Trinique_Fire
Daddi's Princess
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2004
- Posts
- 10,550
I can handle a lot of shit in my life.
I can smell bullshit.
I can take the upper hand at my job and tell you in so many words when I think something needs to be taken care of that isn't getting done, and watch it get done after I say what I have to say.
I can take shit from people and even call you out on it when you piss me off.
I can react in situations like the aforementioned in such a way so that you never ever fucking doubt me again or question what I have to say. I can make you look at the ground. I can make you feel so goddamn rotten it would put your mother to shame.
I can take a stand. I usually feel empowered.
Until today. Today I was thrown for a loop. Today I was scared in a way I haven't been for a long, long time. Specifically, since I was fifteen. Some of you know that's almost seven years.
It was a typical Sunday for me. I slept late, woke up, wrote, had a snack, slept, called my two closest friends, did laundry, went out to dinner with a friend, arranged to pick Luna up from work at 10.
Pretty fucking normal.
It started with laundry. My friend Tig came over and she came with me to do laundry. Tig's blessed with lesbianism and boyish good looks that are only enhanced with her wardrobe and haircut. In short, she's just a sexy boi. Furthermore, she's a (in her words) gentleman.
We drove back to the house, she picked up the basket and mini-duffel with clean laundry and told me she would carry it. Okay. So far so good.
Mind you, there's a group of kids (most of whom are probably no younger than seventeen and no older than twenty-five) hanging around outside the apartment buildings and talking. I see them a lot. I don't particularly like them, but normally I just don't acknowledge their presence. Maybe it was because of the mini-skirt I was wearing to do laundry (due to lack of reasonable clean weather appropriate clothes), but they all stopped and stared at me like I was stupid and then had a good laugh, either calling me an ass or saying my ass was hanging out. Whatever. I ignored it. Tig and I went inside. I put laundry away and we lounged around, smoking cigarettes and chatting for about 45 minutes before I had to go pick up Luna at work. At this point I'm still in the skirt. I ended up leaving too late to have time to change.
Tig and I are headed up the walkway when she decides she's just going to head home for the night instead of riding with me. I hugged her, kissed her cheek, told her I loved her, and told her I'd see her later and to call me.
The group is still standing outside. Tig's car is not more than twenty steps away from where we're standing. Mine is up the street a ways. She gets in her car, lights a cig, and drives off. I wave. I'm headed up the street when I hear one of the girls say
"That's her, the one in the skirt. She's walking up the street now."
I don't turn around. I know what kind of neighborhood and town I live in.
Then I hear behind me, getting closer, a male voice.
"Hey dyke! C'mere! Dyke, come back here! Dyke! Hey!"
I don't speed up. The car's close enough. I have memories of horror stories of hate crimes starting out like this running through my head. I don't turn around. I don't acknowledge I even heard them. My body is somehow calm, and it's like my brain is turned off completely. Any actions I'm doing are just happening. I unlock the car door and get in.
I begin to drive and it hasn't hit me yet. Then all of a sudden in a rush, it does, and I pick up the phone and call my daddy, tears pouring, telling him what just happened.
He tells me to get Luna from work and take her back by my place. So I do, and things are sort of cleared up for now.
They'll stay away for a while, I'm sure.
But it's not over, I know.
They know where I live, and most of them live no more than two doors down from me.
They'll tell their children, their brothers and sisters to stay away from me, or maybe they'll teach them that word: dyke. I shouldn't be scared. I know it only gives them power.
But I'll never leave the house without my knife again, never leave without my phone, never leave without telling someone where I'm going.
I am waiting for the worst, or perhaps maybe less than that.
I'm just waiting.
If no one knew I was a lesbian before, they will now. If anyone's going to call me a dyke, they're going to have a reason to do so. And they're going to pay, in one way or another.
I am scared out of my fucking mind, but it's fueling me at the same time. I know what could possibly lie ahead, and I'm just waiting.
I can smell bullshit.
I can take the upper hand at my job and tell you in so many words when I think something needs to be taken care of that isn't getting done, and watch it get done after I say what I have to say.
I can take shit from people and even call you out on it when you piss me off.
I can react in situations like the aforementioned in such a way so that you never ever fucking doubt me again or question what I have to say. I can make you look at the ground. I can make you feel so goddamn rotten it would put your mother to shame.
I can take a stand. I usually feel empowered.
Until today. Today I was thrown for a loop. Today I was scared in a way I haven't been for a long, long time. Specifically, since I was fifteen. Some of you know that's almost seven years.
It was a typical Sunday for me. I slept late, woke up, wrote, had a snack, slept, called my two closest friends, did laundry, went out to dinner with a friend, arranged to pick Luna up from work at 10.
Pretty fucking normal.
It started with laundry. My friend Tig came over and she came with me to do laundry. Tig's blessed with lesbianism and boyish good looks that are only enhanced with her wardrobe and haircut. In short, she's just a sexy boi. Furthermore, she's a (in her words) gentleman.
We drove back to the house, she picked up the basket and mini-duffel with clean laundry and told me she would carry it. Okay. So far so good.
Mind you, there's a group of kids (most of whom are probably no younger than seventeen and no older than twenty-five) hanging around outside the apartment buildings and talking. I see them a lot. I don't particularly like them, but normally I just don't acknowledge their presence. Maybe it was because of the mini-skirt I was wearing to do laundry (due to lack of reasonable clean weather appropriate clothes), but they all stopped and stared at me like I was stupid and then had a good laugh, either calling me an ass or saying my ass was hanging out. Whatever. I ignored it. Tig and I went inside. I put laundry away and we lounged around, smoking cigarettes and chatting for about 45 minutes before I had to go pick up Luna at work. At this point I'm still in the skirt. I ended up leaving too late to have time to change.
Tig and I are headed up the walkway when she decides she's just going to head home for the night instead of riding with me. I hugged her, kissed her cheek, told her I loved her, and told her I'd see her later and to call me.
The group is still standing outside. Tig's car is not more than twenty steps away from where we're standing. Mine is up the street a ways. She gets in her car, lights a cig, and drives off. I wave. I'm headed up the street when I hear one of the girls say
"That's her, the one in the skirt. She's walking up the street now."
I don't turn around. I know what kind of neighborhood and town I live in.
Then I hear behind me, getting closer, a male voice.
"Hey dyke! C'mere! Dyke, come back here! Dyke! Hey!"
I don't speed up. The car's close enough. I have memories of horror stories of hate crimes starting out like this running through my head. I don't turn around. I don't acknowledge I even heard them. My body is somehow calm, and it's like my brain is turned off completely. Any actions I'm doing are just happening. I unlock the car door and get in.
I begin to drive and it hasn't hit me yet. Then all of a sudden in a rush, it does, and I pick up the phone and call my daddy, tears pouring, telling him what just happened.
He tells me to get Luna from work and take her back by my place. So I do, and things are sort of cleared up for now.
They'll stay away for a while, I'm sure.
But it's not over, I know.
They know where I live, and most of them live no more than two doors down from me.
They'll tell their children, their brothers and sisters to stay away from me, or maybe they'll teach them that word: dyke. I shouldn't be scared. I know it only gives them power.
But I'll never leave the house without my knife again, never leave without my phone, never leave without telling someone where I'm going.
I am waiting for the worst, or perhaps maybe less than that.
I'm just waiting.
If no one knew I was a lesbian before, they will now. If anyone's going to call me a dyke, they're going to have a reason to do so. And they're going to pay, in one way or another.
I am scared out of my fucking mind, but it's fueling me at the same time. I know what could possibly lie ahead, and I'm just waiting.
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