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 |  Ordinary tales of an ordinary woman. |
| I was eighteen years old when I met Robert. Our meeting was not, by any means, traditional. We met over the internet--something excitingly new to both of us--and fast became friends. He was slightly younger than I and always seemed it. His youth and happiness and carelessness appealed to me in a time when my only true friend had gone and I was, for the first time, alone. He was from Louisville, home of the Kentucky Derby. It was an event that had held some importance to me all during my childhood. My cousin, Barb, and I are avid horse lovers, and I can remember hovering with her on the edge of the couch at my grandparents' farm, eyes glued to the television to watch them race. There's something ancient and infinite in the way a horse runs--gathering and stretching, in and out, collecting and releasing. I would stop breathing, existing only in the beat of the hooves and the pounding of my own heart. In any event, Robert invited me to spend Derby weekend at his family's house that year. It was a tradition for he and his six brothers and sisters to gather in the infield to watch the running, and then to participate in the cleanup afterward. I could imagine nothing greater than to be there, to breathe the air and feel the electricity, with this bright new friend of mine. I agreed--with some provisions. Naive as I may have been, I was not entirely stupid. I knew Robert liked me as more than a friend. I knew he wanted more, but I was a wildly inexperienced teenager, still half in love with a boy from high school. The problem with that was that the boy from high school had never loved me back, so instead of dating and gaining experience during those four years, I spent them pining pitifully away. I really was so uncool. "Couple of rules, Rob," I said sternly, but he was full of exuberance over my agreeing to the trip and was not inclined to settle into the same seriousness. "I'll not be going as your girlfriend. No kissing, no touching--nothing." "No, none," he swore, grinning so brilliantly, I could hear it in his voice. I could not help but to smile myself. He was a boy I cared about, who I might, given time, come to love. He made me happy and gave me a hand to hold. To be with him, and to be in Kentucky with him in particular, was something I looked forward to very much. I took the bus from Texas to Kentucky, and it is not a method of transportation I would highly recommend. In fact, I might hesitate to lowly recommend it. I discovered in my travels that young women riding alone with small children were generally hookers or strippers, and that young men were lecherous military trainees, heading off to one base or another, keen on one last happy contact with the opposite sex. Most of the other passengers were, like me, simply poor. I was a freshman in college without a job, living off what meager income I'd managed to save before leaving home. The bus was my only option for long distance travel. I arrived in Kentucky two days later, grimy and exhausted from travel, and nauseous from worrying myself sick over meeting Robert. The bus had arrived early, so I was the only one left still sitting in the lobby when he and his father arrived. His father was a kind looking man, tall with soft brown hair and a gentle, bearded face. Robert shared his coloring, but his features were younger and more animated; he reminded me of a wee beagle pup, dashing to and fro, content to be lost it its own happiness. I don't know why, but when I saw him, I turned away and pretended I hadn't. It was not as though I was hiding--I was smack out in the open in a neon orange chair and a bright white t-shirt. I suppose I just wanted another moment to collect myself. He spotted me--no great surprise there--and bounded up like the pup I had likened him to moments before. He beamed at me, hugging me and fussing over my bags, and suddenly it was easier. I still felt queasy, but his father greeted with such warmth, and the physical contact of Rob's arm about me was something I'd gone without for a long time. I smiled, relaxing to let Kentucky into my senses. "I can't wait for you to meet the others," he bubbled, taking my hand across the back seat. I smiled and squeezed his hand before gently pulling mine away. "Been telling them stories about your friend, have you?" I asked, attempting subtlety. His smile did not dim, and I felt encouraged. Everything was going to be all right. "We repainted the living room and set your bed up in there and my sister's been decorating it for you and Spud wants to show you his video games--" He rattled on and I laughed at his enthusiasm. It was good to laugh. He took my hand again, and this time I let him keep it. The greetings at his house were loud, chaotic, and utterly fulfilling. Brothers and sisters poured out of the woodwork, each one more delightful than the next. I felt like a wild, interesting gypsy who'd come to town in a brilliantly colored wagon. They all wanted to touch me and hug me and talk to me all at once. I giggled, glancing up at Rob standing just behind my shoulder. He smiled back, a little more adult than exuberant teenage boy, and I began to feel the attraction he already said was there. His mother finally gathered all the troops and sent them off to their various duties. She hugged me and told me she was happy that I'd come. "I'm happy to be here," I told her sincerely. Rob and I got my things settled into the living room and I was finally able to take a shower for the first time in two days. I felt infinitely better when I got out, skin pink and fresh with scrubbing and my hard resolve against being Rob's girlfriend softened. We went out to sit and talk on a bench in the front yard, away from the constant parade of inquisitive children. "Do you like it here?" he asked, gesturing about. His house was in a semi-rural neighborhood, not at all that lovely itself, but remote and quiet and possessing of a breathtaking view. "I do," I said, smiling over at him. "What about you?" I gestured with my chin back toward the house brimming with humanity. He laughed. "Yeah. There's a lot of them, but I love them all. I got lucky, we're a really happy family." "I'd like lots of kids like that someday." I grinned and closed my eyes. "Just not today. I can barely stay away and it's not even noon." I felt him tugging my shoulder gently, and I stretched out on the bench at his urging. My cheek rested against his thigh as he stroked the hair back from my face. "You're beautiful," he said after a while. I'd been drifting off, but I heard him and snorted with laughter. "You need new glasses," I responded on a light giggle. He pinched my shoulder lightly and I laughed harder, smacking his knee. "You are!" "I'm not!" Grinning, I peered up at him from the corner of my eye. "Though, I guess if you spend enough time out here in the back forty, knee deep in horse manure, any girl would start looking beautiful." He gasped in mock outrage and I was laughing too hard to see it coming. His mouth was warm and hard and I was completely, utterly clueless. I had never in my life been kissed before (the only other boy who'd ever tried got a good whack in the nose by my front door) and was not entirely sure as to the correct procedure. Rather than make a total idiot of myself, I did nothing. One can only kiss an unresponsive parter for so long; a few moments later, he lifted his head. I had never seen such a look of pure, unadulterated bliss on anyone's face. I had a sneaking suspicion that Rob hadn't exactly been out kissing all the wee lasses either if such an uneventful peck gave him that much pleasure. I arched a brow, amused. "That's not exactly within the rules, Robert," I scolded gently. I wanted to follow my own standards, but I saw no reason to be cruel. He gave me a charmingly apologetic smile and shrugged. "I couldn't help myself." "Hmmm," I said, but was smiling. He let me nap a bit after that, stroking my hair and watching the children who had spilled into the yard to play. I was roused sometime before dinner and given time to freshen up once again. We all piled into the kitchen to eat homemade barbecue sandwiches, beans and bread. "I think you should take her to the zoo!" Spud, Robert's youngest sibling, offered during a discussion of where Rob and I should visit while I was there. "Yeah! They have a cool white alligator," his twelve-year-old sister added. "Show her the university!" another more practical brother suggested. Rob grinned at me over his plate as I fielded questions about whether or not I was going to transfer so I could live near them. After dinner, during which I had to inform my disappointed fans that I would be finishing my schooling in Texas, we all retired to the living room to settle into various forms of entertainment. The boys got down to the dirty job of defeating bad guys on the Nintendo while the girls hovered over the computer, gazing longingly at the latest young hunk. My stomach still raw from all those hours of worry while I traveled, I lay on the daybed that had been set up in the living room. Rob sat with me, behind my shoulders so that he cradled most of my upper body across his lap. I was still tired, but my cramping stomach wouldn't let me sleep, so I simply laid with my eyes closed and tried to enjoy the comforting sounds of a full and happy home. He touched me then, and it was a shock. His hand, which had been resting on my shoulder previously, was grazing my breast in a manner that could not be construed as anything but deliberate. I lay still, frozen with unease and uncertainty as to what to do. The room was large and the children weren't exactly nearby, but they were still there and would be alerted by any move I made. I did not want to humiliate Rob or myself by drawing attention, but neither did I want him to think I was aware of what he was doing and allowing it to continue. I took the coward's way out and pretended to be asleep. Sleep, however, was the furthest thing from my mind. My conscience was repulsed, astounded by this person who could do such a thing in front of children despite the fact their backs were turned. On the edges of that astonishment rode disgust at a man who would disregard the wishes of a woman he claimed to care about. But mostly it was guilt that overrode everything, because I had let him kiss me and was now allowing this to happen. And my body, in spite of how my mind felt, was responding. I was sick at myself. His hand stilled eventually, then disappeared and a voice I hadn't yet heard came from somewhere above my head. "So this is her," it said. I discovered later that it was a cousin, one Rob's age, who was very close to the family and spent a lot of time there. "Yeah," Rob's voice was euphoric. "Isn't the gorgeous?" "She's pretty," his cousin agreed noncommittally. "Is she sick? She looks flushed." A hand, presumably Rob's, touched my cheek. "Her stomach's hurting her, but she'll be fine. It's just a little hot in this room." "Mm. Looks like more than the room." I felt more than heard Rob chuckle and his hand moved back to where it had been. I struggled to remain still and keep my breathing even. It was then that I began to wish I'd never come. I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened my eyes, it was completely dark and the room was empty. Except for Rob. He was stretched out behind me in the bed, his hand under my shirt. It had been still, but it moved than I knew what had awaken me. I tried to pretend, as I had earlier, that I was still asleep, but he knew better this time. "Casey..." he said softly behind my ear. I stiffened and rolled to my stomach with a muffled whimper. "No," I whispered, tucking my arms against my sides. He lay silently for a bit, and I thought he might have gone back to sleep. The clock on the wall by the front door chimed four, and he spoke again. "Casey, please." His voice was louder, but his tone was still soft. He rolled me onto my side, my back still to him, and slid his hand up to try again. "No, I'm sick," I protested, a little weaker, a little more scared. I had nowhere to go, and to make too much noise would bring down the house. For some reason, I couldn't bear the thought of facing those adoring children and having to explain the situation. The next time, he put his hand on my hip, then lower. I knew then what was going to happen and I panicked. "Rob, no!" I cried quietly. "Shh," he whispered, turning me onto my back. "Look at me." I did, and I was afraid. When I was younger, I knew what I would do if anyone ever tried to harm me. I would fight like a demonic hellcat, bite and kick and scream and claw until they bled and ran in pain and terror. I would never allow anything to happen to me that I did not consent to. It's not like what you think it will be, not when it's someone you know. I laid still at first, afraid I would throw up all over both of us. After a while, when he didn't stop, when he'd taken away the security of my clothes and the bedding, I moved. With him. It was all I could think to do. Maybe if I helped, if I cooperated, it would go faster, be over sooner. I told myself that it was not me. I stopped breathing, like I did when I watched the horses run, and existed only in the pounding of my own heart. Afterward, he fell asleep, one arm draped over my waist, our position mimicking the one we'd been in before as though nothing had ever happened. I stared at the far wall, unblinking and shivering with cold despite the warmth of the room. When his breathing changed and I knew he was more deeply asleep, I slipped from under his arm and locked myself in the bathroom. The light was changing outside the window, still dark but enough that I could see myself in the mirror. He had left a mark on my neck. All my life, people--total strangers and friends alike--had ribbed me about my birthmark, a pinkish splotch on the right side of my neck that strongly resembled a love bite. I had always laughed and looked forward to the day when I could say yes when they asked if that's what it was. That day had come, and when I saw it, I lost my mind. The first sob was the loudest, startling me into action. My eyes never left my neck in the mirror as I scrubbed furiously at it with a washcloth. When that didn't work, I picked up a comb that had been resting on the sink and tried to scrape the mark off. I had nearly torn all the skin away before I realized what I was doing. I dropped the comb, sank slowly to the floor, and buried my face in my hands to cry. The light was stronger outside by the time I stumbled to my feet to get into the shower. I washed several times until the scalding water became more than I could bear. Silently, without tears, I dressed and went back to the living room. He was still asleep, but no power on earth could make me get back in that bed with him. Instead, I found a book, curled up on the couch, and read blindly until I felt into a restless sleep. When I woke up, Rob was there. He'd drawn up a chair and was sitting with his knees touching the couch, watching me sleep. He smiled, that blissful puppy dog smile, and touched my hair. "You are so beautiful," he told me, sincere to the marrow of his bones. I would have gagged but I'd lost all ability to feel. "I want to go home," I whispered dully and turned back to my book. * * * * * * * The bus ride back to Texas wasn't as bad as the one to Kentucky only because I was too numb to absorb anything. It had been oddly hard to leave Robert and his family. I had been far too sick, inside and out, to go to the horse race so we all watched it on the television. I have never seen it, or any other race, since. I remained in bed for the majority of the rest of the trip, alternating between self hatred and self pity while the children kept me company and tried to lift my spirits. The youngest, Spud, had cried when it came time to go. He gave me a little white bear that he'd begged his father to buy and told me he loved me. I died a little because I'd come to love him, too. Rob's family waited in the car while he walked me inside to wait for the bus. "I love you, too," he told me miserably, his eyes pleading with me to love him back, to forgive him. I didn't hate him then, that would come later, but was sad for him. He had truly meant no harm, but even he knew what he'd done was wrong. Just like the first kiss, he couldn't help himself. I died a little more and turned away to stare out the window until the bus came. Later, there would be guilt and an immeasurable amount of shame. It would take several years and a very kind counselor for me to realize that it was rape and that, despite my participation, I was not at fault. On that ride home, though, all I could think was that he was just a boy, a happy, exuberant boy, and I had ruined his life. And he had ruined mine. |
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