Something I Never Said. (this isn't a funny haha story)

Today I said something I've never said before.

“The guy who tried to rape me.”

I said it casually. It came up casually. The conversation had absolutely nothing to do with it except that we had been talking about a car my friend heard that she said sounds like a truck. I said to her, “that's the way the car sounded that belonged to the guy who tried to rape me.” I heard her breath catch. I didn't realize why immediately - mainly because she was the one person who knew what happened that day. But it hit me...I'd never before said “rape”. When I talked about it, even then, I always said that he “attacked” me as if it reduced the enormity of what had happened.

And I was so glad I was near the end of my day because once I released those words I couldn't stop repeating them. I casually ended my day, casually came home, and casually sobbed for 20 minutes.

Ok, so there was nothing casual about the sobbing. It was ugly and snotty and I still look like I might have been rubbing jalapeno laced sandpaper across my eyes. And now that I've created jalapeno sandpaper, I'd like to see it happen because I think his balls deserve a dose of that shit.

Looking back, I'm not sure if I was ever properly horrified.

It was about 12 years ago. It was a Sunday. I was doing laundry and watching the race.

He worked at the bar we always went to and we had become friendly. We joked around, he had helped me play pool. He had my number for weeks. We talked a bit. When he wanted to stop by that day, I never hesitated. We were friends.

When he came over, he got flirty. I felt...disturbed. Very aggressively flirty. I brushed it off at first, but he became more insistent about it. I started straightening things and he kept trying to corner me. The dryer buzzed and I ran for the laundry. I brought the basket back into the room and told him I had to get him to go so I could go meet a friend. He told me I was a liar (I was a liar, but it was the best I could do on short notice and with growing nerves), grabbed me, and kissed me. I slipped out of his paws and grabbed my laundry basket and for some reason he thought I was just playing. He kept grabbing me. I kept telling him to go. His response each time was to try to kiss me again. He finally realized that I was getting very upset. His reaction? Well, he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and asked what I expected just before he tore my shirt in half and pushed me back into my couch. While I was still holding my basket between us. A couple of my nails broke because I gripped the basket so hard when he tried to push us together. For some reason, I screamed, “you dick! You ripped my shirt!” as if that were the worst thing he was doing and turned and ran up the stairs like my ass was on fire. I locked myself in my room and pushed myself against it as if that were going to give it a more secure lock. Oddly, he waited a minute before he chased me. He pounded on my door and called me a fucking cunt. It was a good time.

I don't know why, but he only screamed for a couple of minutes before he stomped down the stairs and slammed my door before revving his engine and taking off like a bat out of hell.

When I heard him go, I kind of melted. I slid down the door and trembled and shook and chattered until you'd've thunk someone was popping popcorn in me. That was when the terror set in. I'm not sure if that was general stupidity or some version of that fight or fight you hear about from time to time. I didn't cry until later. Much later. I think it might have been even after I called my friend the next day and asked her if she could get her mom to sew my shirt. That seemed important. Hell, I still have the shirt. Somehow over the years, it came to represent beating something that tried to beat me. But there's a dark funny in there. Hey, some guy tried to rape me but I'd really like to have this shirt fixed, please and thank you.

I never reported it. I mean, I welcomed him into my home. Who would believe me? Really, nothing happened. A million absurd things ran through my mind, not the least of which was that I was going back to that bar because he was not going to ruin my Friday nights. And I did! I went back to that bar knowing that he would be there. Knowing he might do something to me. I had to do some deep breathing in the car in the parking lot before I'd go in. But he was not taking this from me, too.

I scurried in the door a bit faster. I sat closer to my friends than usual. He wasn't working. He showed up anyway. I ignored him. My friend didn't hit him with a tire iron. Despite everything, it was not a bad night. Until I had to go to the bathroom; I had waited until I thought he left and headed back. He was there around the wall and cornered me. He yelled at me about being a tease, that I never should have invited him over.

I was stunned stupid for a minute, then seethed at him, “you scared the shit out of me, dickhead!”

That was the best I could come up with. A barely audible, angry, “I was scared.” Grace under pressure right here.

I ducked under him arm and started into the bathroom just as another woman came around the corner. Given the tension in the air, heavens only know what she thought but that was all it took for him to not chase me into the bathroom. When I pulled myself together and went back out he was really gone. The rest of the night was ruined because I was convinced I was wrong again but I wasn't about to leave until someone else was ready to walk out and I wasn't going to embarrass myself by asking someone to walk me out. Yeah, I actually thought that would be embarrassing. I don't really have an explanation for that.

When I did finally get home, I checked my messages (yep, I still had a landlane and an answering machine and still didn't have a cell phone) and there was a message from him sobbing like a fucking child. “I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't do that to any woman.”

But he did. He was going to. I had bruises from the way he grabbed me to rip my shirt. He would have done that to me. And of all of the reactions I could have had, as bizarre as it seems to me now, had I not gone to that bar he would have lived life calling me a tease and a whore.

At least because I did that, he has to live with knowing that he is a monster.

He didn't work there much longer, and I slowly stopped being nervous about going out with my friends. Hell, it seemed irrationally fast that I started to forget about him. But it sticks with me. I remember him. As much as he doesn't deserve it.

I don't know why I decided now is the time to get this out of me. Maybe it's just my way of checking in on my mortality. I catch myself doing that sometimes since I was given my life altering diagnosis. It happens something like this:

“Yo, Mortality, we cool today, homie?”

“We cool...today, bigass, buuuutttt I'm taking away palak paneer and jalapenos today. I need some shits n giggles” (not only does Morty speak truth, he enjoys fucking with me sometimes.)

“Sweet!” (I only mutter “dickbag” in whispered tones after I turn around...I figure it's not in my best interest to make waves with him)

“I concur!”

secrethandshakefistbumpwiggleticklecoochycoo

Hell, maybe it's just my way to let someone else who's haunted by something shitty that they aren't alone.

Whatever it is...trust your gut, people. When someone knocks you down, do what you have to to make yourself strong again...even if you don't know why.

I'll never know why it was that my stubbornness made me go to that bar, but because I did, I wasn't the only one suffering because of that day. Sometimes, that knowledge is enough.