Cocky, self-assured, smug. They whiz by on motorcycles taunting with words, leers, and jeers as they speed by.
For the last two months it has been my goal to knock over a motorcycle with guys who are harassing me. The temporary satisfaction of immediate revenge.
The actual execution of my fantasy was a complete failure. Out of a subconscious awareness of my plan rather than premeditated determination, I kicked the motorcycle zooming by while two young men harassed me. Motorcycles are heavier than they look. I didn’t even make the motorcycle veer a fraction from its path, and they sped away in a triumphant, amused burst of laughter.
For just one moment, I want them to know the feeling that nothing I can do to my harassers will violate them in the same way they violate me, to drown in the same raw vulnerability of always knowing the imbalance of my retaliation.