Before I dive into this week’s email, I’d like to thank everyone who took the time to vote for Spent. The cover has made it to the next round of the AllAuthor.com contest, and yes, you can vote again!
Almost two weeks ago, we were on a plane, coming home from a fabulous vacation. As much as I love exploring new places with my husband, I was ready to get back to routine, to sleep in my own bed, and to see our children and dog. I was in a decent headspace when I sat in my seat, feeling fulfilled from a wonderful break and grateful for all the good things in my life.
And then…
A man got on the plane and sat in the seat in front of me. He had black curly hair, blue eyes, and was sharply dressed. I did that thing where you try to look at someone without looking like you’re looking: using my peripheral vision and moving my eyes in directions that caused me headaches. I needed to see this face, since his whole aura and vibe reminded me of a boy I crushed on in high school.
For the whole plane ride, I glanced at him whenever he got out of his seat, trying to figure out if he was the same guy (I’ll call him L). The resemblance was startling. No sooner had I dismissed that idea—he was at least a decade too young—than another thought wormed its way into my head. I remembered how the boy treated me and how I allowed it to happen.
We were part of the same friend group. We all hung out together in the cafeteria, between classes, and on weekends. Like any 17-year-old girl with a crush, I spent an obnoxious amount of time planning how I could get alone time with him. While I can’t recall all my ideas, I know I asked him on more than one occasion if he could give me a lift home in his dusty and rusty Jeep Cherokee. Some of our friends had shiny new sport cars, and any one of them would have probably given me a ride, but I wanted to ride with L. (As I type, I realize how pervy those two sentences sound).
L always said no, until the one time he shrugged and agreed. I blanked out for the rest of my classes that afternoon. This was the biggest deal. I would have 20 minutes alone with L. I would flirt. I would laugh at his wicked sense of humour. I would maybe get out of the car with a date for the weekend.
In the parking lot after school, L was already pulling out of the parking spot when I knocked on the passenger window. He rolled down the power window.
“You’re still giving me ride home, right?” I smiled.
L rolled his eyes. “Sure.”
I opened the door to climb up.
“Nu-uh. Not up here. Get in the back.”
I hid my confusion, my brain pushing away the hurt. You can still talk from the back seat.
When I opened the back passenger door, L shook his head. “The back back.”
I climbed into the cargo space, smearing my brand new jeans with the rust lining the lip and the cold steel of the floor. I was so hungry for attention and love, I allowed myself to be treated like extra baggage. I knew what he was doing was wrong and mean, but I agreed to it. I hate myself now for what I put up with when I was a teenager.
He drove me home, taking corners sharper than necessary, my body slamming into the sides of the cargo space. He laughed the whole way, turning the radio up loudly when I tried to engage in conversation. I carried the bruises on my body for a couple of weeks, but the ones inside still persist to this day.
I am sorry, 17yo me, for not knowing you were worth more. I wish you had known that you were deserving of kindness and love and you didn’t have to subject yourself to humiliation and pain just to get a date. I feel sick about the choices I made back then. I didn’t know any better.
I am still working through these emotions triggered by a stranger on a plane. I’m stronger, wiser, and happier now. It’s okay to acknowledge our bad choices, especially when we find a way to thrive despite them. I made it to the other side and will never ride in the back again.
I hope you heal from all the things you don’t talk about.
xo Dana
What I’m watching
I stumbled upon this clip on socials, and it was exactly what I needed to see to jump start me out of an emotional funk. When Bahuubali 2 was released in 2017, it was the most expensive film to ever come out of Bollywood. As I watched the clip for the fourth time, I wished Bollywood films were more accessible when I was film student. At the time, Indian film had a huge regional impact but globally was mocked and dismissed. It’s shame, since these movies are fun and unapologetically self-deprecating, and 100% joyful. You can watch Bahuubali 1 and 2 on Netflix.