Marrakesh: and a tale {maybe} of overexposure

A video blogger, hers is one of those happy, shiny blogs. 

A blog filled with funny hats and too big glasses. Her head bobs from side to side.  She smiles and smiles and smiles.  Except for today.  Yes, except for today.  

Today she is not happy, today she is not shiny.  There are no sequins, there is no makeup.  She tries to speak matter of factly, as if she is delivering a public service announcement.  But the tears fall in a wake.  Her hands brush them away and away and away again.  She appologizes.  She says it is not like her.  She promises that she is fine really fine.  That tomorrow it will be different -- that it will be back to the usual programming.   

But today it is a story of last night.  Late, last night.  Late last night when a stranger followed her.  She walked faster.  He walked faster.  She walked towards a doorway, pretending it was hers.  But it wasn't. And it was too late then.  He was on her.  Touching her, taking her.  Taking all of her.

When she is finished telling us but not really telling us, she looks straight into the camera and tries to smile.  Then she says Please, please don't walk alone at night.  Even if I can help one woman by saying that, it is enough.  

And then it was over.   

Far away in my Marrakech olive grove I watched this girl on my screen.  And I thought she needed help, real help.  Not comments left on a blog, saying Oh!  saying Terrible!  saying Sorry!   I thought it would be hard for her to get back to her usual programming. 

Sometimes the light shines so brightly and there's a moment where it's beautiful somehow.  

But then you look again and all you can see are the outlines.....the outlines of your insides.  

Overexposed.  Oh, overexposed.


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