06.08.01

"I just want to know your name," he said, nice as could be. It was dusk, and he was threatening to follow me home on his stunt bike. His eyes gleamed, but he had a mask on, a pathetic puppy-dog mask, an "I been wronged and now you're kicking me in the gut" sort of mask.

"No," I thought, regretfully not out loud. "You don't just want to know my name. You don't want to know the first thing about me. You want to rip me open and prod about my insides looking for jewels. You want to find the spark that you see burning in my eyes, locate its source, and put it out. You want to find the precious treasures that are mine and either destroy them or claim them for your own. You don't need my name at all. It would just slide between your lips and clog your throat. It would interfere with you extinguishing me."

And, out loud, "Bob. My name is Bob, now leave me alone."

They push. They push, teeth glinting, steel blades covered in velvet, dripping with honey, they push until you must turn and shove back.

"Why you got to be like that?" he whines. "I'm just askin' your name, pretty girl like you, no need to be nasty, I don't mean to bother you, why won't you talk to me?"

Wolf in granny's clothes. Making small talk while he plans to devour me. I know what he wants and he knows what he wants and none of it is in my name. None of it is my voice. He wants this game, this I-am-a-victim-of-your-feminine-treachery-and-YOU-are-the-wolf game. This we's-just-playin-until-you-shove-back-and-then-i-just-had-to-hit/stab/shoot/kill-you-bitch game. This game that is anything but a game if you are not playing, but being played with.

"If you don't want to bother me, then why don't you stop?" I keep walking.

Push, keep on pushing. The ones with the hardest shells have the most juice inside, the tenderest flesh. And they are so satisfying to break, to smash against the sidewalk, to shatter.

I know what he wants and I will not give it to him. It is not my name but the fear in my eyes, the rising terror in my voice, the frozen look that prey gets when it is trapped.

He does not know that I, too, have steel blades inside. That I do not coat them in velvet any more, because there is no time left for those games. That with one more push he will be up against steel, and I will not be his prey.

I keep on walking, into the night, and do not turn my head back to see if he has followed.

***

xoxo,

moonbird

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