new york, in three parts.
I.
you can sit next to me anytime you want, he says, and at first you smile because this is a funny thing to say. but at the same time you feel uncomfortable because it is not ok, as men, to always look at females as objects in which to stick your dick into. but as someone practicing that elusive “benefit of the doubt” you smile and you even laugh a little. a breathy laugh that does not reach your diaphragm or your lungs.
and then he bends over on the train and pretends to look up your dress and you can feel your eyes widen and you can feel your cheeks redden and you look around sort of wildly for some camaraderie because you are alone and now it is weird, not funny, and there is a group of people all your own age sitting across from you and a couple guys with them and you’re happy because these guys will say something. these guys have seen the whole thing and they will tell him to stop.
but then he’s grabbing your shoulder trying to make him pay attention to him and when you tell him to stop he says but you sat next to me. you sat next to me and you bumped me and you need to say you’re sorry.
do not touch me, you say and he says, but you touched me first.
but you can touch me any time you want.
and the guys you thought might stick up for you, they’re all laughing. there’s two guys and three girls and then you think the girls might tell the guys to stop being assholes, to stop laughing and say something, but they’re laughing too.
and the guy, the old guy, he’s grabbing your shoulder and saying, look at these fucking legs, look at the legs on this girl, and one of the guys across from you says, I bet she’s taken, that’s why she doesn’t like you, and they all laugh.
and there is one guy who won’t say anything. he won’t meet your eyes because he knows this is weird and he knows this is wrong and he knows he should say something but he won’t say anything. he looks like he hates himself for not saying anything but he still isn’t saying anything.
II.
so you switch cars at grand central.
III.
hero, the boy says.
you’re playing a game on your phone and you have your headphones on so you don’t really hear him.
what? you say. sorry? you say.
hero, he says.
the game is to make as many words out of the letters as you can.
your letters are, etthor.
oh, you say.
you spell hero.
the boy laughs and smiles and his smile is like a fucking ray of sunshine. that’s the only way you can think to describe it.
oh, you say. thanks.
