Dear Boy On The Bus,

I know you were scared. Very scared. You could be no older than 21 years old, fresh-faced and eager to venture into the Big Big City in your striped shirt and neatly ironed slacks. You had combed your light blonde hair very neatly, thinking you could hide your roots, believing you could fool the dwellers of the Big Big City that you in fact were one of them. You didn't want them to know you grew up in a tiny town of 500 people and went to a university surrounded by acres of golden corn and green pastures. You were in the Big Big City now, and you were going to show the world that you were not the farm boy everyone had you pegged for.

But I could see you were scared. I saw you stand by the bus pole, huddling as close as you could to the corner, fearing me -- this strange-looking, yellow-hued female with non-blonde hair and non-blue eyes. The bus was crowded, people were standing uncomfortably close to each other, and you whispered prayers to God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit that the strange Yellow Gal wouldn't stand so close to you. You flinched every time my jacket inadvertently touched your arm. You cowered in terror each time my hand readjusted its grip on the pole.

You were so scared. So very scared. A virgin at age 21, you didn't want your first time to be a sexual assault by a Yellow Gal on a public city bus. I wanted to pet your pretty blonde hair and assure you that I was no monster, that it was going to be okay, that you'd survive the Big Big City. I could see in your teary quivering eyes that you missed the farm, the nice town folk, the quiet. Here there was noise. Here it was crowded. Here a strange Yellow Gal was hovering nauseatingly close. The word "Rape!" was lodged in your throat, ready to explode from your pale lips the moment the strange Yellow hand would touch you.

But it didn't. And how relieved you were it didn't as I exited the bus. I saw you sigh with relief. What a scary city, you thought as you readjusted your man-purse and looked out the bus window at the looming sky-scrapers.

So, dear Boy On The Bus, be assured I was not trying to sexually assault you, that I would not sexually assault you, and most of all, that there are many more where I came from.

Sincerely,
Yellow Gal