Today I Was Robbed Of My Ability To Stand Up For Myself

The confused rage building in me was siphoned off by my inability to say anything. I could still feel his dirty fingers wiggling through my bag, and even as I realized that this was a robber, a man who felt he had the right to open my bag even as we smiled together at the bus driver’s jokes, I did nothing but look dumbly at him. “Sorry,” he said. Softly. “Sorry.” Heartbeats thudded past. He said, “No have anything,” as I searched my bag. Of all the Spanish I might have mustered, all that came out was a weak, “Don’t.”