Me Too

Me too. 

17 and unsure of the world. 

Turn my back for a moment. Hear the click of door as it locks. 

Lights out. 

Feel his breath on my neck. 

(When I try real hard to take down the mental shield, I even remember his laugh as I ask him to leave.)

Hands on my shoulders moving down. 

I grab the metal ice scoop and tell him I will scream. 

Lights on. 

A shrug. Just a joke. Chill out. Bitch. 

Me too. 

Me too. 

Still 17 and discovering what it feels like to be wanted. 

He was sweet and his words were like a waterfall painting me as beautiful. As wanted. As something to be desired. 

His calls at first seemed caring. He just couldn’t wait to see me. Be with me. 

At the mall. Suddenly he’s there. 

At the store, turn around baby, guess who. 

Too much, too fast. I need space. 

Rear view mirror. Always there. 

Go away. Go away. Go away. 

New girl catches his eye. I can breathe. 

Me too. 

Me too. 

18 and still hurting from first love’s end. 

Uncomfortable gazes. Standing too near. 

Hushed whispers from players as I pass through the room. 

Old friends call themselves brothers. Walk me to my car. Walk me to dinner. Closing rank to protect one of their own. 

Tell me don’t be alone with him. Don’t let him park by you. Ignore him. He isn’t safe. Telling me but not the Dean.

Leaving late. Brothers nowhere around. He’s there. I’m alone. 

Chest tight. Close my eyes. Remember the dark and the breath on my skin from a time not so long ago. 

Walk fast. He’s right there. Start to jog. He walks faster. 

My car. Thank God. 

Heart sinks as I see his truck. He gets in. 

It’s OK. I’m safe. I’ll leave. 

He follows. 

Call my friend. He walks me home from the parking lot. 

Every day.  For an entire football season. 

Me too. 

Me too. 

19 and growing up fast. 

Let me touch. Let me feel. The other girls do. Booty calls. Hang ups. 

No. No. No. No. No.

Bitch. Slut. Cunt.
Me too.

Me too. 

22 and trying to survive. 

I like that shirt. Those eyes. Wear that shirt with the 'v' again. Nice. 

You’re my favorite teller. You fill that dress out nice. 

Hey baby. Hey darlin'. Hey sweet thang. 

You want to write my number down? 

Ask my co-worker to switch me windows. Avoid him when he drives up. Tell my boss. 

Be professional. Just smile and nod. Don’t take it personal. 

Me too. 

Me too. 

33 and just doing some self-care. 

Movies by myself and he slips up behind me. 

Whistles. Low and long. 

Damn baby. You can be my Wonder Woman. Stupid play on the movie we’re waiting to see. 

You alone? Come on, baby. You hear me? 
Don't turn around.  Don't acknowledge him.  He'll stop.

Bitch don’t know a compliment. 

Spits on the floor. 

I roll my eyes and walk away. Numb and irritated. I’m someone’s mother. Surely this old song should be done by now. 

Grip my keys as I leave. Stay alert. Walk fast. Take a breath as I lock my doors. Shake my head. Clear the racing thoughts. Call my kids. 

Me too. 

Me too. 

Copyright © 2017 Courtney Jean Bancroft