I was fully clothed every time I felt most naked. Every single time, fully clothed.
I am not talking about nudity here, I am talking about feeling naked.
The way the officers made me feel when they pulled me and my
one week old drivers’ license over, tracked the scent of my nerves.
Straight from school, getting ice cream with my six year old
baby brother in the back seat. Both of us silenced. Naked.
They way the pompadour man made me feel on the city bus. Cheap
Old Spice fumes topped only by backhanded compliment. “You
could be a beauty queen with those legs.” Head to toe
skimming as I clutched backpack, books and binder. Naked.
The way the Huston customs official made me feel after a
twenty hour flight back from Thailand. Profiled among lines
of fanny-pack travelers. “Do you have proof that this here Gucci
handbag is genuine?” Dressed head-to-toe in all things genuine. Naked.
The way American junior high school boys going on dates with girls are. One
in four of them thinking that since they paid for dinner, they can
force sex on their dates. One in five junior high school girls agree.
Cute date outfit and hot shoes, but really... Naked.
The way the cops make a woman feel when she has the guts
to report a rape. First, “How much did you have to drink?”
then “What were you wearing.” Requisite paper pushing,
line of questioning, feigned respect. Naked.
I am not talking about nudity here, I am talking about feeling naked.
I was fully clothed every time I felt most naked. Every single time, fully clothed.
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