Please Judge Me

“Ask that girl. Dude, ask her.”

It’s just another Friday night, and I’m waiting for the bus, pretending that I’m not being gawked at by some teenagers. I can’t tell whether they’re male or female: late teens, baggy clothes, hats and sunglasses. They’re laughing and seem good natured. It takes me back to high school and even college – just laughing with friends like there’s no one else around.

I’m listening to their conversation because I have nothing better to do. “Gawd, I’mma tired. When’ll this damn bus come?” And, “Dude, I need some WEED!”

And then I hear it again, like a dare, “Just ask that girl.”

One of them takes a step toward me. I’ve been pretending this whole time that I’m invisible. I don’t see them, and they don’t see me. Like when you’re a kid and you pretend you’re asleep so your dad will carry you upstairs.

“Miss! Hey, miss.”

The kid steps toward me, so I have no choice but to look him (her?) in the eye, and I can’t help but think he probably didn’t have a dad who carried him upstairs to bed.

“Miss, I was wondering..."

But I don’t let him finish.

“I think you already know that I don’t have any weed,” I say, firmly at first, but then I can’t help but grin at the absurdity of it.

The kid is just a few feet from me when he lunges back toward his friends, losing the courage he had to approach me. He’s doubled up with laughter and hiding his face out of shyness. They’re all laughing, and so am I.

“We just… want to know… the time,” they’re saying at once, gasping for air.

It is extremely hilarious, given the contrast.

“Miss, what’re you doin ridin the COTA?” the weed kid asks me, completely incredulous. I guess girls like me aren’t supposed to ride the bus at 9:15 at night.

I feel like someone punched me in the stomach.

“I always do,” I say feebly. But that isn’t even close to answering what he was asking.

We talk for a while, and they won’t stop calling me “miss,” even after I tell them my name.

And I think I might cry, but not because this is a story about a little white girl who earns the black kids’ respect because she rides the bus like they do. It’s not that; I’ll never pretend to understand them.

I’m going to cry because it’s a story about some sweet kids on the street corner who think that they will always deserve to be on that street corner waiting for the bus.


*This happened to me in February, and I can't get it out of my mind.*