Mail is welcome.
gryffyn@there.net | index of journals | home
|
So, I've been reading Cunt - A Declaration of Independence
by Inga
Muscio. As you can probably tell my my subject line today, I've
just
finished the chapter on rape. Eeeggghhh. She goes into some nitty-gritty detail that has had me on my toes for days and gives me bad dreams at night. This right after she describes how most hollywood movies depict rape in an erotic, fantasized way that turns on even the nicest of men yet still instills disgust and fear in women. She advocates boycotting such movies, as we don't need to pay money to see our sisters raped. While she has a point, I can't help thinking that I didn't need to read the grisly details of the couple of local rapes she describes in her chapter. I mean, I think it is relevant to read about the impact on the community, and it's uplifting to read about how the women of that community bonded together, but I didn't need to comtemplate a violent attack that left the victim having to relearn how to read. But, then again, she certainly got my attention. A few weeks ago, before I read this book, I was filling up my tank at a local gas station that's famous for its cheap prices. This station has the cheapest gas around, but you have to brush off neighborhood kids who plead with you to let them pump your gas (for a fee, of course). I always say I only have plastic, sorry, and I always pay with my credit card. On this particular day, I happened to have my window down, and as soon as I pulled to a stop, a dirty, smelly junkie with runny eyes thrust his head into my window and started some plea for money. I managed to brush him off, but it was a little disconcerting. Another man had just finished filling his tank, and he saw me and waved me over to him. I was a little annoyed, but he was very insistent, so I locked my car up and walked over to his car. "Do you get gas here often?" "Well, yeah..." "Let me tell you something...don't do that, don't get gas here, a pretty girl like you and the way you look...I grew up around here, and I'll only get gas here during the day (it was daylight at the time), but a girl like you shouldn't come here, there's too many junkies around..." "I live around here too, and it's the cheapest gas around, and I only come during the daylight hours, too..." "No, do yourself a favor, find another station. This is a hole, and there are always, always junkies hanging around here..." "Yeah, but this is a public gas station; what's gonna happen to me here during the day?" It was only after reading Inga's words that I realized what he was afraid would happen to me: rape. I suppose I wouldn't have reacted well if he had told me a girl like me might get raped, and it would have probably had me going, "geesh, lighten up", but after reading this book... I mean, it probably wouldn't be so hard for someone to grab me out of my car, or push me over as I was getting in and drive me somewhere desolate in West Oakland (which is not too far from this gas station). It could happen so fast, I wouldn't be able to get a good scream of help out... See what kind of nightmares I'm having? I'm already the Queen of the Paranoid Fantasy, but now I'm envisioning all sorts of evils around every corner. I think I was safer when I was less afraid, walking around with my head tall and my voice firm (when I had to use my voice). Now, I feel as vulnerable as I did when I first moved out here from Indiana (and I would've never have lived in the neighborhood I'm living in now fresh out of Indiana - too creepy). The only thing that makes me feel safe in my car now is my new, heavy club. | ||
| Previous
| Next List of Entries for this Month | Journal Index | Current Entry Home |