To the Woman Looking at the Bridal Registry Machine at Target on San Felipe, Last Saturday at around 8:30 PM
When I was done with my shopping, I was so thirsty that my throat hurt. I didn’t want to go back into the Target just to buy a bottle of water, though, because I was in a hurry. I had to get home and get ready to go out with my friends. So, I was desperate enough to use the public water fountain.
Your boyfriend (or husband? I didn’t look for a ring.) was using his whole body to block the corridor that led to the water fountain. As I approached, he clearly that he was blocking my way. Instead of clearing the way, he took the opportunity to look at my face, then at my breasts, then at my hips, then at my breasts again, then back at my face with a long, slow leer that ended in a smile. You didn’t see this, because your back was to him as you punched the screen of the bridal registry console. Or maybe you did see it, somehow, in a reflection or with eyes in the back of your head. If so, did you see my eyes? In my eyes, did you see the detached hatred I felt for your man – the fleeting wish to commit violence against him?
What do I do when a man purposely stares at my body in such a way that I can’t avoid seeing him doing it? Do I look away? No, because I have to keep watch on his hands. Do I cover myself? No, because I believe that every able-bodied adult is responsible for his own behavior – that a man can keep his emotions and his penis under control whether or not I’m sheathed in a cador and burka. Do I blush? No, because I’m not the one who should be ashamed.
Do I say something in an effort to reprimand or educate this man? No, because it’s too late for that. His parents raised him wrong and society never exerted enough pressure to make him spurn that upbringing. And he will raise his children the same way. And society will either train them better, or else they’ll leer at my daughters and granddaughters in Targets forevermore.
I briefly imagine committing violent acts, not because I want to but because, just like this man, I am an animal. But I don’t act on my violent thoughts, because I’m also a civilized human being, meaning that I keep my animal instincts under control.
When your boyfriend leered at me and blocked my way, I merely said “Excuse me” in a pointedly polite tone of voice. The unspoken epithet after “Excuse me” was implied.
He murmured something in reply – a whole sentence. I didn’t hear what he said, but I guess you did. I drank my water eight feet away. I definitely heard what you said, because you turned your head and yelled it at me.
“Don’t be talking to her. You don’t know her,” you said, loud enough for everyone in the front half of Target to hear. But not to him – to me. That was you, pissing on your tree. Marking your territory. Growling and baring your teeth.
The older I get, the less of an animal I try to be. I didn’t have time to get into it with you – I had places to get to. However, until you are rich, you have to be prepared to deal with confrontation from strangers from time to time, don’t you? I prepared myself for a verbal confrontation with you on the way back from the fountain.
“Uh – ain’t nobody want your man,” I was prepared to tell you, if you accused.
Or, “That’s between the two of y’all,” if you merely tried to draw me in as a witness to your grievances against him.
But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you waited until I was almost in the clear, then turned to give me a disdainful look and a loud, derisive chuckle-slash-snort. As if to let me know that, upon assessing my physical appearance, you had decided that I was no threat to your relationship.
You know what? I can’t keep you from looking at me, and I can’t keep you from hating me, and I can’t keep your from trying to embarrass me or yourself in public. All I know is, I don’t have time for some man who stares at stranger’s breasts and murmurs to passersby. I only have time for people who treat me with respect or, at the very least, common decency.
And I’m sorry that you can’t say the same.
