Guy | Girl

She was walking her Scottish terrier, Muffin, in the park on the crisp Saturday evening when she began feeling uncomfortable.

The weather was finally warming up and the hints of spring shined through the frequent thunderstorms and the flower buds sprouting on the trees. Her mood matching the change of season, she had decided to go out for a run with her puppy. Unbeknownst to her, the sun still set awfully early and it was starting to get dark when she reached the park near her house for a cool-down walk. However, a smile still decorated her face and she was feeling lighthearted and happy with the endorphins from her exercise.

A whistle echoed from one of the benches right beside her. The smile slid off her face immediately.

Two men were leering up at her from a distance. She shifted uncomfortably. Her compression shirt was sticking to her skin from her run and for the first time in her life, she felt that her running shorts were too short. She briefly turned to see one gesture towards his dick and a vulgar expression came out of his mouth.

"Show us your tits!" A voice called. 

She knew she should say something. She told herself she always would in situations like this. Defend herself and her feminist values. But for a moment there she stood frozen, scared, and alone. She knew instead of defiance, all the men could see in her eyes was fear. 

She snapped back to reality a second later and hurried along, walking faster and pretending she didn't hear them.

Suddenly, more alert, she now noticed another man lurking behind her, something she had previously not seen. He was trailing at a distance where he could stare in peace without standing too close to be a stalker. After all, men had a right to be afraid of being outed as a creep. 

Her leisurely pace soon broke into a light jog.

Arms suddenly grabbed her arms, jolting her from her hurried walk. 

"Where are you going?" 

She breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar face. She had been so occupied with getting away that she hadn't even looked in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

"This is a public park you know." He smiled warmly, calming her jittery heart. "I come here to practice soccer every Saturday evening." He gestured to where a couple of guys were kicking around a ball.

"Oh." She said stupidly, still a little winded from what happened only a few minutes ago. "I didn't know that. What a coincidence then."

"We always seem to see each other don't we?" He agreed.  A mischievous smile lit up his eyes. "Now tell me honestly, did you come here because you missed me too much? Couldn't wait until Monday detention?"

He had delusional amounts of self-confidence. "I was going on a jog with my dog. I stopped by the park for a cooldown." She pointed to Muffin, who was sniffing up a tree.

He kneeled down and ruffled Muffin's ears, just the way he liked it. "Who's a good dog?" He cooed. "You're a good dog."

She kneeled down to his level and also petted Muffin, who looked like she was enjoying all the attention.

"Were you in a rush?" He asked. "You were walking awfully fast and you looked panicked."

She nodded her head subtly to the direction she had come from."I was catcalled back there by two guys. I got scared." 

She didn't know why she told him. Too many people had scoffed when she had told them about street harassment, telling her that catcalling meant people thought she was hot and she should treat it as a compliment. So she waited anxiously for his reaction.

"Are you okay?" He looked her up and down, scanning for signs of harm. But she knew that the scars of harassment were always on the inside, where they could be easily dismissed with simple, sexist words. "Did they hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, not this time." Quirking an ironic grin, she said. "The bikers and the drivers are the worst. Protected by the speed of their vehicles. One time a guy on the bike rounded the corner and grabbed my boobs. Before I could say anything, he had pedalled off."

"Does this..." He paused, as if unsure how to approach this subject. "Does this happen often?"

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "From time to time. In many forms I guess. The worst for me is the subway. With an entire subway car empty, they still manage to pick the seat right next to you. And then they start getting into your space and spreading their legs. You can't even flip them off in that case cause they really didn't do anything but make you uncomfortable."

"It's not a healthy way to think of it - but sometimes I'm just thankful it's mostly words. At least I wasn't raped, right? Plus..." She gestured towards herself, "I shouldn't have worn shorts today. It would have been better with a sweatshirt and jeans. I know it's not my fault, but I still shouldn't have worn anything short and tight. If anything more had happened, as the victim I still would have been blamed."

"Why would anyone blame you? It's not like you wanted to be harassed." He sounded angry, also peeled off his University of Toronto sweatshirt and handed it to her. "Here. If you want it."

She gratefully took it and slipped into it. It was big and fell past her shorts. Another reminder that she should never have shown any leg.

"Many girls are raped, assaulted, drugged. Yet they still have fingers pointing at them telling them that they were asking for it. A girl goes out to a party and tries to look pretty with a short skirt and some heels, which I admit I do too sometimes, and suddenly she becomes the one who was asking for attention. And it becomes her fault that she was raped. I've seen it happen too many times, to too many girls."

She looked down at her clothes. "I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt to work out in. I just jogged for an hour. I didn't purposefully dress this way. I'm sweaty, I look gross, my hair is matted to my face." Her voice thickened with emotion, "But all that doesn't matter at the end of the day because my shirt is stuck to my skin and the company who designed my workout shorts made them seductive so I guess I'm asking for it." 

He looked torn. "I used to be someone who thought that if you didn't want to be raped, then you shouldn't have dressed the way you did. But it's not that simple, is it?" He let out a conflicted breath. "I feel like a hypocrite. A moment ago I was saying that you didn't want to be harassed and that you shouldn't be blamed."

"I want to go home." She was too drained to respond to him. "Can we have this talk tomorrow?"

 "Come on, let me walk you home."

"You really don't need to."

"I know." He said. "But I want to."

A/N- I wasn't expecting this chapter to be so long. Sorry if the conversation seemed incoherent. I just had too many thoughts to get down so there may have been repeated phrases/themes. I hear this way too often: she deserved to get raped because she was dressed like a slut or she was asking for it with her clothes - what an attention whore or she was smiling so she must be okay with vulgar catcalls - it's a compliment after all. Sometimes, even from girls, which really saddens me.

I have my motives for writing this book. I can tell you guys right now that sometimes I just want to live my life. I'm always smiling - I don't want to be always glaring into the air, I might have not had time to run home to change after sports practice, or I might have just come back from a night out where I just wanted to look pretty. I never feel like I deserve anything that might happen to me. I only want you to leave me alone.

  Writing this really drained me so I'm going to peace out now.