Do You Believe Me?

I am shaking as I type this. I’ve very rarely talked about it. And, before I post this, I will have the most difficult conversation – I will tell this story to my almost 14-year old daughter. 

I often misplace my keys. I cannot always remember where I parked my car. I’ve even called my daughter by my sister’s name and called my dog my daughter’s name. But I remember this clearly. I remember what I was wearing and what I was doing. I remember the month and year and week, if not the exact date. I remember the friends who kind of laughed and blew it off and those who took it seriously and checked on me. I remember the police officer (male because at that time, it was not the norm to have a female officer handle this type of report) shaking his head and saying there wasn’t much he could do.

Beach Week, June 1982. I was 17-years old and like many in my area, I headed to the beach for a week of completely unsupervised fun. I knew of no parents going. In fact, I rented an apartment for the week (through someone in my neighborhood) and several friends chipped in to pay for it. We all drove down in our own cars. Hoards of us – rejoicing from our recent high school graduation and ready to celebrate with unbridled behavior.

I had partied and played most of the week but on this particular night, I was staying home. We were preparing to host a party the next night and I wanted a quiet – and sober – night in. I vaguely remember making mac and cheese for dinner. My purse on the counter of the small kitchen. A couple that was staying there was out for the evening, two others went out for a reason I don’t remember but they brought home more than food and drink. They had met a couple of boys and brought them back.

I was in the smaller bedroom. You had to walk through this room to get to the master bedroom and bath. I was lying on my side, facing the wall. The lights were out as I was trying to sleep but there was ample light from the kitchen on one end and the master bed and bath on the other. I was not wearing regular pajamas but a tan velour romper I had made in Home Economics. It was shorts but strapless. I was lying under a light blanket, my long hair loose and my eyes closed. Someone walked through the room to the bath and left again. Shortly after, another person came through. On his way back out, he stopped by my bed and said something. I remember saying something to the effect that I was trying to sleep. He flips me on my back and sits on top of me, straddling my body. My long hair is caught and pulling – it’s hard to turn my head. He is laughing and encouraging me to play. I say no and he pulls the top of my romper down. My breasts are exposed and he grabs at me. I am now fully awake, saying no and scared. There are people just outside but they are laughing and drinking and likely don’t know the gravity of what is happening. He is leaning forward, his face in mine and grabbing my breasts. He leans back a bit and laughs. I reach out and grab his crotch and twist. Not sure how much of him versus his clothes that I got but I just did it. He cursed and pushed off me. He ran out of the room, grabbed his friend and they left.

I told the girls in the other room what happened. They were not overly sympathetic but asked how I was. They were laughing about it – not at me, but at the whole situation. I’m not entirely sure they were completely sober - I was. We then realized he had also robbed me. He took my tan leather wallet that had my money, my dad’s Exxon card, my license. If memory serves, he may have also taken my friends’ wallets. We knew his name.

We went to the police. At the time, the Maryland beaches were small towns and the police station we went to was in a trailer. We reported the theft and I remember him rolling his eyes at girls that had allowed strange boys into their apartment. I didn’t tell him about the assault. I could tell by the look on his face that I would be blamed. I was ashamed. It was a “he said – she said” situation. I told my parents that I had lost my wallet. I’m certain I wove some story around it.

Word spread what had happened and we cancelled our party for the next night. I was mostly left alone but I do remember one friend and her boyfriend at the time – they called, they came by. Was I okay? Did I need anything? I remember her anger at the situation – at our other friends bringing strangers in, at what had happened. That type of stuff pissed her off – still does. I’m proud to say that this person is still one of my closest friends. I don’t know if she remembers this – we’ve not talked about it since. I don’t know if she realizes how much her reaching out meant to me.

We went home a day or so later. The Baltimore Police Dept called to tell me they had found my wallet and my stepfather picked it up for me. It was a good leather wallet – I remember saving to buy at Georgetown Leather. I threw it out.

The following week I started my summer job as a camp counselor at a local day camp. I drank a lot on the weekends. One weekend, some fellow counselors and I were drinking at camp well after camp hours. We were playing drinking games. The camp director was with us. I remember he kept moving closer to me, touching me. One of the other counselors noticed this and asked if I was okay. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, the director followed me. I know I was more than tipsy. I remember when I came out of the bathroom, he was right there. He backed me up against the wall, he kissed me. I was not fully coherent but I remember turning my head. I then remember that other counselor was there – looking for me. He brought me back to the table and stayed by my side. This was shortly before my 18^th birthday. The camp director was likely in his 30’s. I knew I was really lucky "nothing" had happened....until I got fired a few weeks later as rumors swirled.

Shortly thereafter, I went away to college. Just a short distance away near Baltimore. That friend that checked up on me at the beach was there, too. We further cemented our friendship. I made other friends, important ones. The kind where we would have deep and meaningful conversations. I never told them. I was in a campus building one day, there were pictures of faculty members on the wall. A lot of pictures. But one caught my eye so quickly there may as well been a light shining on it. The face was so familiar but more importantly, the name. The name was the same as that boy from the beach. His father was on the faculty. I remember that name to this day.

I changed schools after my freshman year and moved across country. I told myself and everyone else that I just really wanted to go to California. It was far from my parents, my brother was there and that was where I wanted to be. I did not have enough self-awareness at the time to link my experiences with my move. I'm sure it contributed to it my rash decision to re-locate. I don’t regret that move.

Some say that we are the sum of our experiences. I like to believe that the negative experiences are lessons and while I’m not a better person for having had those things happen, I've tried to grow as a person and learn about myself.

I share this not to seek sympathy. I share this because I know many people – friends, colleagues, friends of friends – who think they do not know anyone who had experiences like the ones we’re reading so much about. I want to tell them that they are wrong – they know me.

I share this because I am more than that experience.

I share this because it’s important that my daughter know that there is no shame in telling about this. I will always believe her.

I share this because I know others are afraid to share their experiences.

I share this because I believe the other victims.

 

Yes, I know times have changed – perspective has changed, the crime has not.

Yes, I’ve heard boys will be boys – but those boys grow into men and perpetuate the behavior and belief. It’s an ugly cycle.

Yes, I have moved on – and he likely has, too. In fact, he’s probably never thought twice about what happened. I think about it every single time I hear a story about violence against women. Every. Single.Time.

While typing this, I was shaking, short of breath and crying – afraid to blink because I see it happening again. So, while I may not remember where my phone is or what I needed in the kitchen, I will always remember this. Some things you simply don’t forget.

 

If you have been a victim of sexual assault – you are not alone. Talk to your friends, family and reach out to the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673. We believe you.

Update: Lucky is not the right word but best describes how I feel about my experiences compared to others. That said, this is not a contest. Each person that experiences this is - hopefully - a survivor. We cannot diminish the experience that others may have, we can only validate, offer support and believe.