Monday morning I left my doors wearing a tiny skater skirt. I flung a leg over my bicycle. A guy standing up the street said, “Wow.”
I am old enough that this now seems flattering. I pedalled away, smiling to myself. Such a beautiful day. Around the corner I came along a quiet street in which another man followed me, in his car, too close behind, very slowly for the entire five blocks. It seemed to last for an hour. There were other cyclists on the street. There were one hundred rapes under my parents’ roof and his, when I was seventeen. When a stranger says, Don’t scream! he is giving you an instruction for your safety: SCREAM. The sun shone on my back and on his bonnet.