BEING A GIRL ALONE WORDS Cam Vernali PHOTOS Claire Moon
I sit, I occupy my own space. He starts off with a line about my hair: “Hey, I really like your hair there.”
it’s a Saturday and it’s a fine time to sit.
interest was paired with a quick but harsh pinch of my thigh.
He gives me a drawing of his Rastafarian beliefs, an organic avocado, some
And with that, my friend needs me to pick her up at the airport or my house has caught on fire or my mother wants me home for dinner in the Bay Area; the route I chose to go changes by day but in any case, I must go now.
I give a smile, a thanks, the standard procedure of being polite when I’m not in fear. My shoulders are already angled away from the guy when he continues.
Line 1: How old are you? You look like you could be anywhere between 16 and 24.
“Are you Italian?” I only manage to get a brief stutter out before he goes on. “Yeah, I can tell you are by your hair.”
Me: I’m, uh— Line 2: Don’t worry, that’s a good thing.
I don’t get it—what hair is considered Italian hair, anyway?—so I pause. “Do you want to sit down?” He seems friendly enough in offering, and though I would usually decline, I
“Being alone and young doesn’t mean I’m malleable” sit in the green lawn chair beside him because it doesn’t feel too off with the vibe of the day. It’s just warm enough to encourage minimal movement and
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The Paper Mixtape
mint tea, two small vials of sandalwood oil. It’s nice to talk with someone when it’s just an exchange of ideas and experiences, nothing more or less. “Cam, Cam, we love Cam!” He reaches over and hugs me tightly in a full body embrace. This is the first strike—his words haven’t referenced my appearance, but his actions are giving him away. Being alone and young doesn’t mean I’m malleable to physical interaction, though some people think so. Strike two comes when I realize that he’s speaking in third person about himself, which is…interesting. “Do you do yoga? You must work out, look at how small you are!” His faux
It’s not always as direct as that. Most of the time it’s in the subtle details; the change of tone, the eyebrow raise, the phrasing of sentences that shifts power away from me to them. It’s not difficult to recognize. I exist as a person, or I exist as a young and alone girl. It’s not mutually exclusive in theory, but I’ve found it ranges on a spectrum for some when they place “person” on one end and “young girl” on the other, like my personhood is some tug-of-war. Since my identity is shaped by both what I am and what others think I am, who decides what I become? Red Baseball Cap: Hey, howya doing there, miss? Red Baseball Cap: Hey, I’m talking to you right there! You’re really not gonna answer me like that? What kinda— Issue 6 Winter 2018
