once for a “friends” birthday we went down to branson missouri. endless winding hills in the dark after you get away from the gaudy lights. my idiot friends stop on the side of the road to take pictures. a truck pulls up. four boys get out. they circle us like vultures. i immediately am scared. i’ve been consuming true crime my whole life i dont want to meet four boys in the dark next to a ravine in bum fuck missouri. but my friends, the constant feminine urge to be seen to be liked to be loved, they giggled, they laughed, they exchanged snapchat, i ran to the car, made sure even though I had zero service my phone would ping where I was last. still tried to text my mom. not letting it die. one of the boys walked over to me alone in the car, peered in, asked me why I wouldn’t join them. just kept asking. it felt like hours he stood there staring at me. i finally a made a scene and insisted I had to be home or I would be grounded blah blah blah but it worked. got away.
this short just brought this memory up for me so intensely. it’s a terrifying ordeal existing in the world as a woman. all the close calls. yes technically nothing happened in my story, or even the parameters of what we see in this story that would be “violent”. but that does not make the fear less real. the danger is always looming. i’ve also been re reading Olivia Gatwoods “Life of the Party” so all of this is on my mind anyhow. it’s scary how one “no” or one “sure” can be the end of it all. rest in peace to all ted bundys victims, and victims of any violence anywhere.
ramble over back to our regularly scheduled programming
once for a “friends” birthday we went down to branson missouri. endless winding hills in the dark after you get away from the gaudy lights. my idiot friends stop on the side of the road to take pictures. a truck pulls up. four boys get out. they circle us like vultures. i immediately am scared. i’ve been consuming true crime my whole life i dont want to meet four boys in the dark next to a ravine in bum fuck missouri. but my friends, the constant feminine urge to be seen to be liked to be loved, they giggled, they laughed, they exchanged snapchat, i ran to the car, made sure even though I had zero service my phone would ping where I was last. still tried to text my mom. not letting it die. one of the boys walked over to me alone in the car, peered in, asked me why I wouldn’t join them. just kept asking. it felt like hours he stood there staring at me. i finally a made a scene and insisted I had to be home or I would be grounded blah blah blah but it worked. got away.
this short just brought this memory up for me so intensely. it’s a terrifying ordeal existing in the world as a woman. all the close calls. yes technically nothing happened in my story, or even the parameters of what we see in this story that would be “violent”. but that does not make the fear less real. the danger is always looming. i’ve also been re reading Olivia Gatwoods “Life of the Party” so all of this is on my mind anyhow. it’s scary how one “no” or one “sure” can be the end of it all. rest in peace to all ted bundys victims, and victims of any violence anywhere.
ramble over back to our regularly scheduled programming
