Confessing the Ride Home

“That door doesn’t work. You’ll have to get in the other side.”
But when I climb up the driver’s side I see a toolbox,

too heavy for me to lift, blocking the passenger door.
Whoa. I back down, but his hand meets my backside & shoves.

“Go on. Get in. I need to get home.” Maybe. Just maybe.
I’m being paranoid. After all, I live by his girl,

and he’s my fellow’s best friend. “Hey! Wait, you missed the turn! There … “
“Quit fussing. I’m just getting something from the house. One sec.”

Gravel in the driveway. Branches scrape the roof of the truck.
It’s dark. No streetlights. No sidewalk. “No problem. I can walk

from here. My friend just lives a few blocks away. Walking’s fine.”
“I said I’d give you a ride home. I’ll give you a ride home.

Now, come on.” The truck is so high, I have to grab onto
the door to step out, still thinking I’ll walk. He grabs my wrist

hard. “Come on in. You might as well have a drink of water
while you wait.” I pull. He just walks, as if I weigh nothing.

I wonder later why I didn’t scream. He did give me
a ride home. The sun was high and bright. I was late for work.

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3 responses to “Confessing the Ride Home

  1. Feelings of helplessness and fear evoked by this one. A bit of anger at myself for if I were trapped in a situation like this.

  2. This sort of thing is why I believe in martial arts and intentionally training women and young children to say NO loudly and often, and to know that when they say NO they can expect to have that respected. When I was a kid, when my mom was a kid, children were taught to be quiet and polite, to not rock the boat; they weren’t taught to respect feelings of being uncomfortable, they weren’t taught that they were allowed to protect themselves.

  3. Pingback: Confession Series, 2012 #NaPoWriMo #30in30 | Rosefire Rising

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