# MeToo

I know very few women who have made it out of their twenties without being inappropriately groped, harassed, or assaulted in some way. The high school and college years are especially treacherous for women. It happens when you are walking the hallway at school, in the dorm or even in the cafeteria. It happens at parties, concerts and ball games. I’m not talking about innocent brushes against you in the elevator. These are blatant acts—like when some guy, pushes you up against the wall or pulls you onto his lap and licks your neck as his hands roam your body. Maybe he just grabs your breast or sticks his hand up your skirt as he walks by. Or maybe your date thinks “no” means “yes.”

We’re taught to laugh it off, give him a break because he was drunk, or take it as a compliment.

But what do these experiences really teach us? 

From an early age, we learn to travel in groups to use the public restroom—not because we need a second opinion on the color of our lip gloss, but because some predator may be lurking in the bathroom stalls. By twenty, we know to hold our keys between our knuckles when we walk to our parked cars. We buy special nail polish that turns colors when dipped into a drink that’s been roofied—just to feel safe. We are told to keep secrets for our own benefit. “Don’t say anything. It won’t do any good. Do you really want everyone to know?” We learn to question ourselves. “Did I do something to provoke it?” “Was my shirt too low cut?” “I shouldn’t have made eye contact with him.” We learn to keep our guard up, and if something does happen to us, it is our fault and we are not worth defending.

I struggled with whether to post on this topic. I am not one to complain or jump on the bandwagon of trending causes. But this is personal to me and I am who I am because of my experiences. I’m a writer and my past gives me fodder for my work. If I’d never had to run from a speeding “Bubba-truck” with two men leaning out the windows taunting me as it chased me down a walking path, I don’t know if I would be able to write about the kind of fear I experienced that day. I know in my heart that if I hadn’t been able to cross the railroad tracks in time and make it to the busy highway (true story), I would not be here to write this post. I know what I know because of my past. My experiences make me a better, more relatable writer. And at this point in my life, I wouldn’t change any of them, even the horrible ones. I’ve survived this far.

But, what would the world be like if our daughters didn’t have to grow up with these experiences? What could be accomplished, if they didn’t have to worry about walking too close to a dark doorway or someone posting a lewd video of them online? I post this with hope for the girls and boys of the future (because it is not just a girl problem). Recognize that assault is widespread and needs to end. Raise your hand to show your friends they are not alone. Keeping secrets does not change the future. We are in this world together. #MeToo  

©Susan Schussler 2017

Kellen's Story

I have a new character blogging today. He walked out on Megan Billings in Romancing the Cook Part 5. I decided he needed his own voice and a chance to explain why he walked away.  

Kellen:  A new beginning

“Rae, can you take table ten?” I ask the other server as she squeezes past me, balancing a tray of drinks above her head.

She stops at my words with her back to me. I don’t miss the opportunity to ogle her bootiful backside. Luckily she doesn’t catch me. She hates it when I objectify her. I wouldn’t do it if she wasn’t so damn good looking. Too bad she has a boyfriend.

“I can’t wait on my ex. I refuse to be cordial to her after what she did in my car. Besides, I won’t get a tip and she’d get better service from you. I’m done servicing her.”

“If I took the table every time one of your exes sat down, I’m pretty sure you’d be out of a job and I’d have to clone myself.” She laughs and walks into the crowded dining area.

She never answered me, which means that she’s not going to do what I want. I only have three tables to begin with, and my ex had to pick one of mine. I’m doing split duty today. Andy called and asked me to fill in on my day off. He didn’t realize the art festival downtown started today or I probably would have been on the schedule. As it is I’m working both kitchen and tables. The small café is packed and Rae, Andy and I can’t seem to keep up with the demand. I don’t have time to deal with a crazy ex-girlfriend.

What do I do? I finish plating the salads for table six while I work on my plan. What’s the worst that can happen? She’ll kick me in the groin? Stab her fork in my eye? I can deal with whatever she’s got. I throw the salads on a tray and deliver them before approaching table ten. I swing the tray in front of me like a shield to protect my junk.

“Sam.” I acknowledge her right off with a jerk of my chin and her name. Girls hate being ignored. I can’t pretend not to see her. “What can I get you guys?”

“Answers,” says her blond friend. I can’t remember her name.

“Be specific. The place is packed and I’m busy.”

“What the hell, Kellen? What happened to us?” asks Sam. “Is it another girl?”

“You threw up in my car.” I can’t believe she doesn’t know why I stopped calling her.

“And I apologized. That can’t be it. That’s stupid,” she says. Her brown eyes glare at me in disbelief.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask, tapping my pen against my tablet.

“Kellen, you can’t just walk away because I threw up in your car.”

“I love my car. I can’t help that what you did changed how I feel about you. Do you need menus?” I ask. My tongue rubs the inside of my lip against my lip ring as I stare at her with deadpan eyes.

Sam’s jaw drops open. “You’re serious?”

I force a smile. “So no food then? If you’re not going to eat, we’ve got people waiting.” I point my thumb toward the door where a couple just came in. “And I’ve got other tables to tend.” I walk away. I’ve wasted enough time and need to check on my other tables. I hope she leaves without a scene.

“That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it?”

I turn toward her, hoping she’ll lower her voice or better yet, stop talking.

“Walk away, Kellen Bennet. Just walk away.” She gets up and pushes past me in a huff. “I couldn’t help it. I was sick,” she calls as her friend opens the door to exit.

I turn to the family at the table in front of me and say, “Sorry about that. Now that the show’s over, what can I get you for dinner?” I take their order and hustle back to the kitchen. I’m too busy the rest of the night to rehash in my head what happened. I don’t think I was being too harsh. She threw up in my car! ©Susan Schussler 2017