Anonymous
Megan Koch

“Just go to the bathroom,” my phone reads.

I have these boys wrapped around my finger.

I’m on a college tour with my mom five hours away from home. Because of the car ride, my responses are fast but the pictures are limited. I have my back to the window, so the only people that can see are the truck drivers passing on the right because they are impatient assholes. There are three lanes, we are in the middle, and there is plenty of room on the left.

“We are stopping in five minutes,” I type out.

“God, I don’t think I can wait that long,” Jason from Florida types back.

Jason is in the office and says he has a hard-on under his desk, he’s supposed to be in a meeting but he couldn’t stop thinking about me. He sent a pic for proof. Fucking perv.

These men are so stupid. You don’t even have to ask, they ask and answer for you. Every morning my phone is filled with them. They just leave them there for everyone to see. If I was an adult I would know better. But it’s illegal to look at my pics so they have to remain a secret.

I use their pictures. I put them in a big folder. I dream of killing them.

I find their wives, bosses, mothers. I write out the email. My English teacher says I am very good at writing. One click and their whole lives are over. Jobs lost. Uninvited to Thanksgiving. Written out of the will ... into the sex offender registry.

I watched a documentary about a community in Florida where sex offenders live. They say it’s the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone. Many said they were tricked, the girls told them they were 18. I don’t tell them I’m 18, they wouldn’t be interested then.

Some of these guys have been worshipping me for years now. I didn’t want to be worshipped. Most people don’t want it at first. Mom says she cried the first time. She says it’s disappointing.

I’m disappointed every day by these losers—grainy photos, bad angles, the same script over and over. I can’t wait to make it stop.

My boss divorced his wife for me. It’s a shame because I really liked him at first. He would always come to the dish pit and chat with us; mostly about Star Wars and the ethics of dog breeding. I told him once I was scared I was a sociopath and he said a sociopath wouldn’t be afraid of being one. Sometimes, I would stay up past midnight just talking to him.

I met his wife before it all happened, she glared at me. I didn’t know why she didn’t like me. I didn’t even think anything different when the divorce was finalized. I just assumed she was tired of him. I’m tired of him. He expects so much from me these days. He will be the first to go.

Some day, someday. It’s coming. I will know when the time is right. All these men, dead. Their faces on the news. Yet I remain anonymous. It would make the best college essay. And I WILL get accepted, and I could major in biology or geology or maybe anthropology. I could even shine a rock until it became a mirror. Someday. Soon.

I really hope it is soon.