Don’t Call Me Sensitive!

“I am aware, and alert and I am taunted and nicknamed Miss Sensitive.

“I am not sure if I want Miss Sensitive to come,” Marcia said to Ordella, as Kira sat down around the small oval table in the cafeteria in the basement of their office building.

“Good,” Kira said reading the menu. “I am tired of saving both of your hides.”

Jorja, sitting at the table nearby, snatched up her plate and took the empty seat at their table. Then shares, “I am aware, and alert and I am taunted and nicknamed Miss Sensitive. Is that why they call you that too?” her eyes on Kira.

Nodding, Kira yanked them back into their teenage years, “At seventeen years old late one night, we were on her way home from the library. We stopped in the Deli to buy something. We were the only customers. Three males came in a few minutes later and wondered around the store. I grabbed a bag of chips, paid and left after fighting with them two to follow me. They followed me complaining. Outside, I watched as the three males attempted to rob the owner. I called the police, and they were arrested.”

“How did you know they were robbers?” Marcia asked on reflection.

“It was late, they were scouting around to see who else was inside. They didn’t pick up a shopping basket to pretend they were shopping. Plus, they were wearing hoodies in the summer,” Kiara reminded them.

“That happened to me too,” Jorja said. “But the store owner was killed before the police came.”

“They were hiding something,” Kira went on. “Nobody wears hoody in the summer.”

“Yes, no one does that. You two didn’t notice?” Jorja asked Marcia and Ordella.

They stared at her pouting.

Kira continued with her memory movement.

“When Clive and his two friends spiked our drinks at the bar last year and kept asking us why we weren’t drinking. He found ways in our conversation to coerce us to drink the wine his friend served. You two did and I didn’t.”

“How did you know his intention?” Ordella asks, in furled brows fighting the memory and her narrow escape from being raped and or killed.

“He wasn’t drinking what he served us. You two weren’t aware of his actions?” Kira asked.

They remained silent, pouting again.

“I battled with the three of them because I was the designated driver. I had to threaten to call the police to get them to leave us alone. You two were so out of it, you slept for two days. Three months later he and his two friends were accused of rape and spiking the wine of two females,” Kira recalls.

“Damn!” Marcia said. “How could you tell he was up to no good?”

“I like listening to my instincts. Plus, he was too eager for us to drink the wine. I wanted to know why. You two followed his advice to hell. If I wasn’t there, you probably wouldn’t be alive.”

Both females bit unto their lower lips and said, “awareness, ah?”

“You call it sensitive. I am aware and alert. I must be because our world can be dangerous. As a female, and a damn fine one too, its ten times more dangerous. So, if sensitivity is what makes me that way. I am ok with that,” Kira said.

Jorja smiled and added, “so I am just a little more aware and alert. And like you, I have saved others from many dangerous situations.”

I am told I am too sensitive. I am aware and alert. The curiosity of my childhood is still with me. The knowledge and wisdom of life guide my instincts. I love to ask lots of why questions. I mostly ask life. Life won’t lie to me, but humans will.

Don’t stop being sensitive/aware/alert. You aren’t only saving your life, you are saving others.

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