Innocent

A very small boy is riding his bike by me. He can’t be more than four. He calls out, “Hi!”

I’m simultaneously delighted and terrified. I like kids as much as anyone else does.

Maybe more, because they can’t seem to see my ptsd.

Lately it feels like almost everyone can see how much I’m hurting. People look at me and just grimace. Like I’m wearing all my pain on my skin.

Even when I smile, it doesn’t seem to matter. Some teenagers in Muir Woods called me creepy….

I’ve always been a little outcast, but I’m sure it hasn’t always been this bad. I feel infamous. Like Monica Lewinsky.

But what am I gonna do, ignore this little boy? “Hi!”

“What’s your name?” My goodness, where are this child’s parents?

I’m camping in a rich white area. This child may have been raised in an environment where it’s safe to just talk to anyone.

An alien, to me. I am from a very different world. I can’t help but think, thank goodness I’m a safe person.

We exchange names. For some reason, he hears mine as “Soraya.”

I’m delighted by this little boy and his questions. And I’m running away.

I call my sister and explain, “I need to be on the phone so kids don’t try to talk to me.”

Searching through my car for some dinner, I feel a stare impermeating my entire body.

I look up. Old man. He pretends to be looking at a tree.

I go back to it, and so does he. I look up again. He’s slower to look away this time.

So I stand up, face him, and stare. He turns away.

He pretends to be looking up at the tree leaves, so so do I. I think to myself, this is preposterous. No one would stare at leaves this long.

What an insult to my intelligence that he expects me to believe he’s staring at the tree and not at me.

The second I’m back at looking for my dinner, he’s blatantly staring again. What the fuck.

Loudly, I say, PEOPLE CAN TELL WHEN YOU STARE AT THEM.

He walks away. I say SOMEONE NEEDS TO REEL THEIR DAD IN.

Dammit, there I go being a bitch again.

Am I being mean? Was this man innocently hoping to talk to me? Was his behavior normal?

Well, it creeped me out. Since he’s like 70 and still behaving this way, I’m going to guess enough women have let him get away with it.

I hear my dad’s voice in my head like what do you expect, it’s an attractive woman in a skirt, of course I’m going to stare!

What if she had a husband with her, and he glared at you?

Then I would look away, but–

So you’re saying you can look away, but you choose not to.

Oh, for crying out loud. Why would she dress like that if she doesn’t want me to look?

Because she wants to feel comfortable, and those are the kind of clothes she feels comfortable in.

I might literally have chocolate for dinner just to avoid this man’s stare.