I’m exhausted.
Sprawled across a hotel bed. Staring at my computer screen. Trying to remember everything I had to say when I was driving– everything I had no problem yelling into the hum of the interstate and the empty car.
I’m angry. Or I was. Now I’m mostly tired.
But just a few minutes ago I was boiling mad.
Mad at the world.
Mad at myself.
Anger is an emotion I suppress. Somewhere along the line of my life, I decided it wasn’t a productive emotion.
As if I’m a machine.
If it’s not productive, shut it off.
Right.
Because emotions work like that.
Why did I decide my anger wasn’t valid? When? I don’t know.
Anyways. Back to the original point.
I was angry.
The onset of darkness sparked my anger- I really needed to go to the bathroom but I was scared to stop at a McDonalds in rural Kentucky at 10:30 p.m.
Who decided that new car keys should be blunt plastic rectangles? There’s no way it was a woman.
The last time I stopped it was still daylight. It was 94 degrees outside but I threw on my jacket and zipped it all the way up before I got out of the car. When you’re a woman traveling alone it’s best to be shapeless.
There are many rules to being a woman alone. Cover up. Forgo your favorite bright lipstick. Lock yourself away by nightfall.
Of course, modesty has never protected a Muslim woman from Islamophobic attacks.
Of course the original rule is, “don’t travel alone.”
The last time I traveled alone I drove from Atlanta to Madison, WI straight through because I was too afraid to stop at night to find a hotel room.
I booked one in advance this time to keep myself from chickening out.
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I mean hopefully nothing but I could be harassed, attacked, raped.
Oh you think that’s irrational?
Statistically yeah maybe.
But what? Would you tell your female friends or your daughter:
Yeah totally do the cheap hotel!
Wear whatever you want!
Sure stop anywhere after dark, you’ll be fine!
Smile at strangers, it’s nice!
Do you know how many times I’ve walked FAMILIAR streets and been harassed? Do you know how many times I’ve cast down my eyes and prayed that a God I’ve never been acquainted with is watching out for me? Because this society sure as hell isn’t.
At least if anything happens I could call the police. They’d protect me. Though of course if it’s a white man who attacks me there better be at least two witnesses if I ever want justice.
But still. How many women of color or transgender women can look at authorities and feel safe?
I’m lucky. Privileged. I don’t know sharp fear- not really. I don’t know what those moments when you wonder if you’ll survive feel like.
But I do know the constant, nagging fear that comes with the territory of being a woman in this country. Always on edge. Never letting my guard down.
Do you think I want to be worrying about these things?
Do you think I love telling the fearless part of my brain to shut up and be smart?
How is a woman supposed to make the world better when she’s terrified of moving through it?
“Oh but there are so many nice guys out there!”
You think I don’t know that? I was raised by one; I’m friends with them.
But even if you’re the the nicest man in the world, if I don’t know you, stay away from me when I’m alone.
Do not talk to me. Definitely do not touch me.
Because I’m tired. Because I don’t know you. Because you’re a lot stronger than me.
Because they don’t make car keys sharp anymore.
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