Reflection

“Don’t want no short dick man.” The singer is adamant, and I am shocked by the explicit English words emanating from the Mazatlán bus speakers. Loudly. Repetitively. Blatantly stating what she does not want. 

I am sitting next to another sailing woman, part of a group on our way to a store with maritime supplies in the industrial district. Nobody else seems to notice the righteous songstress.

Though I am shocked, the song stays with me. Because I am angry too. I am tired of wasting my time and energy on people and things I do not want. Why do I defer to these interrupters? Why am I polite? 

Fear. That’s what keeps me smiling. Fear of repercussions, because there have been many. And the body remembers. Screaming, slapping relatives. A fiancé holding a knife to my throat. A boyfriend slamming me against a wall. A girlfriend pulling out my hair. 

A surfer-sailor anchored her trimaran near me last month. A single-hander, which means, like me, she is sailing solo. I watched her dinghy over to the surf break and ride crazy waves: strong, competent, confident.

I may still write polite notes declining rude advances. It’s hard to overcome ingrained misogyny. But learning what I do not want can lead to knowing what I do want: respect, kindness, solitude, privacy, quiet, space.

Don’t want no short dick man.