The Narrows
does your mother know you act this way?
"Hey, sexy!" You whistle from across the way.
I hear you but I keep on walking, because there are too many men like you and I know I won't like what I see.
It is the next day and this time you say, "hey, gorgeous! What you gotta do to get a body like that?"
I think you may recognize me from before, but I hope that you don't. Still, I keep walking, because today is just another day and I do not have the patience.
The next day, you are gone, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The next day, when you are back, you are closer this time and your voice is louder. It's not like nails on a chalkboard; more like the sound a cat makes when you step on its tail.
I wonder what sound you would make if someone did the same to you, but the thought passes as quickly as I do. Both are eager to get back to the place where the smell of coffee passes down the street and covers up the smell of you.
It is a week later when I see you again. This time I wonder if you have a wife and kids. Part of me is certain that a woman could never love you, but part of me is afraid that one could. I wonder how you would speak to her and if she would know the way you speak to me.
Could you have met her in this way? When you yelled and told her that her ass was like the moon, did she swoon and fall at your feet? Is that why you keep behaving like this? I think that it cannot be true, because I hope that it isn't.
Your son, I wonder, would he be like you? Did you give him your name? I hope that he will see you and cringe the way that I do, because no son should want to grow up to be like their father when their father is as crass as you.
The next time I see you, your hand touches me and physically hurts. There are nails and dirt and the stain of oil on my white dress that I know will not come out no matter how much I wash. Your smell is overwhelming - like piss and beer. It is something I know I will not be able to erase.
I turn away from you, but you call after me, a name that is not mine. Sexy. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Now those words sound like an incantation in a language I do not know. When I hear them, I think of you and your smell.
The next day, when I leave work, I take the long way home because an extra 30 minutes of walking is worth not dealing with your stench. I see a man who looks like you, but this one does not notice me. It is a small relief in a world that can feel so heavy.
I hear you but I keep on walking, because there are too many men like you and I know I won't like what I see.
It is the next day and this time you say, "hey, gorgeous! What you gotta do to get a body like that?"
I think you may recognize me from before, but I hope that you don't. Still, I keep walking, because today is just another day and I do not have the patience.
The next day, you are gone, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The next day, when you are back, you are closer this time and your voice is louder. It's not like nails on a chalkboard; more like the sound a cat makes when you step on its tail.
I wonder what sound you would make if someone did the same to you, but the thought passes as quickly as I do. Both are eager to get back to the place where the smell of coffee passes down the street and covers up the smell of you.
It is a week later when I see you again. This time I wonder if you have a wife and kids. Part of me is certain that a woman could never love you, but part of me is afraid that one could. I wonder how you would speak to her and if she would know the way you speak to me.
Could you have met her in this way? When you yelled and told her that her ass was like the moon, did she swoon and fall at your feet? Is that why you keep behaving like this? I think that it cannot be true, because I hope that it isn't.
Your son, I wonder, would he be like you? Did you give him your name? I hope that he will see you and cringe the way that I do, because no son should want to grow up to be like their father when their father is as crass as you.
The next time I see you, your hand touches me and physically hurts. There are nails and dirt and the stain of oil on my white dress that I know will not come out no matter how much I wash. Your smell is overwhelming - like piss and beer. It is something I know I will not be able to erase.
I turn away from you, but you call after me, a name that is not mine. Sexy. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Now those words sound like an incantation in a language I do not know. When I hear them, I think of you and your smell.
The next day, when I leave work, I take the long way home because an extra 30 minutes of walking is worth not dealing with your stench. I see a man who looks like you, but this one does not notice me. It is a small relief in a world that can feel so heavy.
♠ ♠ ♠
I think this is quite possibly the weirdest thing I have ever written. This is something I have been thinking about a lot lately, and it was nice to get the words down in a way that felt right. I hope you all can take something from this.xoxo Katie