Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Part 2: Protecting the Cocoon

I've left academia four times, total. The cocoon always waiting for my return. The longest I've been gone is now. Close to two months gone, and I long to be back. I'm not secure, I'm always antsy. Always on edge. I sit on edge. I feel exposed. I'm naked in this world. Clothes dissolve and their remnants run down my bare flesh. In reality, I am always clothed. I don't sleep naked at night. Prepared. I consider myself in a constant state of preparation. A just in case scenario played over and over in my head. Under my pillow you will almost always find a small collapsable knife. Paranoia? No. Preparation. Unsheltered now, I must build a fort of protection. Too much to live for. Academia did a good job of protecting me, but it also showed how rough and ruthless the world can really be. 3,000 women, and according to statistics, a third of them will be sexually assaulted, brutalized, and beaten. Hard for me to believe. If you told me this a year ago, I would have told you it could never be me. They always say that: That could never happen to me. Anyone but me. But if not me, then who?

See, I realize that at any moment I could be attacked. My whole life can fall apart. Things fall apart. All the time. One day you're cuddled into a cocoon with your lover, and the next day your cocoon could be slashed and destroyed. Not every woman, or even person, thinks this way. My senses are heightened. I suspect before a crime is meditated. I protect in advance. I know what they are thinking before a perpetrator has even caught glance of me.

This may indeed sound dreary. I mainly get this way when riding on the bus, alone, or walking in crowded places, alone. Having a detective-like mind, thanks to sociology, I observe and pick up on things. The other day when riding on the bus, a young White female sat with her baby girl at the front of the vehicle. A Black man dressed in white boarded the bus. He looked confused, unsure if he was on the right bus. The young woman thought he might be short on change, so she offered to supplement the $1.50 bus ticket. He said "No thank you." He had enough. The Black man sat perpendicular to the woman and her child. The Black man seemed very impressed by the young White woman's generosity. Before he sat, she told him not to worry, her baby hardly ever cried. They began to engage in a conversation. I sat quietly near the middle of the bus. I heard everything. They talked about where they were going. Somehow they began to talk about drinking. She said she was too young to drink. I guessed at her age...maybe 19. He said she must have had her baby girl at a very young age. She told the man her baby's name. He asked about the baby's father, which she responded by saying her committed a stupid crime, I believe robbery, which landed him in prison. All of this, in a matter of 5 minutes. She, like I. probably sensed that the man was harmless. Yet, what about the 20 other people on the bus. If I could pick up on everything, what about someone who was used to using this kind of information to his/her advantage. Just from what she said, I could form her profile. By the look f her baby's face, muddied on the cheeks, she is low-income. Riding the bus can either mean one of two things, a) you don't have a car or b) your car is temporarily inaccessible. Thus, she does not come from much money. Her boyfriend is in jail. She says he maintains a relationship with his daughter, which most likely means she has not moved onto a new beau. She is alone. Manless in her home. She is probably staying with her mother, who most likely works long shifts to contribute to her daughter's untimely pregnancy. She is probably fatherless. And if she does have a father, he is probably shitty. Women with positive father figures don't usually end up with criminals. It is a cycle. She has just given her whole life story to a stranger(s), which suggests she is open, and very naive. Poor, White, single, young, naive, bus-riding mother. A woman who could be easily taken advantage of.

Five years down the line. A tragedy will happen. Either to her or to her daughter. And, she'll be asking why. Why me? How could this possibly happen to me? She will not remember spilling her guts on route 71. She won't remember, so she won't regret. It won't be her fault. But, she could have protected her cocoon by refraining from those conversations.

I used to be like her. We, in the same age group, are very different now. I will not tell my story to strangers. Never disclose information like where I live, what I do, who I am, to anyone I do not know. It's a part of protecting the cocoon.

Removed from the cocoon I call academia, I know the risks. I know how much I love and who I love. How I must protect my life and those around me at all costs.

1 out of every 3, is it? If by chance I am the one, I refuse to react blindly and unaware. I am aware. I know people, low-life, scum of the earth people, are waiting. They are waiting to prey upon a young, naive, and senseless woman. I may be young, but I am not naive and I am definitely not senseless.

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