Sunday

This Thing

Early Sunday was relatively quiet. Both Dave and I slept very late (I fell asleep and woke up after an hour or so and was up most of the night before I went back to sleep, but Dave slept straight through, from the time his head hit the pillow). When we got up, we had coffee and a small, impromptu breakfast of yogurt and mixed berries. Then after a few hours of futzing around on our computers, it was actually time to start getting ready for dinner.

We were meeting my brother, aunt, and mother for my brother's birthday dinner (which is not actually until Thursday, but he wanted to celebrate today). My brother wanted to go to Sadie's, so that's where we went. It was pretty fun and we ate a lot, too much. Chips and salsa came to the table and we ordered a large order of guacamole to go with them. My mother and I both had flat, red chile and cheese enchiladas with a fried egg on top. I had papitas with mine. Dave had a relleno plate and I gave him my papitas. My aunt had a taco salad. My brother ordered carne adobada. The food there is good, New Mexican-style food.  While we ate, we chatted and joked around.  We were all pretty full when we left the restaurant.

It's nice to spend time with family for a happy reason.

The Other Thing

Dave and I came home at dusk and, as we were unlocking the door, I started sneezing. We had talked briefly about buying an air purifier for the casita, but we hadn't since I had been more committed to the idea of being stoic about allergens rather than doing anything about it. I finally decided that it was time, so we went out to Target. (Our other reason for going was to do a bit of shop-walking as a digestive measure.)  At Target, we picked up the air purifier, a filter specifically for allergens, and a few other things. We also wandered around the store a bit, looking at random things.

While Dave was looking at LED light bulbs, I went over to housewares to look at throw pillows. While I was over there, I kept encountering the same old guy going down the same aisles I walked down. I didn't acknowledge him at all, but he was clearly following me. I walked back to the hardware section where Dave was, and, when the old guy turned down the same aisle, I made a point of greeting Dave very loudly and talking to him about the light bulb he had chosen. The man lurked around an end cap, watching us, then wandered away. Freak.

I'm sure lots of women have stories they can tell about being followed around by strange men. I think the first time it ever freaked me out was when I was in middle school, maybe eleven or twelve years old, and this man followed me around the main library downtown. I was alone; my mother had dropped me off there. The man was probably in his late 20s or early 30s, thin, with shoulder-length dirty blond hair. He would go down the aisle one over from me and stare at me through the gaps in the books on the shelves. It went on and on and I didn't know what to do about it. No one had ever told me what to do when a strange man followed me around. Ignoring him didn't deter him. Moving to a different aisle didn't deter him. I finally went into the women's bathroom. (It was probably not the best move. I wasn't thinking about what could have happened if he followed me in there.) I sat in a stall and waited there for a long time, maybe twenty minutes or half an hour. I still remember the ugly baby blue tiles the restroom was covered in, floor and walls. I just sat there, looking at them, wondering what to do if he was still there when I came out. When I came out, he was gone.

Later, I told my mother about it and she said I should have told one of the librarians. As if. I had learned too well, as the child of an abusive alcoholic and co-dependent, to never ask anyone--especially anyone with any authority, a librarian, teacher, policeman, any adult really--for help or tell anyone about strange things that happened to me. My job from day one was keeping secrets, so that's what I did. (Besides, men who do things like that know enough to deny everything. And who would have believed a girl about something like that, especially back then?)

I'm a little stuck on the subject now. It's making me think of the other times strange men have followed me around, either on the street or, once, when I was driving.  A man followed me out of a restaurant another time, I think intending to follow me to my car, but was thwarted by the actions of another friend's husband. And it's not just strangers either. I've dated men who have stalked me after the relationship ended or joked about stalking me when we were still dating. I've had men who I haven't been involved with say that they've looked for information about me online. I mean, sure, I can understand their doing it, but what did they get out of telling me about it? Was I supposed to be flattered by their actions or frightened?

I've been reading John Bradshaw's book, Healing the Shame that Binds You. Reading his book prompted me to find interviews that he's given--there are several on youtube--and in one, he makes the statement, "The only emotion you can have in patriarchy is fear." It's all connected then, isn't it?