Gucci F/W 2014 [source]
Sadie Bracelet from Emma Stine [source]
Carven F/W 2014 [source]
Have any ideas as to what I should work on? Let me know!
Walking back from Starbucks to school, I was at the midpoint, the post office parking lot, when I had a sinking feeling in my gut. A man had been walking behind me, a little too close to me.I picked up my pace a bit, and before I knew it, he was next to me. “Hello,” he said; I murmured a greeting and kept walking. “You look very pretty today,” he added; I said nothing and continued to walk. “How old are you?” he asked; to this, I responded, “I’m way too young for you,” and jogged away, panicking. I looked behind me after a little while to see him walking away in the opposite direction.
Usually, I think nothing of these situations and walk past, because it’s usually from old men across the street or someone whistling at me from a car. This time, however, I was terrified. This man was young—probably in his mid-late 20s, he was taller than I am, and he had a stronger build. If he had really wanted to, he could have taken me down. I was lucky I got out of the situation unharmed.
Shaken up, I told a friend. She wanted me to tell my next period teacher. I told the teacher and she suggested that I talk to someone in guidance, or to an administrator, and sent me down. At this point, I was crying. I saw a friend walking toward the stairs and I told him. He walked me down, saying the comforting words any friend would. I got to the bottom of the stairs and saw my best friend, who didn’t have class. Hysterical, I explained what happened and he took my hand and walked me into the main office, where one of two assistant principals was talking to another student. He saw me and asked if I wanted to speak with him, I nodded and Brandon and I followed him into his office. After telling him my story, and then repeating it to the principal, the A.P. asked if he could call home, and I asked my mom to come down. I told her what happened and she sat next to me as the police were called. Then, the police officer arrived to file a report.
There had been no crime committed, so all I could do was file an “Unusual Incident Report.” This was no unusual incident, however. Just yesterday, I had been cat-called by some men in a landscaping company’s truck. I gave him the description: black, 5’9”, medium build, mustache, shaved head, brown flannel over a white shirt and jeans; gave his age; and proceeded to tell the officer what happened. He did his job, writing everything down, then took my statement and information.
Up to that point, everything was fine. Then, it wasn’t so fine. The officer, a younger man, who I knew to be a rookie cop, said this: “No crime was committed, so there’s not much we can do. For now, just take it as a compliment and be flattered. Not everyone is a gentleman.” I was appalled and sat there, eyes widened with shock at his words. He was blaming me for being sexually harassed.
I can’t help but think of what the officer said. I just couldn’t believe it. I, a 17-year-old girl, was being blamed.