If you asked her the first time a man had touched her on the bus, riding around the city, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you. The first touches had been so long ago, perhaps on a city bus, perhaps on one painted yellow. She wasn’t sure. She just knew it was a constant. She always pretended to hate it and perhaps even did in the beginning. Strange peers and men, all taking without asking, touching without permission. She wasn’t even that pretty, not really. Not ugly by any means, not a butter-face as some might say. Just plain, unassuming, wearing little if any makeup and no clothing begging for attention to be drawn to her.
She didn’t even really date or go out. She kept to herself and as she moved into her small apartment, the only other thing in her life was her cat to keep her company as she watched TV or slept. Other than that, the only other constant in her life was her work. A boring job at a boring department store that took a boring 45-minute bus ride to arrive and often closer to an hour to get back from. She was gray personified in a world of color, a shadow, just background noise that no one noticed or cared about.