To the man who groped me Friday night
TW: mentions of assault
I was just trying to have a nice time after yoga class. I was sweaty and wearing a tank top to cool off. In the middle of talking about my mom’s recent trip to visit me, I felt your hand on my body.
It started at my bum. At first, I thought maybe someone was walking past and hit it accidentally. But your hand lingered, squeezed what it could, and slid up to my mid-back. You kept your hand there. I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt — maybe you were just very drunk and thought you were being friendly (you weren’t). I didn’t want to cause a scene because I know how men like you react. I stayed calm and asked you to remove your hand from my body and leave me alone. I wasn’t interested.
Your grip tightened on my back before you suddenly pulled away. I thought that maybe you, too, didn’t want to cause a scene. But then you shouted. Your booming voice made heads turn. You called me a bitch, ranted off a few swear words, and walked away. I tried to laugh it off, but my friends could tell something was wrong. I was no longer engaged in our conversations and I didn’t finish my dinner.
The parts of my body you touched felt like they were on fire. My mind drifted back to every man who’s ever touched me without my consent. I thought about every part of my body that’s been touched by a drunken man who believes he has a right to me. I thought about my own bodily autonomy and how I no longer had control over who could or couldn’t put their hands on me. I could no longer exist safely, I could no longer feel comfortable in my own skin. I am wearing a target that draws men in.
I tried to put it in the back of my mind to enjoy my night. When I said my goodbyes and left, I buttoned my jacket up all the way, hoping to conceal myself further. I sent up a little prayer hoping I wouldn’t run into you on the 7-minute walk to my flat. The moment I got home, I showered. I scrubbed the parts of my body you touched over and over until my skin was red and my body wash was half-empty. I stood under the hottest temperature, want to burn the feeling of your hands off. It’s been 5 days and I still feel it.
The sad truth is your hands are not the first to touch me — and they probably won’t be the last. But they were a stark reminder that even in moments where I feel safe and comfortable, I am anything but. I’ve always been the cautious one: don’t leave a drink unattended at a frat party, share Uber rides, call friends when walking home alone at night. I put my guard down for an hour and you just had to remind me that I should’ve never brought it down.
I’m sure the second you hobbled out of that pub, you forgot about me (you were fairly intoxicated). But I will never forget you. Your face joins the others that are ingrained in my memory. The burning feeling you left behind replaced someone else, and I’m sure another man will soon take your place.
I was just trying to have a nice time after yoga class.
