Teenager: Not yet a woman, already a prey
Coming of age under the eyes of bad men.
8 years old. A naked man flashes his penis at me and my sisters on a bike ride.
10 years old. A man starts masturbating in the street as I walk down with my mum. Hand on dick. Eyes on me.
12 years old. School trip to Germany, my penpal’s dad runs his hand up my thigh as he asks how my day went.
13 years old. A man wolf-whistles at me in my short skirt.
14 years old. “After your run, I’ll wash your sweaty back,” says an old guy on a bench.
15 years old. Still running, don’t know yet what from. Beautiful park, early morning, bunnies hopping across dew-covered fields. A guy appears, talks to me, comes closer and closer, wants to help me do stretches. He starts appearing, out of nowhere, every time I go for a run. I remember his yellow sunglasses and the smell of his axe deodorant.
16 years old. We climb over the gate of our boarding school, our first nights out on the town, drinking too much cheap vodka. Young and wild and free. A whirl of men, trying to take advantage. “Come with us, get in the car.” My friend starts climbing in, I grab her arm, we have to run away because they’re angry now.
