Encounter

By Clio Contogenis, Age 15

Inspired by the December '07 Fiction Workshop, "Hair"

Getting off the A train at West 4th Street, I adjust my clothing in preparation for the rain I know will meet me outside the subway. My hair still clings to my face in frizzed wet strands after the surprise attack the weather unleashed on me before I got on. I head for the exit, but as the train doors whoosh shut behind me, I am stopped by a man pointing at my face. He is African-American, with eyes half-shut and a casual voice, soft and almost expressionless.

“That’s beautiful,” he says. I am momentarily confused, then remember the silver that decorates my cheeks like war paint, a result of the experiments of my friends at rehearsal. I hadn’t bothered to wash it off.

“Thank you,” I reply, not knowing how else to answer, and am about to leave when he says, “You’re beautiful.”

I want to tell him to get lost, but feel it wouldn’t be prudent. All I can do is thank him again,  awkwardly, and try to continue on my way.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 15,” I say, hoping my age will discourage him.

“I’m 17. I’m not too young to be talking to you, am I?”

He doesn’t look 17. No, he is at least in his early twenties, but my brain still isn’t working properly, and I can’t think of anything to say but, “No…I guess not.”

“Do you wanna give me your number, and we could get to know each other?”

“No, actually, I don’t.” I feel anger taking control of me. It pisses me off that he thinks he could just tell me I am pretty and pick me up.

“Why not? Is it the color of my skin?”

“No!” I say adamantly, surprised at the question, and caught between indignation that he could suggest that I am being racist, and the need to make it clear to him that keeping my phone number to myself has nothing to do with his race.

“Then why won’t you give me your number?”

“Because I don’t want to.” I am becoming incensed. He must know my answer isn’t going to change.

“Why not?”
“I don’t know you and I don’t want to give my number out to someone I don’t know—”

“But you could get to know me. How do you know you won’t like me? I want to get to know you. You’re beautiful. I know you’re beautiful on the inside too.”

“I don’t want to get to know you.” My eyes flick around the station, taking in the thick, stale atmosphere, observing the people who pass by. I wonder if they notice me. I know that his accosting me isn’t enough to warrant the intervention of a passerby; I just wonder if they notice. Do they see him bothering me? Shake their heads to themselves before forgetting? My gaze rests momentarily on a policeman a few yards away, leaning against one of the pillars.

“Maybe I could give you my number. That way, if you change your mind—”

“No thank you. I don’t want your number, and I’m not going to change my mind.” A train pulls in behind us. It is past time for this conversation to end. “I actually have to be somewhere right now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my number?”

“Quite sure.”

“Well, I enjoyed meeting you.”

I raise my eyebrows, unwilling to reply.

“You’re a very beautiful person. I can tell. And I hope to see you again sometime…”

As he gets on the train, I am already leaving, climbing the stairs up from underground.

I come out into the open air and it feels clean around me, washed of soot and gasoline by the recent rain. I shake myself slightly, trying to rid myself of the feeling of disgust and contamination: Is that all I am? A pretty face? What was meant, I suppose, as a compliment now has a belittling effect. I think of the constant battle for my appearance, against hair, features, figure. All of that effort is leading to this? So a man on the subway can degrade me and ruin what had been a good day? I won’t let that happen. The next time I’m accosted, I’ll walk right by, a clear “Fuck you” to anyone who tries to make me into my external appearance. A pinprick of wetness shocks the skin of my forearm, then another, and another. The drops are falling faster now, and I flip my hair behind my shoulders, daring the water to ruin its style, and lift my face up to the rain.

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