"You know Nicky, you don't seem too bothered to talk about this."
"If you don't have a problem talking about it, I'm okay with it. But why did you want to talk to me?"
"I don't know, I really don't. I just got the feeling it would be okay to talk to you."
"Why not Mary? You two seemed to get pretty close this last year. You never told her?"
"No, I never told her. Maybe the fear of scaring her off. I don't know. It's not like I tell everyone I know about this. This is the first time I've told anyone since I started high school. I guess I'm always worried about what someone might think. Would they think I'm telling them because I want pity, or sympathy? They just don't understand that sometimes I need to talk about it. Just like anything else that happens in your life. Not talking about it doesn't change it or make it go away. Not that talking about it makes it feel better, or different." He shrugged his shoulders and like many people do when they cant find the words to empty their thoughts he muttered "I don't know."
"It makes sense to me that you need to talk about it. I don't think there are many people who will look at it the same way though. It's pretty difficult for people to hear, to talk about." He is echoing my thoughts. My fears.
"Why doesn't it bother you?"
"I don't know". I felt guilty. Do I tell him to make him feel better? Why would telling him make him feel better? Just to know I really do understand what he means, how he feels. Maybe telling him, and letting him know that someone else really does get it. Do I tell him? "I don't know if I would feel comfortable talking about this with just anybody." I totally understand being selective. Fearing how someone will react.
"I've been wanting to talk to you. I don't know why. Maybe because I didn't think you would judge me, or feel sorry for me."
"I wouldn't say I don't feel sorry for you. Maybe you don't want to hear that. But I'm not happy this happened to you." I stressed the word 'happy'. I looked at him for understanding, he smiled. He understood. "I understand what you mean about just needing to talk about it, just like anything else. Good things, bad things, they are better or made easier by sharing I guess. I feel sorry for your dad."
"Why?"
"I would think it would be pretty difficult for a parent to hear this has happened to their child and then have to deal with the guilt of feeling like they hadn't protected their child."
"But I don't feel like that. I don't blame dad, or mom. Only person is to blame for this. I wish dad could understand that."
"What does your mom feel...think...say."
"Who really knows. I think she wants to be emotional and crazy about it but she kind of follows dad's lead. It's time now to put this behind us and worry about what we need to do for the future."
I looked at him as he changed his voice making that comment. "Is that your dad talking?"
"Yeah." Quietly we sat. I wanted to ask how he told his parents, how did they find out. Did he tell? Maybe he didn't. I was afraid he would think I was being curious just to be nosy. When did all of this happen? How did he get through every day? Did he think about it, not think about it. WHAT went through his head.
I felt the exhaust fumes building in my chest He said I could ask him anything. "Tim I hope it's okay to ask you think but if you don't want to talk about it I understand." He visibly held his breath. He thought I was going to ask details. The physical stuff. I hurried since he didn't say no. "How did you tell your mom and dad?" Instantly he let go of his breath and looked at me, we had been staring at the back yard most of this conversation. We now locked squarely on each other's eyes.
"Uh...that's odd."
"What?"
"I don't know. I guess of all of the questions I expected, it wasn't that."
"Oh, well, I guess I just wondered how you, or why you..." I felt myself stumbling awkwardly.
He stared at me for just a second. Then he turned to look at the yard. I did the same. "Well, it happened a lot. I remember being so scared all the time. Scared of everybody and everything. I was scared to be alone and I was terrified of being with people. I remember how I felt that night I told mom. It was the worst feeling and I don't think I could explain it to anyone. Dad wasn't home. I think mom knew something was wrong. I also think she was scared to find out. I don't know that, I just guess at that. Anyway, we were watching TV and the lights were out. Mom was sitting on the couch. I was sitting on the floor close to her feet. I wanted to be close to her, but I didn't want to be close enough to touch her. Isn't that weird?" He looked at me for a second and I gave him a little smile, he didn't want an answer. But my answer would have been 'no, it's not weird at all'. "I don't remember what we were watching. Everything was going over and through my head. I thought nothing could be worse than what had happened so if mom and dad got mad at me at least it would still be better than what was going on. I felt like the house was shaking all around me. And my insides were on fire. Mom said later she could feel me shaking even though we weren't close enough to be touching. She got down on the floor next to me. She thought I was sick. She touched my forehead to see if I had a fever. As soon as she touched me I thought I was going to go in to spasms. I think I freaked her out." He stopped for a minute. Surely he was reliving that again and I felt bad for asking. This had to be one of the worst moments of his life, the fear of telling, of becoming....different to them. "Instantly she just pulled me to her and held on and I started crying. She started crying. I couldn't talk for a few minutes but finally....I told her." He stopped to look at me. He looked away when I didn't look back at him. I couldn't. My own eyes were full. "Sometimes I wish I had never told."
Now I did look at him. "Why?" I know I had needed desperately to talk to someone, it's why I told Mary. And I often regretted telling her, for my sake, and for hers.
"I use to think that no matter what happened to me, I could deal with it. But there were times when I didn't think I could handle what it did to mom and dad. I mean, I'm glad I told them. But there were times when I would have given anything to take it back so they didn't know."
"Why?"
"There was nothing I could do to help them. Nothing. I'll never forget hearing mom come in to check me every night. Two or three times a night. I think she still does sometimes. The worst was when I would hear them crying. Both of them. And they were crying because of me."
"They didn't blame you."
"I know that. I understand why they were crying but doesn't make it any easier when a ten year old boy hears his mom and dad crying. I think it was worse than anything that happened before or since. Court was pretty bad though."
"Court?" He looked at me in surprise at my exclamation.
"Yeah, mom and dad pressed charges."
"You had to go to court?"
"No, the guy plead and spent less than a year in jail. He didn't even go to prison. Just jail." I couldn't imagine going to court and telling people what had happened.
"Is he still around here?"
"No, he wasn't from around here. This happened before we moved here. After everything was over dad thought it was best that we move away because this guy wasn't going anywhere when he got out. His family was all over the place."
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