This Is How a Black Woman Unravels | The Root "Nah, he can’t be talking to me."

Violence Against Women, Violence Against Black Women, KOLUMN Magazine, KOLUMN

I walk a lot.

I have a car, but sometimes, it’s nice to be able to look around you and see what’s out there.

I lived in New York City for about four years, so walking is no big deal.

Cat-calling is no big deal.

I was walking, today, in the Baltimore Inner Harbor. It was broad daylight. 2 p.m., or so.

I was minding my business—I’m always minding my business.

I saw a boy—couldn’t have been more than 17—walking alongside me, but it really isn’t a big deal.

I call him a boy, because I’m almost 30, and anyone who is less than 25 I equate to be the same as my little brother; He’s 21 and to me, he’s still a kid.

A kid walking beside me isn’t a big deal because I’m used to being spoken to, or flirted with.

I don’t like it, but I’m used to it. I’m polite (if they are). I decline. I keep it movin’. Whatever.

I have my headphones in. The Carters are playing and I hear this kid saying something to me.

I think I hear him, but I’m not sure. My music is kinda loud, kinda not.

He says, “Do you suck d—k?”

Nah, he can’t be talking to me.

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