We’re Still Not Talking Enough About the Cost Women Face When Men Use Abusive Language

The sweat was dripping off my body as I waited at the bus stop. Even though it was twilight, the Houston humidity isn’t learned enough to stop just because the sun is setting. I had my headphones on, trying to project an air of “leave me alone” that women are all too familiar with, out of survival. But, it was Houston. And I was dressed for summer.

Houston has not had an adequate investment in public transportation in decades. The bus stop was merely a pole, not even a bench to sit and wait at.

I was listening to music and focusing so hard on my book that I barely registered the honking of the horn. It did register, because when you’re a woman, you remain vigilant of your surroundings, out of survival. Another honk and then, the unintelligible shouting began from the left-hand turn lane. I wasn’t going to be able to pretend to ignore him for much longer.

I was thankful when the light turned green. I didn’t know what he wanted, but I really did not want to know.

Minutes passed and the same car pulled around, this time in the right lane, closer to the bus stop. When I wouldn’t respond to his request to acknowledge his presence or his motions to come closer to his car, to get into a vehicle with a strange man I did not know, he called me a “fucking bitch,” and drove off.

Because a woman who would rather be sweaty and arrive home safely than getting in a stranger’s car…