Day 4

"It's her birthday! Lets get my friend a shot!" I won't turn down hard liquor at 12:30pm. The bartender, newly transplanted from some boring ass town, gives us back our IDs. 

"Well...I would, had y'all came in a couple days ago. Today's the 20th. But happy belated chica! Ill make you something festive. And for you?"

Jason hands her his credit card. "Gin and tonic. And make hers strong enough she forgets how much of a horrible friend I am."

We all laugh corny laughs. I drink a glorified rum punch and Jason and I catch up. He leaves and insists I order another on him. 

Text: hey sis-still getting hair done. Wont see you til later. Drinks on me tonight? 🎉🍸

Good. I make small talk with Kentucky (later, Im corrected with Tennessee) and she closes out her shift. I'm ready for this nap. 

"Ayo shawty. Miss."

I'm counting down the crosswalk timer. 12, 11, 10... dudes still using shawty? I step into the street as he keeps yelling for my attention. 

"Ma, don't do me like that, lemme talk to you." I don't walk any faster but my shoulders tense as I do. Two more blocks to the subway. I hear his voice closer, now in step with me. I slow down, considering what I want to say versus what ill actually say.

"You too good to speak? You got a fat ass." He reached for my arm. I step backwards. 

"What's your name?" I look past him, as if I'm waiting for someone, something.

"...why? I don't have anything to say." I cross my arms, nervously flicking my metrocard between my fingers, wishing it was something sharper and filled with the courage I desperately wanted. 

He sizes me up, his eyes fitting me snugly through this purple, boxy-tshirt, the closest thing to clean in my closet and not at all attractive. I feel traces of perversion around the bends in my thighs as he licks lust off his lips. 

"Just tell me your name. I wanna know you."

"I-I have to go. Umm, have a good day. Bye." 

It's not that I've never been in this situation before. More than I should, actually. I can't even say I brought it on myself. I wasn't dressed like the slut he wanted. Could he tell I was not exactly sober? Did I put myself in this position?

I'm at the turnstile. He's behind me. He's not there, he's not there. 

His hand is where it shouldn't be. Caressing the sojourn from the small of my back up to the folds in my sides.

"The fuck off me!" Turning around to face my harasser. 

"You a big one too..." His hand is still at my side.

"Im. Not. Interes--" the screeching 6 train mutes the next 6 seconds of my life. 

"Ayo fuck you fat bitch. Didn't want your ugly tranny man lookin ass either." I see the key words underlined with his index fingers centimeters to my nose and feel a venomous conglomerate of saliva amalgamated on my right cheeks. The tears soon catch up with his rejection down my face and chin. He doesn't stick around long enough to enjoy his victory. 

I clean myself with yesterday's sports section and wait for the next train. When that cheek started to bleed from the daily scrubbing, I decided if we ever crossed paths again, I needed a plan.