The Sad Truth of What It Feels Like to Not Be Seen
Ayoung man on a cruiser bicycle passed me on the street that led to the local high school. I don’t know how old he was, maybe 15 or 17? He had wild black curls, a thin nose, and a dusting of facial hair across the top of his upper lip.He stared right at me and made eye contact, not because he cared to look at me, but because he wanted me to see him so I wouldn’t run him over.I was surprised at his gaze.No one actually looks at me anymore, I’m an old woman, too old to look at, especially for a 15 or 17-year-old young man.It's been hard to adjust to the idea that no one sees me anymore.
The other day a young man inside the bank lobby didn’t open the door for me. He saw me but didn’t move. I was yanking on the door for minutes trying to figure out which way my debit card needed to slide to open the door. But the man inside just stood there staring at the occupied ATMs completely ignoring me.Becoming invisible was, at first, something I cultivated as a young woman. Back when men looked at me, I tried to hide in plain sight. I had no interest in attracting unwanted attention. I didn’t like the catcalls, and the sexual slurs hurled at me as I walked in public.
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