Member of Youth Parliament Ellie Bealing recently returned from a trip to Paris with her sister. Among the sites, sounds and smells of the city Ellie and her sister experienced a traumatic experience. Here Ellie recounts the experience and how it impacted both her and her sister.

It’s 4pm on a hot summers evening, mopeds flew by me and I can’t help but smile at my sister beside me. A new city and more importantly interesting food awaits us! We’d pulled ourselves from our freshly made beds to get a true slice of Parisian cuisine: Fast Food! We agonised over the menu, and with a list in our hands, had to cross one road, walking a couple metres to our destination. A single zebra crossing. We started off smiling.

Success One – I understood the fast-paced French calling out the order number.

Success Two – We had our dinner tonight. As we left and wandered back to the hotel, it’s sign visible – I giggled over the boy who looked similar to our age who was quite good looking. I didn’t shout or point at him. I didn’t prey on someone younger than me, or of the opposite sex. I didn’t act on it.

I remember our giddy faces in this foreign climate, just a couple of minutes to go until we could act as restaurant critics, delivering a detailed review to send back home.

The streets were made of scatters of people, none particularly special.

A few men up ahead. I’ve always instinctively preferred to walk behind rather than in front, that way I’m in control. Even in my rural home, you couldn’t be too careful. But it was only 4pm, a time when children return from school and the local kebab shop has no lights on inside, the office workers still typing away.

One of the men turned around and looked over into our eyes. We were mid giggle, peering into our paper bag.

A finger stretched into a point- a twisted smile turned into a shout. “Belles. Ciao Belles”. The other men turned around, I don’t know if they were with this old, grotesque man.

I can’t truly describe the way your heart can crawl up into your ears and pound manically, your eyes glued open, too scared to blink as your throat throbs with the agony of swallowing unexpected tears trying to escape. We continued to walk. The crossing was inches away.

We made no reply-our eyes hopefully showing anger over fear.

How can a few steps feel like a marathon, in which your legs fail to match the pace as stares catapult in your direction.

Parlez Vous Francais?

He’d stopped his walk by now, watching us as we willed the stream of vehicles to let us across the road, to be away from the fear of the unknown which had appeared over our shoulders making the worst-case scenarios seem inevitable.

The rest of the evening was spent in half-hearted conversation, needing to explain why we’d been singled out and objectified when we only wanted some food.

No boy my age has ever called me beautiful, I’d never believed I was anything worth looking at. Now that this stranger had shown his wonder at my looks, I’d never felt uglier. I don’t want to be called beautiful anymore.

We darted between thoughts and topics, unable to find rational conversation.

The chicken nuggets taste just like home.

You know mum used to get cat called on the way to work. She still went out and it never seemed to affect her.

How long of a walk is it to the mall tomorrow?

We don’t need to tell mum about this until we get home, she’ll only worry.” How can a daughter tell the woman who raised her that she’s scared in a world which has taken away her innocence, stripping away her girl hood?

At least the metro wasn’t too busy.

It really unnerved me. I know it’s silly.

We shouldn’t let this ruin our trip, we still have 12 days here.

Yet, then of course there are the words left unsaid, which carved into our brains during the quiet of the night, leaving a wound not fully closed over. The “What ifs?” threaten to leave you bed bound, to convert the roses scent into a choking stench. To say them out loud seems like tempting fate.

In this trial of sleeplessness, I found myself moulding this mystery stranger into someone less harmful, perhaps then I wouldn’t feel weak for being subdued by the few words he uttered at my sister and I. Is he the drunk known in every English village, who we say is harmless but still avoid at all costs? Is he stuck in a loveless marriage in which his only freedom may come from attracting one of those unlucky enough to meet his wandering eye? Does he believe it is a confidence boost? Were my shorts just tight enough to invite this?

I wonder if it is a feminine instinct to smile at someone who scares us to hope they don’t unleash their evil (only to realise it incites them to see you as worshipping their looks and charm), to rationalise the hurt we face, to allow ourselves to mother the fear it caused until it no longer cries out. This only happened once, for some it’s every day, a merciless rhythm of the day that becomes normal.

I was scared that 4.00pm would also turn into an alarm clock, waking me from my trance of comfort, believing that time would save me. Thankfully, my holiday has not had these regular exchanges, but as I look out of my hotel window, I can see that zebra crossing. I can hear his voice still and hate it for stealing away my naivety, I only hope no other person has been the victim of some creeping elder, metres from their beds. I wonder if it’s a city ‘thing’, a French thing, a temporary thing to remind us to keep our heads down.

Ellie

Youth Parliament promotes equality, diversity and respect and works to address and speak out against behaviours which undermine, humiliate and intimidate young men and women. If any part of this experience affects you or resonates with you, please get in touch if you would like to explore this further with our group, or you need support in any way.

Did you know that Somerset Youth Parliament isn’t just it’s elected members? Any young person in Somerset aged 11-25 years can become a member of the Somerset Youth Parliament Advisory Group.

For more information about becoming a member of the Somerset Youth Parliament Advisory Group and to join, visit Join us page.

Young Minds

For more information on the impact of trauma on teens and for support, visit Young Minds website.