by Randis, K. L
The conversation turned a corner where I’d hoped it wouldn’t but I found myself texting back, needing to know exactly what he meant. I sipped my wine and listened to the silence that filled my living room.
I couldn’t believe this was happening now, now that I was married, starting a new job and overjoyed with life in general. Why is it that guys have a way of know exactly when you’re at your happiest to come parading back into your life? I opened my phone to his response.
You scared me back then
What’s that mean…
Maybe that’s why I acted like a hard ass and I do apologize for not being there when u really could of used my help. I admit I was selfish and a jerk but at the time it was hard to deal with, finding someone I love have something so horrible happen to them was too much for me. So I did what I did and took off thinking it was best for myself but being selfish in the process and also throwing away one of the best things that happened to me. So with that said ill leave it alone and maybe now we can be friends at least.
As I read his book of an apology and explanation I finished my second glass of wine and leaned over my phone with my mouth dropped to my knees. In a single text message he had said everything I had waited years to hear. He apologized, told me he was wrong and that he shouldn’t have walked away. I answered back.
I need a minute to process everything you just said. I’ve never stopped thinking about you, so this is kind of a huge deal to me right now and ive had too much wine to not think before I respond.
You’re probably mad, I understand. And you can just blame it on the wine if you want to lash out at me lol
I’m not mad at you Paul, I’m sad for you. I wanted you to be happy, and I thought I could do that. I knew where my heart was at the time and I thought you deserved nothing less than that
To be honest u were probably the only one that would of made me happy but what I thought I needed was to get away when really I let go of the one person who knew exactly how I felt. I been with other girls and they were nothing compared to you I threw away a great girl who cared a lot about me, my loss and my loss only ill take the humiliation of conceding that you were right and I was wrong
I threw my hands up in the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.” My cheeks hurt from smiling and I replied trying to keep my composure.
well im excited for dinner itll be nice to see you and talk face to face
Yea I haven’t been with anyone since last may just trying to get my life on track tired of getting my heart broken in meaningless relationships by girls with no substance. Not saying I haven’t been a jerk at times
Well im glad. Need to go for now but im looking forward to seeing you.
I switched my phone to silent as I heard Jason’s car pull in the driveway. I fanned my face and waited for him to come into the living room while I tried to regain my composure.
“You’ll never guess what just happened,” I said not giving him a chance to take off his shoes.
Beyond already having Jason as my best friend, I cherished that I could tell him anything. Even if it was something he didn’t want to know.
Jason studied my face. “You okay?”
“You know how I’m watching Gina’s dog?” I explained the Facebook message and text messages in one breath. When I finished Jason shifted his weight on the couch and clasped his hands together.
“So, what are you going to do?” he asked.
“What’s wrong? Why do you look so sad?”
“I used to ask you what you would do if he ever apologized, said he was wrong and wanted you back. I used to ask if you would go back to him.”
I nodded, “Yea?”
“And what did you always say?” When I didn’t respond after a minute he finished his own sentence. “You always used to tell me he would never apologize, so it didn’t matter for you to answer the question.” He rubbed his knees and smiled. He was so brave sometimes. “Well you finally got what you wanted, so now what?”
I asked myself the same thing for the next week. There had been so much between us at that age, and I wanted his family for my own, I loved all of them. But Jason was there for me when he was supposed to be, and he never walked away, even when I would have understood if he did. I loved Jason, too.
When I pulled into Paul’s driveway and saw his car I had to catch my breath. There were so many things I had to say I wasn’t sure I knew where to start. I knocked and when he opened the door I almost didn’t recognize him. He had half a beard traveling down his face and he towered over me. I reached up on all toes to give him a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Come in.” His voice was gruff and he pulled the hood from his sweatshirt over his head. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and sat on the couch. I sat on the adjacent couch next to him and crossed my legs.
“How are you?” The awkward silence was intensified by the wavering in my voice.
He nodded and flicked a crumb off his sweatshirt.
Both of us stared at the blank TV for what seemed like hours. I crossed and uncrossed my legs and cleared my voice several times, but nothing ever came out. He looked at me, once, and raised an eyebrow.
We had shared a common beginning. At fifteen we thought we knew what love was and ran with the feelings that were new to us. I loved him, but it always seemed like we would be on different chapters in life. At this point, it seemed impossible we would ever be parallel. It seemed like no benefit would come of going backward, and in all honesty, I was a little angry that it took him comparing me to several other failed relationships before realizing I was what he needed. Jason always knew, right from the start, that I was special.
It was unfortunate, the way we had to part ways when we were so young, and I guess I would always wonder about a lot of decisions I made in life. I couldn’t go back and change them, we weren’t the young teens we were back then, and if the good pieces of our relationship weren’t enough to keep us together in the first place they wouldn’t be enough to keep us together a second time. Maybe, love isn’t enough. If that’s even what we had.
Paul stood up, looking at his phone. “I gotta get back to college. Roommate needs his key.”
“You’re still taking classes?”
“Yea. Failed a few.”
I nodded and stood up. We had absorbed each other’s company in total silence for over a half hour, neither of us completely sure why we were there in the first place. I wrapped my arms around his neck to say goodbye and buried my cheek into the side of his face.
He didn’t move and we dragged out the embrace. When he pulled away and looked down into my eyes, all I could do was fake a smile to keep myself from crying. He walked out the front door and I resumed my position on the couch to listen for his car to pull away. I was finally able to let go of the idea of Paul.
I was happy in my marriage, more than happy, and that’s where I wanted to stay. I was sure that somewhere down the line he would meet someone and she’d be lucky to have him, but I didn’t know him anymore, I knew Jason. I loved Jason, my husband. I thought back to the night Paul told me that I would never find anyone as good as him. He was right; Jason was so much more.
Paul and his family would always have a special place in my life. It seemed like a pattern of wrong time wrong place with Paul and I, and he didn’t owe me any explanations or apologies, but he did it anyway.
I was so grateful for that.
Chapter Thirty
My old professor Dr. Russ saw me on the news one night working an event for Women in Crisis and called to ask if I would accompany him to a meeting at the local courthouse where I used to go to college.
“I was asked to speak to the domestic violence policy group and I thought you would be perfect as a guest speaker.”
“Okay great, what exactly do you want me to talk about?”
“There will be a lot of judges there, lawyers, courthouse personnel, that kind of thing. I want you to give them an inside look to what it’s like to
go through the system. Tell them what was right, what was wrong, see if they can make any procedural changes or give any ideas to help children cope within the system.”
I was impressed with the idea. “That actually sounds great, I’d have a lot to say. Do you know how many people will be there, so I know?”
“Not too many. Maybe around ten, fifteen. I’ll send out a memo that you’ll be there as a guest speaker, see if we can get more people to show up.”
The room was packed with over forty people. Court personnel made up the majority of the population but there were also social service workers, some politicians and even a funeral director. The room encompassed all types of people whose jobs were impacted by domestic violence. The empowerment in the room was electric, and I folded several note cards over in my hands as Dr. Russ introduced me. My hands trembled as he turned the floor over to me.
“First I’d like to thank Dr. Russ for bringing this meeting to my attention. I think it’s great there is such a thing as a domestic violence policy group and I’m more than happy to help everyone here understand what it’s like to go through the system as a child.”
I cleared my throat. “This is actually the first time I’m talking about these things, out loud, to people who aren’t jurors or a judge. I’ve never talked publicly about my own experiences before.”
Everyone’s eyes were locked on mine. I addressed some of the latest statistics on domestic violence and how so often children become silent victims when they witness a parent being abused. “My mom was never physically abused by my dad, but my siblings and I were.”
I told them that more than half of teen relationships were domestically violent. “It’s just in a different way. Boyfriends control who girls talk to, or who they text and they think that’s okay. Girls think it’s okay to punch a guy in the arm or scream in his face or scratch him. It’s normal for them to call each other names that are degrading or hang up on each other in the middle of a conversation. Teen dating is a breeding ground for adult relationships and if they don’t realize that what they’re doing now is wrong, they’ll carry that over into their relationships as adults and it only escalates from there.”
“The majority of reported rapes are from women, although I’d be willing to bet it’s just as high for men.” When I saw a few of the men in the audience roll their eyes I explained.
“When people found out in high school that I was being sexually abused, they came to me with their own trauma. I think they thought I was the only one in the world who would understand them. One guy told me he had been raped by his father from the time he was six. Another guy told me he was being sexually harassed at work by his boss.
A cousin of mine was in a relationship where his girlfriend would scratch his back and throw things at him. I also found out that a family member of mine had fallen victim to my dad as well, but when he told no one believed him. I was small at the time, and had someone believed him I wouldn’t be standing here today telling you I am also a survivor of incestuous rape by my dad.” A woman in a gray suit gasped and another man scribbled things down on a pad in front of him.
“Just because men don’t report it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. Men carry more shame with their situations than women do because they think people will label them as gay, or that they weren’t manly enough to stand up and fight the perpetrator off. I’m here to tell you that I wish more of them would come forward so that they can get the help they need to not carry their hurt into their adult lives.”
Talking about male victims had captured their attention. “I’m also here to tell you that 8 out of 10 times, the victim knows their rapist. It’s not like TV where there’s a dark alley and someone waiting in the shadows. Yea, it happens, but not nearly as frequently as when the victim knows the perpetrator.”
“Why not?” someone called out.
“Thank you for asking. Who better to know your schedule? When you leave the house, when you come home. If you’re a small child who better to know what you like and don’t like. They know what candy you’ll do anything for, and what rooms in your house no one can hear them in. Children get groomed, won over, and that takes time and patience. They get the things they want, special privileges, and then touching body parts turns into a game that’s fun and expected. It only escalates from there.”
A woman raised her hand. “Why don’t they tell an adult, or someone about what’s being done to them?” Several people shook their head.
“You don’t know something is wrong if it’s all you know,” I explained. “If a child is groomed from the time they’re three until the time they’re twelve, they don’t know that home life is supposed to be any different. Then by the time they realize it’s wrong, they’re threatened or blackmailed into keeping quiet. While my brothers suffered physical violence from my dad in a way I could never fathom, I suffered through sexual violence to an extent I never want them to know.”
Dr. Russ laid a hand on my shoulder as I choked over my last words. “And don’t be fooled. I was on the honor roll in high school, I was a cheerleader. I held a job, had a boyfriend, friends, and I never in my life got detention. Yet my brother was in and out of juvy three times during the time I testified against my dad. When my dad was finally sentenced and sent away, he thought it would be a good idea to send my brother a birthday card. He became so emotionally distraught and re-traumatized, that he got doped up on every drug he could get his hands on and went wandering into neighbor’s homes looking for things to steal so he could buy more drugs. If he hadn’t been caught, he would have died of an overdose.”
“Not all children cope the same,” I continued. “Some channel their energy positively, like I did. I wanted to pretend that I had a normal family, so on the outside no one would suspect a thing. Some children channel their energy negatively, and they are rebellious and in trouble with the law. Make no mistake, that there is no example of what one child looks like or does when they’re being abused.”
A man in the back raised his hand. “So how do we get a child to tell us when they’re being abused if we can’t pick them out. How do we know?”
I smiled. “You can’t, and you don’t. Not until that child is ready to tell. And I mean one hundred percent fed up with their life ready to tell. You can’t make a child tell you anything, but what you can do is set them up in an environment where if they told, they would be taken care of.” I continued after a few confused looks.
“Social services came to my school and I could have told then. But I didn’t. My boyfriend’s mother suspected I was being abused because of the way my dad treated me and how he looked at me, but I didn’t tell her either. I didn’t tell my best friends, and I didn’t tell my boyfriend. You know who I told? My aunt and uncle. And do you know why?” The audience shook their head.
I held up my hands, holding an imaginary basketball. “Because of this.”
They stared at my hands with raised eyebrows and curious eyes. Some turned their heads to try and figure out if my hands were contorted into any given shape or letter. I smiled.
“It’s a bubble. A safe, peaceful, bubble. My uncle did this exact thing to me when I went to his house. He looked at me and he said Brooke, our family has a protective bubble over it. No one hurts anyone in it, and it’s safe in here. We have a plan to help anyone who is in trouble, and we wanted you to know you are part of this bubble.” I passed the pretend bubble to the woman sitting across from me and everyone laughed as she instinctively brought her hands up to catch it.
“I needed three things.” I held up my fingers. “I needed a safe place, my bubble. I needed someone to talk to, a mentor, and I had my boyfriend’s mom. And I needed my breaking point, a final straw.” I reached into the folder I brought and showed the audience a picture of Ethan when he was two. “I realized that if I left my house when I graduated high school, my little brother was going to have to face my dad alone. I was not about to let that happen, not while I knew what kind of torture and pain I had to go throug
h.”
Heads nodded from all around the table. “Now, you’re all here because you deal directly or know someone who deals directly with the process of the court, correct?”
Nods again. “Okay everyone, write these things down please, because they’re very important. I’m going to go tell you what they don’t tell you in the textbooks.”
A few of the men smiled as I proceeded. “First of all social services.” I shook my head in dramatization and a few people laughed. “Please, do not ever, EVER tell a child that what they tell you will be in confidence if it is not. Don’t lie to us. If it is confidential, do not send a letter home to said child’s parents telling them that so-and-so said that they were being sexually abused, physically abused, whatever. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for me when my dad opened up a letter from social services saying that I had talked to them?” One woman to my left covered her mouth.
“He could have killed me if I had actually told them what was going on. Also, when you do your follow ups, why would you ask a child how they’re doing right in front of the parent? If anything is new, they sure ain’t going to say something with the perpetrator right there. And even if they aren’t there, get them out of the house. Bring that child outside, or to your office. Their home is a constant reminder of the hell they’re living in, don’t make them talk about it in an unsafe place if you can help it.”
“Law enforcement, police. When I went in to do my interview I was mortified. I couldn’t look the guy in the face, there was nothing to help me cope with the weight of what I was saying out loud for the first time. People will be embarrassed, they’ll be scared and they will be blunt. They’ll say things like ‘He touched me’.
Let us know, right away, that it’s okay to say the names of body parts. Lie to us, please, and tell us you’ve heard this before. If it’s a girl victim, get a girl cop. If there isn’t one available, tell them that you have talked to lots of little girls about bad things that have happened to them. We need to know our bodies are safe to talk about to a male in a police uniform. Give us a piece of paper and a pencil so we can scribble as we talk to avoid watching your reaction as we walk you through our horrific details, or let us write it down instead if we can’t quite find the words. Also make sure your departments know the laws about fleeing a state with children and Protection from Abuse orders.”