the rules that bind us

I was with an old friend I've not seen, in waking life, for years. He had his arm around me as we walked the streets to his car, having just left a gathering of his friends. He had invited me along and I had been the only woman there. I knew my being there had caused the men to alter their behaviour, to behave more respectfully than they would have usually, these being rather androcentric men. As we walked, I thanked my friend for inviting me and said I hoped the group had not been put out. He nodded and accepted my thanks, but, even as I spoke the words, I wished I hadn't and I resented his superior attitude. Why should I apologise for my attendance at his invitation? How was my presence any less worthy than any other there? I had not enjoyed the evening with the the boys' club and, rather than now behaving pleasantly and doing what was expected of me, I wished I had spoken my truth or held my tongue. I silently vowed to fight against my learned cultural urge to be nice, play second and not stand in my full power. When we reached his car, we noticed a hibiscus shrub had grown, arching over the car and sprouting red and yellow flowers in through the ajar windows. We had to wind down the windows fully to free the car of flowers. I noticed another car parked close by. It was almost covered by grass, the roots having grown up the tyres and over the car body. Imagine, said my friend, if we'd stayed here a week; that's what would have happened to our car. Upon getting into his car, I realised he had a driver. The driver sat in the driver's seat, my friend sat in the front of the car in the middle space between the driver's seat and the passenger seat, and I sat in the back seat in the middle of the car, directly behind my friend. For the first time that night, it seemed my friend and I could speak, regardless of the presence of the driver; I felt the driver and he were close friends and he certainly knew the ins and outs of my friend's life. I asked my friend how he was, really. Immediately and unreservedly he told me (and the driver) that his marriage was terrible and his life was a sham. I noticed we were driving the streets of my childhood, towards my family home where the driver would presumably drop me off. I felt the driver had heard the story many times before and my friend was chained to his life by the rules laid down by the society in which he existed. He felt he couldn't escape.