Dear Girl With a Pink Backpack (profanity,trigger warnings)Dear Girl with a pink backpack.
You don't know me, and I don't know you, but for a few minutes today, our lives ran parallel.
I was walking home from the produce market with my 10 year old and two red onions. I heard you- or rather, the boy who I assume is your boyfriend-long before I saw you.
He was bare chested and waving is shirt at your face and shouting "You fucking bitch! Do you really want to make me this mad at you?"
I wondered if I would need to pass my phone to my kid and ask him to call 911 while I hauled the asshole off you, but luckily for us all, he rode his bike off down a side street and a minute later, a police officer pulled up to you.
I saw you shake your head at him and walk off.
The officer pulled up so us and asked us what we had seen, and I told him. I saw him pull his car up, get out, and come talk to you. As my son and I walked by, I heard him telling you, "I just want to make sure you're safe."
Honey, I do to. want to know you're safe, even though I don't know you. I want you to know that you, that NO ONE, deserves to be talked at that way, and I honestly suspect what the people out on 19th street saw today was just the tip of the ice berg. I hope you will leave him. I hope you will know you can. I hope, pray, that if you need help to do that, you'll seek that help.
You looked like you're on the cusp of womanhood. You may even be a legal adult, though it can be hard for me to judge those kind of things anymore. I will tell you this, though. The boy yelling those obscenities at you? he's no man, and will probably never be one.
Labels: domestic abuse