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Sparkle (14)
It's a typical winter day in Los Angeles and I'm strolling down a residential street toward a coffee shop a few blocks away. This city often feels like the driving capital of the country, but there are other people out: people walking their dogs, people with sweet bundled up babies in strollers, couples, singles, groups of friends, executives. It almost doesn't feel like L.A. at all, there are so many people out and about. It's lovely. It feels safe.
I turn up the music up a bit, letting Tchaikovsky carry my footsteps in the chilly afternoon air. The sun is sinking into the ocean behind me and everything feels golden. A more perfect day to grab a coffee has never existed and will possibly never exist again.
Just then, I notice a man walking in my direction. There are different kinds of walks. There are walks that suggest someone is on his way somewhere, with nothing but the destination in mind, and then there are walks that clearly indicate that someone is walking because they want to walk. The pace says they're enjoying the walk for the pleasure of walking, taking in the sights and sounds and flickering warmth of the disappearing rays of the sun.
And then, of course, there is the walk of someone who is approaching you. You, specifically, though you've never met this person in your life.

"Spotted heels" via Shutterstock.
I look through him, without hesitation. I am sending a message (it says: "I'm not stopping, don't get in my way"), but I'm also assessing him. He's slightly taller than me, slender. Probably outweighs me by fifty pounds at most. It's not a terrifying specimen, but caution -- as always -- is warranted.
I don't know when I started doing it. I know that when I was 19, I never thought about my body language or assessed people like this. I wandered all over the world, walking around cities and towns at all hours as though they belonged to me. I didn't feel wary of other people's glances; I didn't take into account my immediate surroundings. I didn't feel nervous at all.
At some point, that changed. I can't pinpoint the exact moment -- in retrospect it feels like a series of events more than any particular moment. A guy at a club saying he wants to buy me a drink because I'm cute followed by a hand on my thigh. A business meeting where a man interrupts my discussion of the contract to inform me he thinks we would have great sex. A man standing on my lawn right outside my study window, watching me. A man standing beside me at a crowded bar, crossing his arms to hide his fingers as they reach toward me to caress my breast through my blouse.
A man asking me to dance and yelling that I'm a bitch and a whore when I politely decline. Reasoning through my apartment door with a neighbor who's shown up at three in the morning -- shirtless -- because he thinks that my borrowing a bottle opener earlier that day means I want him. A man following me home from a bookstore in his car, pulling into driveways and making wild U-turns as I desperately try to out-maneuver him on foot.
I no longer see compliments as nice, spontaneous gestures -- I see only the strings attached. Everything has strings and every string represents an obligation imposed upon me -- an obligation I neither need nor want. My inability to decline without being pursued further, placed at the receiving end of abuse, or chased down the street has turned me into a woman who can't be approached without being hit with an adrenaline jolt so strong, I could probably leap frog a sky-scraper to get away. If that sounds cool, it's only because you haven't recently have had to come down from such a powerful chemical rush. It's not cool.
But it's hard to explain it to men. "Those guys are assholes," they say. "Most guys are not like that. I'm not like that." That’s the thing: if I don't know you, I don't know what you're like. My experience is the only evidence I have and this evidence says waiting around to find out usually results in very unpleasant situations. No person in their right mind would seek out unpleasant situations.
You could be a perfect gentleman, an upstanding, tax-paying citizen who has never broken the law and who treats everyone who















