the walk home

Now, imagine for me if you will, your walk home at night.  Except with a few variations. This time, there are only five places you are able to direct your eyesight.

One: at your phone.

You consciously look down at it, when you know there’s no notification, just so you appear occupied.

Two: at the stoplight ahead of you.  

You still have a full block to walk and you know it doesn’t matter if it’s walk or stop at this point, you’re not there yet anyway, but you look ahead so you appear that you are intent and can’t be distracted.  

Three: at the crack in the sidewalk next to your foot.

So it’s anywhere but the eyes of the men you can feel staring at you.

Four: the train station sign on the other side of the street.

So you know the exact distance between you and your destination in case you need to make a break for it.  

Five: most definitely anywhere but your reflection in the window of the barbershop, where you know if you took the briefest of glances, you’d see the leering faces of the men in the chairs, and the men standing above them, staring at the legs beneath your tights.

Now, you might imagine what it’s like to go to work.  Where men leer, and admire, and sneer at the legs beneath your tights. Where the good men avoid your eyesight, because they were raised not to stare at the legs beneath your tights. Where worse men challenge your ability because of the fact that your legs are clothed in tights and not slacks you purchased from Men’s Wearhouse. And where even worse men leer with no shame at the tights because they know that the legs underneath them, can’t outrun or outpower their ability to force their way between them.