A few weeks ago, I received an invitation to my high school reunion. This shouldn't surprise me. Social media has totally stolen his moment from me. How much can I really look forward to reuniting with people I can find in a few clicks and taps?
Which I haven't. Lost track of time and all.
I'm actually looking forward to it. Ive totally become the "must lose 10 lbs" girl, even though I'll be roughly the same size as I was then. I am a little freaked about ...well everything. Which is silly. I didn't really vibe with my classmates anyway, but it will be cool to revisit the past.
Do teachers attend these things? I wonder if they'd remember me. My best friend won't go: she hated that place more than I did. I wonder who is actually going. I could just go on Facebook but again, element of surprise.
Dress is picked out but of course I'll go through 3 other outfits before reluctantly going back to it. I hope I'm not as awkward as I was then. Ill smile and make small talk and eat finger foods and smile at pictures of people's children...
Shit. I'm not married, and I'm childless. Fuck. Haven't travelled. I'm gonna be the girl who talks about work. I'm still worried about being cool.
No, this will be fun. Seriously. *breathe* Any advice?
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Who Will Defend You?
Earlier this week in my usual commute downtown, a man and woman fight their way onto the subway at 96th st. This happens often: everyone pushes and shoves themselves into an already-crowded car. They refuse to fall for the swindle of the conductor's suggestion to wait for the train "directly behind this one."
My attention is caught by the raised voices. He calls her a lowlife, scum, and a lot more if he could. Her voice is louder, enraged by being spat on by another man. SPAT ON.
Man and woman are hitting and pushing each other, in a tit-for-tat fashion that is equally common on the playground. It's abusive and filled with anger. The spitter continues to exacerbate the situation, their efforts combined bullying this woman on what should've been her usual commute.
She threatens to call the cops. Spitter says loudly, in proving the sentiment I'm feeling, "who are you kidding? The cops aren't going to come for you."
The reality of two white men disrespecting a black woman's entire existence not being worthy of law enforcement rode along with us to 72nd st. No one came to this woman's defense. Not any man or woman. No one sympathized with this woman's humiliation. Not even me.
The experience ended (for us passengers) with the woman choking the man on the platform, yelling for the conductor while the man screamed for help. No one came to his defense either. Not even me.
So I've thought on the situation all week. Like many, I don't want to get involved. Many, I hope, want to do the right thing. Could I have been her? I couldve been her. What would I have done at the receiving end of these men? Would my fellow passengers avert their eyes to suddenly interesting stories of their free metro paper, their tweets, their ereaders? I wish I wasn't paralyzed in the moment. I wish I had done more than say "damn that's fucked up." I felt responsible.
My attention is caught by the raised voices. He calls her a lowlife, scum, and a lot more if he could. Her voice is louder, enraged by being spat on by another man. SPAT ON.
Man and woman are hitting and pushing each other, in a tit-for-tat fashion that is equally common on the playground. It's abusive and filled with anger. The spitter continues to exacerbate the situation, their efforts combined bullying this woman on what should've been her usual commute.
She threatens to call the cops. Spitter says loudly, in proving the sentiment I'm feeling, "who are you kidding? The cops aren't going to come for you."
The reality of two white men disrespecting a black woman's entire existence not being worthy of law enforcement rode along with us to 72nd st. No one came to this woman's defense. Not any man or woman. No one sympathized with this woman's humiliation. Not even me.
The experience ended (for us passengers) with the woman choking the man on the platform, yelling for the conductor while the man screamed for help. No one came to his defense either. Not even me.
So I've thought on the situation all week. Like many, I don't want to get involved. Many, I hope, want to do the right thing. Could I have been her? I couldve been her. What would I have done at the receiving end of these men? Would my fellow passengers avert their eyes to suddenly interesting stories of their free metro paper, their tweets, their ereaders? I wish I wasn't paralyzed in the moment. I wish I had done more than say "damn that's fucked up." I felt responsible.
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