by Rachel Rosenblatt<\/p>\n\n\n\n
cw: mentions of harassment<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Our conversation comes to a halt as I pause to stare at my dad across the table, greasy pizza slice in hand. It\u2019s a Friday dinner special when we order the same exact pizza, fries, and honey barbeque wings from the same exact place, and my mom is not at the dinner table yet.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n He\u2019s staring at me because somehow we\u2019re lost in translation. He doesn\u2019t recognize the phrase that convinces me to do the extra button on my top, to zip my jacket to my neck, to leave my earbuds hanging from my neck. He doesn\u2019t recognize the phrase that taught me that smiling in public is dangerous.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n How do I even begin to explain?<\/p>\n\n\n\n I suppose to someone not familiar with it, the phrase might be odd for what it actually means. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Catcall<\/em>.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n I can\u2019t tell if it\u2019s the context that confuses him or the actual word itself. Maybe, once upon a time, they had a different term for it. The thought makes me uncomfortable, and I choose to trust that it\u2019s the context in which I\u2019ve placed the word that makes him question my meaning. <\/p>\n\n\n\n After all, we\u2019ve never owned a cat, and I\u2019m so allergic to them that I sneeze the moment we enter the same room, so I couldn\u2019t possibly be talking about that. The context I provided was where I would be living next year. That one of the apartments was near a restaurant, and sometimes my friend walked by that restaurant. Sometimes she got catcalled by the men outside, but other than that it wasn\u2019t a bad area.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Is this where I\u2019m supposed to tell my dad that his daughter gets stopped by strangers in the street? <\/p>\n\n\n\n That last summer I visited my friend\u2019s beach house for a long weekend. I left my book at the house and walked back alone. It was only three blocks, and I was alone, and I walked back anyway. Am I supposed to tell him about the car of young men who drove past, lowering their windows just so they could tell me I have nice tits? To laugh and drive away and leave me there, in shorts and a bathing suit top, stuck. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Once I started running in the summer, I thought it was alright to walk around in a high-necked, full coverage sports bra and high-waisted running shorts during my cool down. I was wheezing, grateful that my legs managed to carry me that far, dripping with sweat to a disgusting degree. To towel some of it off, I\u2019d take off my tank top and wipe the sweat from my brow, the back of my neck. The only part that was more exposed than a second before was my midriff. Am I supposed to tell my dad that the delivery man in a cul-de-sac paused to comment on how good I looked, on how I should keep it up?<\/p>\n\n\n\n That the man on the subway touched my shoulder and told me he liked my hair down. That the man on my street asked if I\u2019d come home with him. That every slowed car makes my heart race. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Is this where I tell him that his daughter is scared of smiling at strangers because she has learned that the slightest tilt of the lips can instigate a conversation where she is demeaned, where she is threatened, where she is in a dangerous situation? <\/p>\n\n\n\n That his daughter is scared of eye contact. That she has a system of head down, eyes down, but staying aware while walking outside when passing strangers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s when men yell at women in the street.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s not enough. It can\u2019t be enough, but I don\u2019t know what else to say. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He nods and takes another bite of his pizza. I don\u2019t think he gets it. I don\u2019t know if he really can.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"