The Worst Part of His Story

"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."

Party To Sleep

"What time is it?"  We all looked at our watches.  New watches.

"Five fifteen."  In the morning?  I couldn't believe it.  I am very much off my schedule.  And I feel great.  Tired but relaxed.

"We can leave at six can't we?"  Mary wasn't having as much fun.  Or she felt bad about her and Tim.  

"I think so.  Do you guys want to go out to breakfast?"  Tim looked eagerly at all of us.  

Before I could answer Mary did.  "I am so tired you guys.  I want to go to bed."  She looked apologetic but...

"Sure" nice.  Uncomfortable pause.  "But I am hungry.  I'll be back."

"I'll go with you."  Shaun went with Tim.

"Are you mad about something Mary?"

She tried to look fake surprised.   "Me?"

"Yes.  You.   What's wrong?"

She slumped on to the table and talked in to the table cloth.  "I am just very tired and want to go to bed."  If she didn't want to tell me I wasn't going to demand her to.    "I just feel uncomfortable."   Still, to the table cloth.

"About what?"

"With Tim and everything."  We aren't really seeing each other now."

"So I heard."

"From who?"  She turned her head so she was looking up, with the side of her head on the table.

"Tim."

"I just don't want him to think this is serious.  I'd rather tell him now and not just go along with it so I don't hurt his feelings."

"He really likes you Mary.  His feelings will hurt."

"I know that.  And I like him.  But that's all.  Like...nothing more.  I don't want to hurt him Nicky.  That's what makes this worse. If he got mad or I didn't like him because he was a jerk or something.  But he isn't.  He is so ...gentle, sweet."   She left her head lying on the table.   Looking at me.

"Then let him be okay with this.  Don't be miserable about it.  He'll be okay.  You can be friends.  It isn't like you've been serious."

"I haven't but I think he was."

"Well...yeah, but I mean you haven't .... you know"   I really don't want to know this "done anything."

She closed her eyes.  "No.  Nicky.  We haven't."

"It'll be alright Mary.  We do you have to be uncomfortable around him.  That would make it worse on him."

"I know.  Maybe after I get some sleep I'll be alright."

Tim and Shaun came back to the table carrying a load of donuts and bagels.  We gorged.  Even Mary ate.  Mary wasn't the only one getting tired.  There were heads lying on tables and hanging back all over the room. The music in the corner was still playing.  But it was soft.  Slow music.  There were some die hards still dancing.

"Anybody have any big plans today?"  I felt like talking, even with my mouth full.

"Bed."  Mary had only one focus.

"Dinner with my grandparents."

"My family is having a graduation party for me.  You are guys are all welcome to come over."  Shaun was looking right at me.  

"Another party?"   I was liking the idea of bed.

"Sure, how often do you graduate from high school?"

"Don't you have to sleep?"

"I promised mom and dad I would come right home from here and go to sleep.  They really put a lot of work in to this so I figured I better let them..  Would you come over?"

Mary and Tim were both trying to make it look like they weren't watching me.  "Yes.  I would.  But I can't promise.  What time?"

"Since it's Sunday it's an early party.  We're starting about three."

"I'll try."  It felt good that Shaun looked pleased.   Maybe even excited.  But it felt scary too.  We sat quietly looking at everyone else around the gym.  It didn't look like anyone had left early.  And though I was tired and this was suppose to be the end of my high school experience I felt as if it was the first high school experience I had.  

Why is it, tonight, that I feel young.   For so long I didn't know what young felt like.   It feels like this?  It feels good.

There was a quietness, a hush, over all of us.  Everyone seemed to be aware of what this was.  It would be the last time that this group of people would ever be together like this.  Young.  Excited.  With unknown and undreamed of lives in front of us.

There was a group of girls on the dance floor in a big hug.  They were crying.  They were familiar faces.  But unknown people, to me.  Could I have been one of them?  I watched them.  I looked at others who watched them and I could see sad faces.  Faces that smiled.  Either because they looked silly out there sobbing or because they felt something kindred to those girls.  I glanced at Mary who's face was propped up on her hands, but she was looking at everyone else also.  Tim was looking at Mary.  Shaun was looking around the gym.

The song ended and the DJ announced he was playing the last song.  Of course it was "Auld Lang Syne."  Many couples got up to dance.  Many turned their chairs to watch, listen, sing under their breaths.  Mary got up and took Tim's hand and they went to dance.  I didn't want to dance.  Not to this.  It didn't feel right.  Shaun either didn't want to dance either or got a good feeling from me that I didn't want to.  He slid his chair right next to me and rested his elbows on his knees and his face in hands.  Watching.  Part of me wanted to reach out and caress the hair just touching the nape of his neck.  Part of me squirmed at the thought of doing such a thing.

The song ended.  Everyone stood or sat completely still for a brief moment.  Then someone flipped on the over head lights and nearly blinded us all.   Then everyone cheered.  We were now ready to be adults.  Or the so the world told us.  First, I think most of us wanted to go to bed.

Mary and TIm returned.  We all gathered our pictures, jackets, ties, purses.   Everyone made their way out to the cool air of the morning.  Tables were set up to hand back our car keys by alphabet.  Find your last name letter, get your keys back.  There were also little gift bags for each of us with mementos emblemazed with our school mascot, our year of graduation.  Nice.

Shaun walked us to my car.  "I hope you can come to my party."

Tim and Mary quickly got in my car.  They were so obvious.  "I'll try Shaun.  But I'm not sure what my parents have planned."

He hung his head a little and stared at his shoe, or mine.  "I'm glad I finally got to talk to you Nicky."

"Me too."  What do I say!  For crying out loud why can't I say something.....smart!  He stood there and stared at me.  A little unnerving I must say.  

"Well....okay.  Maybe I'll see you at my house then."  It was a statement not a question.  I smiled.  He smiled.  He backed away from the car.  I got in and he closed my door.  As we pulled away Mary and Tim started singing "kiss the girl" from "The Little Mermaid" and then Mary moaned.  Then Tim moaned.  

"What is wrong with you two?"

"Nicky that poor guy wanted to kiss you and you just blew him off."   Mary shook her head.

"He did not."  I looked at Tim in the rearview mirror for confirmation of this.  He shook his head yes.  "Yeah, he did."  I stared at Tim like he was a traitor.  "Sorry" and he shrugged his shoulders.  I was not going there with them.  Not right now.  I was too tired.  We chatted aimlessly until we dropped Tim off.  Then Mary tried to talk about Shaun, and I wanted to talk about Tim, but we were both too tired to really talk about either.  We agreed we really didn't need to talk right now at all.  Maybe later.  I dropped Mary off and went home.  Took a shower.  Went to bed.  I knew mom or dad, or both, were awake in their room.  But I was too tired and they didn't come out to ask so I didn't go in to tell them about the night.  It would also wait.

I lie in my bed with my covers neatly around me.  I stared at my familiar ceiling.  This night.  What have I done with my life?  Why did I wait until tonight to let something make me feel good?  I thought over the entire evening.  I felt comfortable with people I did not know very well.  How was this possible when I am not even comfortable with people I know?  I thought of the hug I gave Tim and Emmit.  WHere did that come from?  I don't even like hugging my parents.  All of the faces and the stories from the night swam through my head while I slept.

I think I slept.   

Where Do I Start?

There hasn't been a day that I don't remember.  Not that I sit around and consciously think of what happened.  But it is a part of my life.  I very seldom think about the actual events anymore.  It is more like an awareness that this happened to me.  A fact.  Just like eating and breathing, only not as pleasurable.  It is what taught me pain, anger, shame, guilt, mistrust and fear.  Even more-lessons in gratitude, love and strength.  Though these lessons I did not learn until much later in life, certainly not while I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to be over.  I could never pretend it wasn't happening.  I could not remove myself from the reality of it.  Maybe this is a good thing.  Because if I had been able to escape reality then, would I have escaped reality forever?  Now, I know that is not what I want, maybe I knew it then also.

How did it start?  I don't know, I don't remember.  I don't remember not knowing him as a part of our lives.  I remember times when he wasn't around as much, and then times that he was around all too often.  Somehow, he managed to gain my parents trust with me.  They were very protective, very sheltering but not constricting.  They didn't need to hold on to me because I never let myself go.  I did not let myself lose control, or so I thought.  Though sometimes I may have felt stifled and miserable, it wasn't because of what they did, it was because of what they didn't do.  I didn't want them to know, and I wanted them to know.

Where do you start when you tell about this sort of thing?  There is much to say about what happened.  But even more to say about how it affected my life.  Not just when it happened but the entirety of my life.  It isn't something that happens and can be forgotten.  It was a constant in my life, something regular and almost predictable.  What happened?  All of that has been heard so many times from so many victims and survivors (sad isn't it, that I feel so many people already know these sordid facts that I don't feel it necessary to spell out the actual events).  I don't think most people, even the survivors, know the impact it has on every day living.  I started to discover this in pieces, and when put together, I myself did not want to admit that I lost so much control of my life to this abuse.  I would think the actual, physical crime against me would be enough, that that was my victimization.  The harshest part of what he did to me.  Not so.  The crime didn't stop when the sexual abuse stopped.  The victimization would go on.  And in trying to keep control in my life I would become "control-less".  There is so much more to me than the fact that I am a victim/survivor.   I hate these words, "victim/survivor", it is not who I am.  I have done more in my life than "be" abused, but often when someone finds out, that is what I am to them.  I am a combination of all that has happened in my life, both good and bad.  Like everyone else, the foundation of my character was laid piece by piece.  And those pieces were constructed from the very best God has to offer, to the very worst that man has contrived.

There were times in my life that I am vividly aware of.  Then there are the times that I struggle to remember what my life was like.  I remember how I felt, the internal battles I waged.  But I don't necessarily have an awareness of names and places and specifics.  Not because I have blocked these events out of my life.  But because I was not focused on my life.   The daily struggle of going through the mundane specifics of living was often delegated to "automatic pilot".  I did not give much thought to the basics of living and therefor did not register, often times, the events of my life.  So while I operated on automatic I dealt with the feelings I was not prepared to deal with, as no one should ever be.  Child or adult, this is not a test you can prepare for but spend an entire life learning from.

My story is my own.  I speak for no other.  I will start at a time when I was very conscious of the battles, very aware of my feelings, and am still learning from.