Silence is Golden

I have heard the phrase many times, read the lyrics to the song and have often mulled the meaning of the proverb frequently. I know that 'silence is golden' is a saying meant to instill cautiousness and tact in situations where, perhaps, not saying or doing anything at all would be the best course of action. Oftentimes, though, the meaning of these three little words gets twisted.

I was bullied a lot as a kid. Anyone could say anything to my face, I'd take it with a smile. Sometimes I'd deliver a few zingers, then laugh it off. But when it really got rough, I could feel my hands shake and my body vibrate with rage. Sometimes I was pushed and shoved but still, I wouldn't do anything. Growing up, I had been the tallest in my class, the most developed and the few times I *had* lashed out, I got in trouble. I had been indoctrinated to never raised my hand even in self defense because I could hurt someone badly. I was to turn the other cheek, keep my mouth shut and ignore the situation at hand when humor failed me. At times like these, I'd latch onto my pride and force a smile on my face even though my eyes were burning. I always took the high road.

It was sophomore year and a Friday. I hated Fridays. Fridays meant I had to wear my pep uniform and deal with the attention that got me. The year before I had wondered about in a suicidal daze that no one noticed except the girl who conned me into trying out for the color guard team.

I hated my body, I hated my life and while I had begun to make friends and learned to smile more, I was not out of the woods yet.

I have always been a curvy girl. By the time I was in 6th grade, I had grown to be a size 38C. The summer of 8th grade I'd gone up to a DDD status. I had tried to hide myself as best as I could because I couldn't handle the cat calling, the staring, the gossiping of girls, the slut shaming,  nor the strangers following me at a slow pace in their car while I went to and from school. I had also been molested by a family 'acquaintance' for several years and I was not prepared to show my body.

I was not prepared to accept myself, really. I had a war going on inside me-- am I girl or am I a boy and why does it matter? All the attention I got served the purpose to confuse me even further.

Gone were the days where I wore over sized t-shirts and jeans, my hair a mess in a loose braid and face bare. As a member of the color guard team I had to wear our uniforms and boy, where they revealing. I also had to style my hair and do my make up.


Because it was Friday, I was, once again, donning our pep uniform and my biggest nemesis: short skirt, tight turtleneck and the form-hugging top over it. My face was carefully done the way our coach had demanded and my hair pulled in a pony tail so tight it gave me a headache. I could feel the anxiety bubbling to the surface as I forced a smile on my face. See, the bell had rung and I had to get to class. Since I had stayed behind to speak to my previous teacher, I didn't have the time to take the long way to my next class. I *had* to go through the main hallway, past a certain teacher's class and deal with... that.

"Big tits!"

It has been over a decade since I graduated high school and I can still hear his voice. I can still see that shit-eating grin on his pale face and that sorry, miserable excuse of a fucking haircut that made him look like some sort of albino porcupine. I hated the son of a bitch. He was a year younger than me but he'd been harassing me since I was in fourth grade. He liked to sneak up on me and snap my bra strap. He called me names. He constantly asked that I go meet him behind the bleachers and put my mouth to good use. I got no respite from the asshole even in the summer because we went to the same boys and girls club. I had complained about his behavior countless of times but I always got the same response: Boys will be boys. Maybe I should wear something less revealing and make it clear I am not interested. (Because you know, a loose turtle neck and overalls are *sooo* revealing, and nothing said 'come here big boy, I want to blow you!' like shoving a boy from his bike when he rides circles around you trying to cop a feel.)

I fixed my eyes on the opposite and pretended not to hear.

The year before had been miserable, yes, but I had at least not dealt with *him*.

"I'm talking to you."

He flicked my skirt. I ignored it. I tried to walk faster but was impeded by the sea of bodies coming in the opposite direction. He could lift my skirt all he wanted, I thought, after all, I was wearing the uniform bloomers to cover my modesty.

"Hey Chink, tell Big Tits I'm talking to her!" He was now addressing my best friend.

"Ignore him," I pleaded and shoved her ahead of me, desperate not to get her caught in the crossfire again.

He'd gotten taller since I saw him last, but no more well behaved. In fact, he'd grown more bold.

"Are you still mad about the tennis cage? It was just a joke!" Yeah.. a very funny joke, where he had shoved a stick on the handles of the door and kept us from leaving. The whole time he and his stupid buddies had ridden their bikes in circles around the cage throwing water balloons at us. All because I'd been wearing a white shirt and he wanted to know 'what kind of bra supports those tits.'  It happened in broad daylight, my best friend had crumbled into tears, yelling for help and no one came. People had actively chosen to not say anything.

I pressed on and I felt the snap of my bra. I faltered as I fought back the urge to slap him. And then it happened; I felt myself be pulled halfway around and a hand shoved into my breast. I shoved him against the lockers, hard and while he laughed, I slapped him.

The bell rung but instead of clearing out, people had gathered to see what happened due to the commotion. I heard a yell from one of the teachers and slowly the crowd dispersed. She pulled us into her classroom.

He tried telling her that I slapped him for no good reason. I bit my lip and kept my mouth shut. No point in making things worse by opening my mouth, right? Silence is golden! Take the high road! Do not make things worse by giving him further attention! If I could have just kept myself in control than maybe, just maybe, he would have gone away. But no, I'd slapped him... He'd only retaliate even more now.

"He called her Big Tits and groped her." I looked up. I didn't know the girl, it was my first time laying eyes on her. "Its not the first time either. I've seen him follow her a few times but never said anything. I mean, I figured he'd just stop if she continued to ignore him like always."

The older woman looked at us with her steely gaze, her lips pulled into a tight line. She put her hand on her hip and turned her attention to the boy. "Is this true?"

He reiterated that I had slapped him.

I focused my gaze on my sneakers. They were covered in dirt. I should wash them before I got in trouble for being out of uniform. I felt her eyes on me. I wanted to cry. I felt so ashamed.

She pulled me into a hug and said my silence said it all. She went on to say that victims of bullying tend to keep their mouths shut because we're often told its best to ignore them. She said that Silence is garbage and it yields our power to our attackers.

Before she sent me on my way, she turned to the boy and told him that in no shape or form was his behavior appropriate. He was lucky, she said, that she didn't call the police on him right then and there because his behavior had escalated from sexual harassment to abuse the moment he laid a hand on me. If he wasn't scared of going to juvi for sexual misconduct he should very well be afraid of what would happen if he had touched the wrong woman. Some men don't like it when their girls are mistreated and can enact vengeance or worse... the victim may snap and retaliate in a way he never expected. Either way, he was not only ruining the life of a victim but his own as well.

From then on, he avoided me. I never caught the girl's name, nor would I have been able to recognize her anyway. I am thankful for her interception in the matter,  but most of all, I am thankful for that teacher's lecture; Silence is Garbage.

Nowadays, I'm not so quiet anymore.