Walking home with my dog...a man, a boy really, follows me to my gate and mumbles something. He asked a question I knew he knew the answer to...where's such and such and such street. And Oh, I'm going to rape you.
What?
Have you ever got your pussy licked? You'd like it.
I drop the dog's leash, who bolts after him. He's out of biting range when I call her back. I call the police, who roll their eyes a little. I'm amazed they showed up, they don't always. They're not worried. It's nothing. And they're right cuz this shit happens to me every single goddamn week. And I'm still alive...but Mickey Shunick is not.
I'm really angry. In general, but right now especially. I can't sleep. I'm not scared he'll come back. In fact, I'm not worried so much about him at all. He just got added to the really long list. I'm reviewing my adult life, where in cab drivers try to kiss me, dudes in vans creep along side me asking me to get in, I get grabbed, followed, yelled at. I'm so used to this shit that I've got an amazing backhand. I gave a friend of mine a bloody lip when he had the poor sense to grab me from behind in a crowd. They've told me for years to ignore it. I gave that up. Sounds funny but ignoring it makes me feel like less of a man. So now I fight, yell, throw things, spit. I shaved my head for a good part of my 20's, it was a decent burka, but caused a different set of trouble. I have long, loopy blonde locks now. I have a dog and a big scary looking husband who couldn't hurt a fly, either one of them. I've never ever dressed like a girl, I'd rather dig a ditch in August than wear a dress anywhere. I don't usually get this upset. But I've been thinking a lot about Mickey, whom, you'd be forgiven if you don't know who she is, is a girl who was riding her bike home at night. A friend of a friend. I believe they are still waiting to ID the body. Rest in peace, I'm so sorry.
I don't want to carry a gun where ever I go, I'll have to think about it all the time. But I'm totally done with this shit.