"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.
