All The Signs You Choose Not to See

The cost of sleeping through your waking life and this moment.

Photo by Felipe Queiroz Alves on Unsplash

It’s as if I’ve been asleep this long while and I’ve finally woken up. I spent a lifetime ignoring the signs.

In my freshman year in college my best friend was raped by her boyfriend. This was in the early 90s when date rape didn’t exist. Rape was this gruesome thing that happened in dark alleys by strange, pockmarked men. Not in campus dorm-rooms. I told my friend no means no. I yelled at her boyfriend in the street. I threw a drink at him in the bar. Until my friends pulled me aside. Can you just not? You’re making a scene. And then my best friend cowered, receded. I didn’t exactly say no. Or maybe I wasn’t loud enough. Everyone agreed it was her fault. The mixed signals and like that. I watched her hold his hand and how he smiled at me. How I wanted to punch him in the face.

And I was the mouthy bitch who frightened every straight guy in a five-mile radius.

That year, my roommate was a gay singer/songwriter who loved Tori Amos. The object of her affection was a raven-haired, fragile little bird named Jamie who dropped too much acid. One night, my roommate was away. On our floor we all had our doors open when we weren’t studying and girls would flitter in and out. A group of them stood by my door and…