The door slammed shut and she dumped the rubbish bag slung over her shoulder into the skip depositing her dirty gloves along with it. She took out her phone and clicked the light on, '12:06' it read.
She breathed out and as she did, a fog of steam appeared before her until it too disappeared into the night. Hoisting her shoulder bag up and rubbing her hands together; she began her walk home.
In reality it was only a fifteen minute walk, but she knew it was going to seem like forever…
Because it always did.
Her footsteps were magnified around the deserted streets. Lit by the small fireflies that were streetlamps, she stared ahead as they loomed upon her.
And while trying not to look too alert she walked briskly in the direction of home.
As she came up to a pedestrian crossing she saw a silhouette in the distance, though it didn’t pose any threat to her, she couldn’t help the feeling of danger that washed over her. The crossing signal had still not gone off and the figure was getting closer.
And closer.
Her breathing had intensified and she could hear her heart in her ears.
She wanted to scold herself for seemingly overreacting but you could never be too careful.
The crossing signal went off and broke her concentration on the person. She was jolted back to reality and kept walking , this time - her pace faster.
The person (though she wasn’t sure) seemed to be following her. How could she sneak a glance at her stalker whilst still seeming calm and not drawing further attention to herself? In her haste, her phone slipped out of her pocket and as she bent down to pick it up she chanced a glance behind her and noticed that her follower had been innocent after all as she could not see that the silhouette had turned into the petrol station.
With a sigh of relief she carried on walking, occasionally a car would drive past but apart from that, the streets were dead.
All she could hear were her footsteps on the damp sidewalk and she wished more than anything she could reach home at a quicker pace than what she was maintaining right now. A car screeched past and the men (or rather boys) inside yelled obscene remarks at her, which she ignored, which all girls had learned to ignore.
It wasn’t even the first car tonight she had to ignore, every car that sped by seemed to yell foul things at her. While this kind of behaviour wasn’t new to her, it didn’t stop her from feeling embarrassed and violated and it didn’t stop her from feeling sorry for the girl two blocks over, their new victim. As she felt headlights hit the back of her head, she waited for them to pass, but they didn’t. She gingerly turned her head ever-so-slightly and saw they were slowing down to drive next to her. Panic surged all through her body, but as her footsteps quickened and increased, the car just followed behind her. It was an old car because she could hear the old engine spluttering and trying to keep up. There was laughing from inside the car and she wanted more than anything to be home and safe. She didn’t want the tears that were welling up in her eyes to fall… They showed weakness. As she heard the window of the car wind down she clicked her phone, opened it up to recent calls and dialled her mother’s number. The dial tone rang and rang yet there was no answer.
“Hi Mum”
“I’m good”
“Just walking home now”
“Yeah, work was good”
"I’m probably about five minutes away, how was your day?”
She kept up this one sided conversation to make the car forget about her and just drive past.
She wished she didn’t have to do this. It was humiliating. Pretending to be on the phone just to feel less threatened. To not feel like a victim in her own neighbourhood. As she turned onto her street and her house came into view she breathed her thousandth sigh of relief since leaving work. As the men in the car realised she wasn’t going to give into them, they sped up past her, dousing her with dirty puddle water from the gutter.
“Fuck you, bitch”
As she watched them turn the corner and disappear she turned into her driveway, heart thumping more than it should, breathing quicker than a woman living in a ‘safe place’ should. A single tear had escaped and slid down her cheek, but only when she was inside did she use her ice-cold thumb to wipe it away. Because only because she was home was she sure she was safe. Only when all the doors and windows were locked tight was she sure the danger had gone.
What a chore it was being a woman.
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