SAY HER NAME, LIVE HER STORY, SPEAK HER TRUTH Teigha VanHester
Friday morning, I locked myself out on the rooftop deck of my Airbnb. I had no phone, no clothes; just an almost finished cup of coffee and an overwhelming sense of fear. How am I going to get off of this roof? Will I have to scream at someone on the street? But I don’t even know the code to get anyone in the building, let alone the apartment. As I sat on the rooftop deck for about 45 minutes, I tried everything I could think of to do myself. I tried to break the door handle. I tried to scale the fire escape in the building next to me. Nothing worked. I finally noticed a window in the living room of my Airbnb, over a 3-story drop off. I hoped with all my heart that the window was unlocked. Much to my benefit it was. So here I was, a full-figured mixed girl crawling through the window of an apartment not my own.  As I collapsed onto the floor of the living room, I thought I would be flooded with relief and laughter, but in this world I was not. Anthology 6
150