JeTuan Lavyonne’s Nightmare
I was walking to my car in my old neighborhood. Well, it was fragments of my old neighborhood pieced together. I cringed when I saw that my car was parked directly in front of a group of men.
My heart pounded as I got closer and closer to my car. I began to adjust my clothing.
The thoughts that were racing through my head included:
Is this shirt covering my ass?
Is my skirt too short?
Don’t look nervous. If they see that you’re nervous then they’re going to bother you.
Then, I strategized about how I would sit in the car without exposing any more of my body.
Sit in with your butt first. Keep your legs together.
Then put both of your legs in the car at the same time.
I swear to you that my car kept moving closer and closer to the men. Sometimes I hate dreams. Then the harassment started.
Hey girl, you’re looking good in those jeans (Yes, now my dream has me wearing jeans)
Can I get a piece of that?
Where yo’ man at?
I cringed inwardly. Why couldn’t they just leave me alone? I got angry and looked them in the eye. I then realized that I knew each and every man in the group.
In that group were men that I considered to be my friends. Each of these men had disrespected me, and I laughed it off so that I wouldn’t be labeled a prude. No one wants to be the person that can’t take a joke. I’m already “dark skinned.” So, being mean would make me another mean dark girl.
That’s the stigma right?
I completely snapped. I told them off. I don’t remember what I said, but a lot of expletives were involved.
I woke up as if I’d been running from an axe murderer. My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking, and I felt angry. I had the urge to go to Facebook to message each one of those men in my life. I wanted to tell them how they truly made me feel each time they commented on my body. I wanted to tell them how I felt demeaned when they touched me inappropriately during a hug.
I didn’t…but I wanted to.
I finally wanted to. That’s a huge step for me.
I feel sorry for the next man that disrespects me. Actually, I don’t. He’s going to be extremely lucky. He’s going to finally hear the truth about how I feel. He may not listen, but I’m going to say it anyway.
That’s what it’s truly about. Using my voice, my God given voice. I’ll be silent no longer.
Type your email address in the box and click the “create subscription” button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.