We started dating again two years ago, just as we were starting college in 2013.
Ra'Montae complements me in every way I can imagine. I can't cook beyond the microwave; he can whip up a three-course meal in an hour. But the contrast most people notice about us is that Ra'Montae is black and I am white.
They weren't my table, but every time I walked by them to fill someone's drink, they catcalled me. I turned around, smiled, and said, "Yeah, my boyfriend thinks so too." I immediately wished I'd stayed quiet.
The guys all started laughing at me and saying that they were just trying to "compliment" me, that I didn't have to be "such a bitch about things." I was furious.
Maybe not my finest moment as a server, but one of my best as a woman. But as soon as I had to walk past them again, they were back to catcalling me and talking to each other about me loud enough that I could hear them.We live in Wichita, Kansas, and even though there were only a handful of minority students in our high schools, the community is, for the most part, very open and accepting of others.Neither of us have witnessed much racism firsthand beyond people sometimes staring when we go out to eat. But last month, something happened while I was working at my job as a waitress at a sports bar and grill that felt like it changed my whole world.We tried dating for a while, but we went to different high schools, and when you're a teenager, 10 miles between you seem like an ocean.We dated other people, lost contact, and eventually reconnected online.
I was making a mental note to avoid this side of the restaurant for the rest of the night when I heard one of the guys say, "There's no way she has a boyfriend, and even if she does, I'd still tap that." I whipped around and flashed my phone screen at them, the wallpaper of which is a picture of Ra'Montae and me.