Another Day

I’m late for school.

“Not again,” I groan as I rolled out of bed, squinting at the time on my clock. My mom must have overslept, too. She would usually wake me up on week days. That’s strange. Something or someone must have kept her up last night.

I resign myself to my tardiness even if I rushed and rub at my eyes.

I walk into the kitchen and see my bleary-eyed mother heating leftovers from last night’s dinner. She looks rumpled from sleep. I probably look the same.

The aroma of fried chicken overwhelms my senses. My stomach growls.

“’Morning,” I mumble, sitting down on a chair and hurriedly grabbing a slice of white bread. I eat it almost without pausing for breath.

My mother goes to the table and sets down the now hot food on the table. She looks as tired as I felt. I catch a glimpse of her exposed neck and see small dark red bruises marring the skin.

I look away.

I continue to munch on another slice of bread and stand up to shower.

I was stuck in traffic congestion.

I could tell that this was going to be a great day already.

As I always did when traffic jams were hell, I grabbed my phone to browse social media. I tapped the little blue icon and read through my notifications.

In my peripheral vision, I could see a man twice my size staring straight at me. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. I could see his dark eyes looking at me up and down appraisingly.

I ignore him, pretending to be oblivious about it. I focus on my phone. I could feel the weight of his stare on my body.

I continue to look pointedly at my phone.

He was still staring when I got off at my stop. I try to brush away the unease I felt and rush to the entrance of my school.

After school, I trudge along the streets tiredly after the long commute. Familiar sights and sounds greet me. The same yellow car parked on the corner of that street, the flickering streetlamps, the rustle of the wind through the sparse trees in the area, and the hooting and stares of the men gambling and drinking as I passed.

“Hey girl,” one man shouted drunkenly at me. He had an empty bottle in his hand. His eyes were unfocused.

I don’t even blink. I just walk faster. I can hear their wolf whistles even if they were out of sight already.

It didn’t linger on my mind, though. I didn’t remember dreams after I collapsed on the bed, falling asleep instantly after eating supper.

Another day passes. I’m still in the classroom. School is a place for education and learning, and I wonder why time seems to move so sluggishly when I’m inside the walls of this place for some reason.

“Hey, can we go home together?”

I pause, looking up from arranging my things.

It’s Nico, my classmate and neighbor. We occasionally suffer through the commute to home together when he also wants to go home early like I usually do. He rarely does.

I shrug.

“Cool, sure,” I reply.

I was used to going home alone, but it was nice to be with someone. It felt oddly reassuring.

I grab my bag and stand up, and we go on our way in companionable silence.

“That car is always parked there when I go here. Do the owners not use it or what,” Nico remarks, walking along beside me. He was carrying my backpack. I felt lighter in more ways than one.

“True,” I laugh.

We chatter about random topic ranging from neighborhood gossip to complaints about school work.

We turn left, and the usual drunkards are there as always. There are more than usual this time.

The familiar wolf whistling starts to ring in my ears, yet I don’t even bat a lash. I was used to it. I felt a hand graze my backside, but Nico, the gentleman that he is, grabs my arms and frog marches me away from the touch and the men. I walk faster to keep up with his long strides.

“Does that happen often?” he asks when we reach our street. I shrug at him.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it,” I reply dismissively.

He frowns and says, “You shouldn’t be used to it, though. I’ll go home with you again tomorrow.”

He walks me to my house. I bid him goodbye. The gaze I feel on my back is reassuring this time around.