It was a
long ride on a warm spring afternoon
when no one
was home anyway to miss me
The meadow
grass called, Reading Time!
I was
fourteen and alone, gloriously alone.
I lay there
on my belly
deep into
Jane Eyre
for the
fifth time.
A young man
stopped running
sat down
next to me his hands on
mythighswaistass
talking
asking
questions as I tried to read.
Confused,
resentful, scared,
he threw a
leg over mine.
I was
fourteen and alone.
Two men on their
bicycles paused
called to
me, “Hey, miss, is that guy
bothering
you?” I was silent, motionless.
“Punk, get
your hands off her. Now, punk.”
They stood
there, waiting as he
rolled away,
walked away, muttering
about
strangers bothering people.
The men came
closer as I put my book
in my
knapsack, picked up my bicycle.
“Miss, it’s
not safe here, not for a young girl.
You’re what?
Fourteen? And you’re alone.
“We have
daughters. Please be careful.”
They rode
with me to the avenue.
I went home,
still alone.
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