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Chased<br />
by Chelsea Hano<br />
D<strong>is</strong>claimer: I am not a damsel in d<strong>is</strong>tress. I am not a wilting<br />
flower. When I go on dates with guys, I don’t let them pay for<br />
me. If they do pay, it makes me feel like a prostitute. That<br />
must sound really silly, but it’s how I feel. Most of my male<br />
friends have been trained to run in fear when I’m angry and<br />
flinch if I ra<strong>is</strong>e my hand too quickly. Unlike most girls, I don’t<br />
view being single as a curse. To me it’s a pleasure. I am<br />
strong, independent, and fierce. I don’t need a man, or anyone<br />
to save me. Except for th<strong>is</strong> one time, at theater camp…<br />
It was lunchtime at French Woods Festival for the<br />
Performing Arts, summer of 2009 (or the summer of Two<br />
Thousand and Swine, as it’s known amongst the campers).<br />
I was seventeen, young, and stupid. As I write th<strong>is</strong>, I am still<br />
seventeen, still young, and still very stupid.<br />
After waiting on line for what seemed like hours, I<br />
had finally gotten my food. <strong>The</strong> food at French Woods <strong>is</strong><br />
pretty questionable but it’s food and most of the time it’s<br />
good. It’s always deep fried though. I never understood that.<br />
I saw my friend Alex making h<strong>is</strong> way back to h<strong>is</strong><br />
lunch table. Alex <strong>is</strong> one of those lanky theater boys that girls<br />
like me are suckers for. He can quote Shakespeare and sing<br />
Steven Sondheim with the best of them. H<strong>is</strong> soft, dark brown<br />
hair <strong>is</strong> made to be tussled and stroked, like a puppy.<br />
Sometimes he lets me and h<strong>is</strong> other female friends verbally<br />
beat the crap out of him. When I had a fake wedding earlier<br />
that summer, Alex borrowed the hand-me-down jacket from my dad and “gave me away.” Mothers<br />
like him. Alex <strong>is</strong> d<strong>is</strong>arming. H<strong>is</strong> eyes sometimes sparkle.<br />
Sarah Song<br />
We saw each other and started talking. I needed to talk to him. It was important.<br />
“Hey Alex, remember yesterday when we were all hanging out and that kid Chase showed up?”<br />
Alex nodded. I’m pretty sure he had some idea of what I was about to say.<br />
“Well…he’s a creeper. When I was sitting with him during evening activity he kept trying to take off my bra through my<br />
shirt. He wouldn’t stop until I smashed h<strong>is</strong> hand against the wall with my back.”<br />
It’s perfectly normal for friends to do that to each other as a joke. But some kid we don’t know, not cool. “What the<br />
@#$%!” Alex exclaimed.<br />
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