The first time I was raped was in the back seat of a car. I was 16.
In those days the legal age to drink was 18, and underage drinking mostly went unnoticed. It was pretty typical for all of us kids to first hit the Connecticut bars, then, once they closed, head to either Port Chester or Purchase — state line border-towns in New York where the bars stayed open past midnight.
The guy I liked was already there when my friends and I showed up at the bar that night — he was easy to spot, head up close to the low ceiling. It was a weekend night, and the narrow rooms of the house-turned-drinking-hole were crowded; not long after he invited me out to his car.
An indistinct car parked in the back lot. He asked me there because he said it was somewhere we could talk. A place where the sound of music and the noise of the crowd wouldn’t reach. We would be able to hear each other and not have to shout. It would be quiet. He wanted time with me alone.
He wanted to talk to me.
When we reached the car, he suggested the back seat. Did I want to split a smoke? Sure. That all sounded great.
Truth is — I wanted him to kiss me.
He had a habit of constantly flipping his too long bangs from his eyes. Sandy brown hair that some would have described as pin straight and not very thick. In the daylight, he had a smile that was slow to spread, but once it did, it reached his eyes. There were also freckles enough to give the impression of a small constellation scattered across the bridge of his nose — other than that — his looks were indistinguishable.
It was cold outside. Cold enough, that when you sat in the car and talked, the windows fogged up.
We swapped stories and the cigarette between us until the glow of it reached the filter, then, he flicked it — along with his words — from the briefly rolled open window.
Without invitation, he kissed me. I remember his tongue hungrily, if not greedily, exploring my mouth.
He likes me too…
Then he was on me. He Shoved me deep into the seat of the car, jacket off my shoulders yet still worn by my one free arm, an arm attached to my hand that tried to push him away. Shoes on, pants yanked down, legs split apart and the weight of that guy — a guy I thought I liked — thrust into me.
Then, faster than a shooting star in the sky could fall, it was over.
He righted himself to his knees, zipped his pants, raked the back of his hand across his mouth and without as much as a word, climbed out into the night and left me alone in the back seat of that car parked in the back lot.
There was a light mounted just under the eaves of the building — the hilltop bar that was once a home — and it was bright enough that I felt exposed. I don’t recall pulling my jeans back up from around my calves, nor do I know how long I stayed in the back seat of that car.
What I do remember is walking back inside the bar and searching for a sign that what had just happened meant he liked me. And when our eyes met he turned his back on my gaze and with his hand cupped to his friend’s ear — the same hand he’d raked over my body and his mouth — he said something then left.
Once home, I showered: A long. Hot. Shower.
It was a tub-shower that if you could have seen me, you’d know it supported my hunched-in-a-ball-body at the bottom of it, all while the constant stream of water worked to rinse the night down the drain.
We never spoke again. I saw him at school. We had mutual friends. He pretty much acted as if I didn’t exist.
I never said a word.
Every so often I see his name appear on Facebook — People You May Know — he has a wife now, daughters too.
Author note: For resources about sexual assault, please refer to RAINN (Rape, Abuse, Incest, National Network)
The MLK quote says it all doesn’t it. It doesn’t make it right nor does it take away reality but finding a voice is an important step to healing. Too many of our generation…just too many.
There are too many. 1 is too many, yes? I have wanted to write about that experience for years, but the words just never came, not sure why now. I think the news about UVA that was covered by Rolling Stone flipped a switch. Not even sure why that–my experience was so different than the victim in that story. I suppose it matters not–why, it feels good to have the words wrapped around the experience, even if I was hesitant to share it. Thanks for being here today, Ruth.
How horrible. Elin. Horrible. I can so imagine you coming back in — and there he was like nothing happened. My 13 year old is very petite and eager to be older than her age. I so worry about her going out — when she can drive — and finding herself in a situation like this. I agree with Ruth that so many have suffered like this. So very many. And are silent. To see his face on Facebook. I hoped this (you writing your story) helped somehow.
Thank you Jamie. I know what you mean about having children and the worry…the best we can do for them is arm them with information and love.
Regarding the writing of this, in a way the pain from that experience was usurped by the guy I would meet later–so much worse. I think I always minimized this single experience because what came later nearly took my like–and the things he did–well I have already written enough in my book.
Anyway…so I guess what I am trying to say is I’m not sure how I feel. The news of late (as I mentioned to Ruth above) brought it back in a way that allowed me to finally write about it. I guess what I feel most is sad for the girl I was. I am just so grateful that I had so much help later in life, help that allowed me to define the life I wanted. The life I lead today.
Thanks for being here, means a lot.
My stomach aches and tears gather in the corner of my eyes for you, for me, for all the woman that remained silent and tonight I stand with you and others in solidarity and say no more, no more, NO MORE!
xoxo, my brave friend.
No more is right! Thank you, Mary.
What a despicable human being. He truly didn’t care. Didn’t give a second thought to how he’d permanently altered your perspective on life. Reading this, I felt enraged for you. And now he has daughters. I wonder how he feels about them going out with guys like him.
Thanks Angela. Oddly enough I don’t feel anger, more sad for the voiceless girl I was all those years ago. Having said that, I appreciate your expressing how you feel–I think anger can be so powerful–it helps us have the strength to stand up for people and work for a better world when it is channelled properly.
It actually does bug me that I see his face periodically on FB, but refreshing the page works! As for his daughters…I truly hope they never have to experience sexual assault on any level, they are innocent. Sadly rapist more often than not, are people we know, not the boogie man we were taught about when we were kids. Teaching our own children the truth is a big step in the right direction.
I am sending you big hugs, Elin, and so admire you sharing your story. You are doing so much for so many women — more than we will apparently ever know. I can’t even imagine how it must feel to see that guy’s face. I hope he’s haunted when he sees yours. xoxo
Lois, I hadn’t even thought about how he then would of course see my face float by too. Indeed, haunting is good. And thank you for your kind words…very appreciated. xoxo
Oh, Elin. I wish I could hug you… and your 16-year-old self.
Thanks Lisa, feeling the love over here and very much appreciate it.
Oh, Elin, just seeing this post today. I am beside myself. So deeply hurt for you and so angry at him. I wonder if he looks at his wife or daughters and ever thinks about how he would feel if they were violated like that. I too hope he is haunted by this memory. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much for the supportive comment here, Linda. Very appreciated.
To understand what that 16-year-old Elin still needed after all these years and to be able to give it to her is a gift. Sharing this story is another gift to her and to those who read it. How difficult it must have been and must still be sometimes when you find that now older man’s face on FB and realize that he has daughters.
Thank you Betsy, I appreciate your comment. That is one aspect of SM I don’t relish…
The story is sad but it is a reality. It happens. Some guys really just taking advantage of girls’ weaknesses but that shouldn’t be the focus. The focus should shift to a learning. Maybe some of us have to go through something that will shake us so we can learn a very good lesson about life.
Xoxo