The heat in this city is unbelievable, and as the thermometer rises, so does my hairline. For the first time in a year or more, the nape of my neck is completely bare and open to every passing breeze. It feels fantastic. Most men know this feeling, but somewhat fewer women, which I think is a shame. As I ran my hand up my neck this afternoon and thought about the possibility of a fleur de lis tattoo at my C7 vertebra, I suddenly remembered another hand that ran up my neck, years ago, in a tiny desert town in New Mexico.
I was standing in the aisle of an auto parts store picking out something completely innocuous: air freshener. I had a pixie cut then, short everywhere on purpose, faded Levi 501s and a t-shirt. Oh, and earrings. Perhaps he missed the earrings. Out of the corner of my eye I vaguely saw a tall, sunburned, skinny man in a dirty white cowboy shirt walking toward me. Thinking nothing, I stepped forward to let him pass, and tried to decide between a pine-scented and an orange-scented air freshener. Then I smelled stale alcohol and sweat and felt his right hand grab my arm. His grimy left hand ran up my bare-neck and his fingers ran through my hair. I felt his hot, coppery breath on my ear as he slurred, "What you need is a real man to show you what you are missing." I wriggled away and walked straight out to my car, locked the door, and drove away, very, very fast. Eventually the nausea passed. I took three hot showers that night.
I grew as much hair as I could and tried to forget. For a time, I gave up an experience I loved because how I expressed myself artistically put me in physical danger, and then I submerged the memory. When I remembered it again today, I was angry. And then I remembered other red-necked bastards in other towns, and the more I remembered, the angrier I became. The last time I flipped someone off in traffic because a car full of drunk men tried to run me off the road. The last time I beeped my horn at someone in front of me because of the man who got out of his truck and came back and threatened me. Luckily, I was able to roll my window up quickly and flip him the bird. The last time I waved away cigarette smoke because of the misogynistic college student who turned around and started pushing me toward the edge of a bridge.
I'm not saying these were good driving habits, or polite actions. What I am saying is that what is considered polite behavior for women is narrow and confining, and that long hair may just be the American woman's burqa. If that is what you want, c'est la vie. In France, the back of a woman's neck is considered quite feminine and sexy. Think Audrey Hepburn, or Audrey Tatou. Unfortunately, American men have not gotten the memo. Years later, it hit me: Holy Mary, Mother of God, I think that son-of-a-bitch red-necked bastard in the New Mexico auto parts store gay-bashed me. Me, a straight woman. Apparently, in their tiny...minds...short hair and strong opinions becomes confused with sexual preference. If they are this confused, I strongly suspect they are getting very little. Maybe that is why they are so angry.
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