by Sheryle Kee
60% of sexual assaults go unreported
1 in 3 girls & 1 in 6 boys are sexually abused
1 in 5 teens in a serious relationship report being hit by a partner
RAINN.org
Sheila arrived 20 minutes late to pick me up, then drove recklessly to make up for lost time. Sitting in her noisy Focus, I listened closely to catch the staccato clip of her words. Sheila talked even faster than she drove.
Sheila hastily explained her New Year’s Eve plans as she pulled the car into the driveway. Her husband Gary appeared in the doorway with their two sons. Todd and Michael were four and two with dark curly hair and brown eyes.
Staring at Gary in the doorway, I was glad I had on my new royal blue sweater that matched my blue eyes and had worn my hair down — it made me look three years older, my friends told me. I hoped he would notice.
He was definitely good-looking. He leaned nonchalantly against the screen door, wearing a lopsided grin, faded, tight-fitting Levis, tan cowboy boots scuffed at the toes, and a strong cologne. I swallowed an old piece of Wrigleys and settled my hands deep in the pockets of my new junior varsity cheerleading jacket. I hoped he didn’t notice my nervousness.
As Sheila listed my instructions, I kept thinking about Gary. I hoped I’d have a husband who looked like him someday. All the boys I knew were awkward and mean and had been that way as long as I’d known them. I couldn’t imagine Gary was ever as gangly in a pair of Levis as the boys in seventh grade.
Todd and Michael lived up to their reputation. No toy or game held their attention for more than 15 minutes. I wound up making Michael take three time outs and letting Todd eat peanut M&Ms until he complained of a stomachache. They fell asleep side by side on the floor shortly before midnight, even though Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve blared loudly on the television. Watching their tiny chests rise and fall in slumber made me sleepy, too; I wasn’t used to staying up late, even if it was New Year’s Eve.
I hoped Gary and Sheila would stay out past 1 a.m., so I could earn enough for the new sweater I wanted. But just as I was deciding which color to choose, headlights flashed into the living room window.
The door slammed noisily. Gary and Sheila entered the living room. I worried that Sheila would be angry about the M&Ms and the blaring television; maybe she wouldn’t even pay me the full amount or ask me to baby-sit again.
Before I could explain, a sharp, pained look crossed Sheila’s face. She dashed to the bathroom; the sounds of coughing and spitting followed. Sickened by the sounds and smell of vomit, I waited nervously to go home. When Sheila opened the bathroom door, she smiled and excused herself, walking tentatively but quickly toward the master bedroom.
I followed Gary to the car. His long legs swayed when he walked, and he almost tripped when the heel of his boot stuck in a crack in the sidewalk. I couldn’t smell his cologne anymore. Buckling my seat belt, I hoped the ride would go quickly.
About 2/3 of sexual assaults are committed by someone who is known to the victim.
1 in 6 women have experienced an attempted or completed rape; 1 in 33 men.
He drove at an alarming speed, even faster than Sheila. Neither of us offered any conversation, and the silence lulled me into tired numbness. Suddenly, Gary slammed on the brakes at a stop sign on the highway.
The noisy hum of the motor interrupted the complete stillness. The Ford was the only car on either road, yet Gary made no movement to lift his foot from the brake. I stared blankly at the stop sign and wished he would say something.
He sighed and looked at me from across the seat. “I’ll bet you haven’t gotten a New Year’s Eve kiss yet,” he drawled. “I’m going to be your first.”
Stunned, I tried to laugh off his comment as a joke. I’d never even been kissed before, much less threatened with such a brutal proposal. Even though the car was dark, I could feel his eyes on my hair, my face, my body. I felt very conscious of my tight-fitting sweater and long blond hair.
Suddenly he laughed and stepped on the accelerator. He must have been teasing, I realized. After all, Gary had been a friend of the family for almost eight years, and he’d known me since I was five. He couldn’t have meant anything.
Several minutes later, the car pulled into our driveway and slowed to a halt. I was very relieved to be home.
The roll of bills Gary placed in my palm felt unnecessarily thick. I knew it would be enough for the sweater. I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to thank him.
As I moved, he grabbed my shoulders, pulled me roughly toward him, and kissed me. I felt the rigid unfamiliar outline of his bones and teeth crushing my mouth. I struggled to get from under him, but his grasp was steely. Hard. The stench of stale alcohol filled my nostrils. I wanted to gag at his closeness. His hot tongue pressed between my clenched lips; I bit my own tongue to keep from crying or vomiting.
When I opened my eyes, his face twisted above me like a warped image in a fun house mirror. His hands slid away from my shoulders to push my head closer to his face. My neck muscles were clenched so tightly against the pressure that they felt like they might break. I felt suffocated.
He touched my collarbone with his left hand, and my sweater collar slid from my shoulder. The cold air in the car chilled my exposed skin. I frantically grabbed his wrist before he could reach down my shirt any farther. I twisted his fingers with both hands until his face jerked back, and he released me from his grasp. If he hadn’t let go, I would have broken his hand.
Clutching blindly at the door handle, I tumbled out of the car. As the door slammed behind me, I heard a sarcastic voice say, “Happy New Year!” His ringing laughter lingered in the air as I lay in the driveway, gasping for breath. I felt sick to my stomach.
After a while, I got up slowly and entered the silent house. As I passed my parents’ bedroom, Mom’s muffled voice called out from behind the door, “How did everything go with Todd and Michael tonight?”
“Fine Mom. Can we talk in the morning? I’m pretty beat.”
We would talk about Todd and Michael in the morning, but I’d never tell her what really happened. If I told her, she’d never understand that I didn’t want it to happen. She’d twist it around somehow and make it my fault. She’d say I give these mixed signals to people, that what I say and what I want are two different things.
I knew she had a point. I did give mixed signals sometimes, because I truly didn’t know how I felt at any given place or time. I was a young child stuck in a woman’s body, and I was confused. I didn’t always like the way I felt and acted, and I took it out on other people.
But I wasn’t completely innocent, either. I had a tongue that could hurt people. There was a certain power in combining sarcasm and cunning with an innocent blond-haired, blue-eyed look. I could get what I wanted, and I knew it. Mom knew and understood this about me.
Closing the bedroom door behind me, I switched on the light and looked in the full-length mirror. I’d inspected my image in the same mirror less than six hours earlier, hoping that I’d look good to impress Gary. That image looked different now; my blond hair was tangled and matted, spots of dried blood rimmed my swollen lips, and the collar of my blue sweater was stretched. Thank God Mom hadn’t gotten up.
I undressed quickly, throwing the sweater in a corner. I switched off the light and climbed between the cool, soft sheets. Even in the dark room, Gary’s warped handsome face smiled at me from the ceiling. Everything that had seemed attractive about him now seemed ugly and evil. His hair, smile, eyes — everything. I wanted to yell at him to go away and leave me alone, but all I could do was pray I’d never see him again. I silently damned him to hell for ruining my royal blue sweater and my New Year’s Eve, for bruising my lips, for cheating on his wife, but mostly for being my first kiss.
It was a long time before I stopped seeing his smiling face on my bedroom ceiling or hearing his seductive, taunting voice in my ears. It was even longer before I realized that his
actions had touched a deep vulnerability in me and had left an invisible scar.
I still haven’t told my parents about what happened, and I don’t think I ever will. The scar is healed. The bitterness, the anger, and the fear are gone. What happened New Year’s Eve doesn’t hurt any more. It wasn’t my fault.
It is NEVER THE VICTIM/SURVIVOR’S FAULT no matter what she wore, where she was, whether or not she fought back or whether or not she was drinking. THE PERPETRATORS ARE 100% RESPONSIBLE for their actions.