Blame me, a woman

Blame me, a woman STARLENE JOY PORTILLO

I.

The first tea party I had was with a sixth grader. I was all of four years old, sprawled out on the lawn under the shade that his towering frame cast across me from our makeshift table. Nothing about that afternoon was worth noting, until he decided he no longer liked tea. From there, it was all a fast-paced blur: chasing a yellow butterfly, tickling, wobbly piggyback rides, tickling until my sides hurt, being shrouded by sheets hanging on a clothesline, tickling until I felt the need to gasp for sentiments I didn’t know the words to.

The last thing I remembered thinking was how D’s chubby finger resembled a Wiggles marshmallow against the hem of my underwear as I sat on his lap. Later that night, Mother told me that I can only ever have tea parties with her, instead.

II.

My cheeks were ensnared between the principal’s clammy grip. She squeezed hard enough to parse my lips, but not the answers. The shy bruise under my chin juts out just enough to taunt her. “You were punched because you kicked his privates first,” she sentenced, hoarse and final. She cut out the part where P raised my uniform skirt over my head.

III.

A Name exists outside a word outside itself. Car honks, starved gazes, whispers of intent—they all contend with me.

IV.

I rode a cab to school once, and the driver asked me if I were a virgin. I pretended not to hear, but he took my silence as a yes, suggesting that nights get cold, and women—lonely. When he kept trying to adjust the rearview mirror in the hopes of meeting my gaze, I started thinking of ways to envelope myself while I staged the courage to jump out of the car. As if on cue, however, it came to a halt across the school gate. “Keep the change,” I stuttered, when his hands tried to burn my denim, parting skin from sin. It lingered long enough to silence me.

V.

An afternoon three calendars ago, J asked C what rape culture meant. Rape is too harsh a word, I recall him phrasing, to describe any and every perpetrating deed. But then again, isn’t it harshest done than said?