Hero, at least in my own eyes.
At 14, I was walking home from the bus stop and I saw a girl of about nine accompanied by an unsavoury looking type. She kept shrugging him off. So I pulled my self up and said to myself, Izzy, this is your chance to make a difference.
So I took off, school bag bouncing up and down between my shoulder blades and managed to grab the little girl's school bag.
Her eyes went balloon like in fear and her arms windmilled, her feet scrabbling hopelessly in the mud.
And I said, huffing and puffing, "Is this man bothering you?"
She stopped trying to get away from my grip, slapped her forehead and said, "No ya! He's my servant."
This time I got it right.
So at 16 years old I'm walking on the pavement to my club.
I begin to notice a man walking in front of me, constantly looking back at me.
The first time I ignored.
The second time I glared him down.
The third time I gestured. What? WHAT?
Still there was a fourth time.
So I followed him.
I followed him lasciviously.
I followed him to the beedi shop. I lurked at the bus stop while he waited. I followed him to the taxi stand. I all but followed him home.
I don't think he'll ever harass anyone again.
Posted 21st March 2007 by J
