Something helps me get through the day by thinking of other things. When jock guys whistle and yell at me to “Get over there”, I simply think of other things. Seeing my friends smiling faces, immune and bare to the haunting of the previous course of events.
Quicken my pace, and move on. I decide that being the bigger person and walking away, ignoring them is the best thing to do. But looking around to the general student body of my high school, I decide something right then.
No one knows.
None of the students, with their happy-go-lucky pom poms and their Vera Bradley backpacks will ever know. They will never know what I know. I have something of theirs. And they have something of mine. I want to give their ignorance back to them, and shove it down their throats.
But, in those short few seconds, getting out of my car, locking my doors, and leaving to go to class, I was harassed. More than once. By more than one person. Not only did they comment on my parking (okay, so I wasn’t the best), but on my outfit, and how I was not allowed to park there. What the hell? I was utterly appalled and concerned with the moral conscience of those boys. That would always be male, but never men.
So while I keep thinking of other things and not talking about the next hit from One D, I’ll keep walking, keep thinking about other things.
Because that’s just it. It’s the something I don’t remember, but I wouldn’t care to forget.