"You, young girl, come over here," a pale white man calls to me from the window of his pickup truck.
Growing up in the Deep South, I've learned my lessons about who I am and what I'm supposed to do. I turn ever so sweetly and walk to his car door. The sun beats down on my brown skin which is only partially covered by my tube top sun dress.
"Where you headed," he says leaning on his hairy arm, "maybe I can drop you somewhere?"
"No I'm fine," I say starting to walk away.
"Oh I know you're fine," he says with a wink, "but can't a man try and get to know you."
I don't know what it is, but he seems sweet. There is something very light in his cornfield blue eyes even though age has wrinkled his skin around the mouth and forehead. I walk around the car and take a seat on the passenger's side. He smiles pleased at me as he starts up the engine.
"So how old are you anyways?"
"I'm eighteen," I say looking out the window at the town fading in the background.
"Wow, I thought you'd be older. I'm forty-nine, I hope that doesn't bother you," he responds turning down the path that leads to the beach.
I hadn't placed him close to fifty, but I did know that he was older than me. He is handsome in his own way and I kind of trust his intent toward me. His hand slides to my leg and for the first time in my life, I feel like a woman.
He stops at the beach and I spring from the car full of life and hopeful for the time I'm spending with him. He isn't like the younger guys at my school and he certainly has a different feel from the black guys that are constantly staring at me. I know what I'm doing is taboo on so many levels, but I'm feeling more alive as he walks slowly behind me along the nearly empty beach.
"You are really beautiful," he says just behind me.
"You aren't too bad yourself," I answer shyly.
