Stranger

Stranger danger. We're taught the warning phrase from an early age, to remind us that those whom we don't know are a potential threat. At seventeen, I'm finding this to be more true than ever. A new boy suddenly walks into my house and subsequently into my life. . .and I'm terrified. What did he think it meant when I asked him if he wanted to do something fun before he went to bed? Or better yet, what did I mean?

We found ourselves playing ping pong as the conversation progressed. Less than 24 hours after meeting him, I'm finding it hard to still call him a stranger. But he still remains a threat, no doubt. A threat to my privacy, to the casual relations I've been having with a friend. He arrives, and suddenly all my thoughts of other boys leave me. His hands find mine as my eyes get lost in his. He moves closer, giving me every opportunity to back away, yet I know I can't back down.

He threatens the stance I've taken against boys after a recent poor encounter with the male species. He admits his emotions and doesn't hide from his life choices. This stranger finds me questioning not only the rhythm we've morphed ourselves into, but also the reason I allowed the rhythm to develop in the first place.

Maybe it's him, or maybe it's my mind challenging me to denounce what I've been taught for so long. Maybe he's not the danger, pouring water over the promises of chastity I've recently chalked up. Or maybe, just maybe, the danger is within me as I try to decide who's more of a stranger, the boy I've just met or the girl I've finally become.