“Runway. That’s what he called you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Well runways are flat and he’s trying to say that you’re uh…”
That happened in middle school. Those words cut into me. Just like the middle part of my bra would cut and continually chafe my skin whenever I ran, because I was insecure about how a sports bra would make me look. I’d keep running, adjusting every now and then, but there was no way to avoid the stinging. And like those words, the chafing would only burn more when left to treat it in my own privacy.


