked my legs, but I don’t like them now.
I wish someone would cut them off.
Then I’m 21. My classics professor has invited me into his office to talk.
“I’m worried about you. I’ve noticed you haven’t been dressing up as often. Is something wrong?”
The next day my cognitive psychology professor growls at me as he walks by, his eyes boring into mine.
I start to sit at the back of the classroom, where his eyes still find me.
Then the next year my (English) English professor tries to walk me home after an event and puts his hand on my elbow.
I say no thanks, I’m good.
At another event, I am alone texting my little sister off in a corner. The same professor comes up behind me and presses his whole body into my back.
“Who are you texting?” he asks, his alcohol breath on my ear. I step away. I give him a dirty look, and can’t help but question my grades from then on.
Then I’m 25, and am merely friendly with the neighbour man across the hall. He is tall, dark, handsome. Used to girls liking him. Still, he’s seen me with my boyfriend. Knows I’m not interested.
But he buys me a bike lock for my new bike anyway. I insist on paying him. He says, a hug will do. I’m already in the hug before I can say no, and he breathes on my neck. Puts his lips on my shoulder.
I take a really hot shower after I push and push to get away.
I don’t like to go in the hallway anymore. And for a while, I don’t leave my house.
So then I move away.
Another hallway. Another neighbour. An old man this time with a big smile and a big hello.
After two years of simple hellos, I say hello like always. But he pulls me into him and I cannot get out of his arms. “Just one, just one” he says and I try to pull away but the old man is stronger than me. He tries to kiss me again and again until I finally break free.
I take another hot shower. My mom almost beats down the man’s door and I’ve never loved her so much.
I go away for a while. I travel. I go out to visit my cousin and she gets too drunk. We grab a slice of pizza and a group of nice men charm us with polite jokes and midnight banter. We joke back. We smile, and when we leave, they do not follow.
Then we walk back to wait for our friends. We sit on a bench. Are surrounded by a different group of men.
I say we’re not in the mood, we’re just waiting for a cab, leave us alone. One of them closes the circle around us.
“What, are you scared? Why are women always scared of men?” They keep getting closer. I go to run, but I cannot leave my cousin. There are 8 of them, 2 of us. I stay, my eyes wide. “I’m not scared, I’m annoyed! Just leave us alone we don’t want to talk to you.”
Two of them sit on the bench with us, on either side. “We’re not even dangerous? Why are you so scared?”
The cab arrives and we go home with shouts of ‘fucking bitches!’ chorusing behind us.
When we get there, I have my very first panic attack when my other cousin tries to hug me from behind.
Because so many others have come up from behind.
Because this is barely the whole list.
Because this is barely a taste of what it’s like to be in this body.
And if you’ve felt uncomfortable reading this, imagine being this.
.
I’m 35 now.
They say when a woman turns 40, they become invisible; that society doesn’t see them anymore.
Five more years and maybe my list will end.
Though I’m not counting on it.
If you enjoyed this piece, you may enjoy Bleed Like A Man.
And if you want to get inspired to share your stories, book a writing inspiration session today.
Cover Image by Jessica Barratt
Jessica Barratt 