SPEAK
This is one of my favorite books, for very personal reasons. It is actually a book for teens, written by Laurie Halse Anderson. I want to say, though, it is so poignant, and well written and has such a scathing wit, that I defy any adult woman to read it and not laugh, feel touched, or relate to the high school cliques described.
We suspect the heroine of the story has been raped, and as the story unfolds, our suspicions are validated. She was at a party the summer before she enters 9th grade, has a few beers, and is attacked by a senior. She never actually said "no", but then, he covered her mouth, so how could she? She calls the police, the party is busted and several kids are arrested, but by this time she has gone home and told no one what really happened. But she is hated for busting the party and her first year of high school is utter hell. And she isn't even sure she was raped. She never told him to stop, after all!
And it felt personal to me. She was ostracized by friends she didn't tell, because they didn't know what had happened. I was also forgotten by my friends. She feels like if she can just tamp it down and not tell anyone, she will forget about it. For me it worked for a few years. Eventually, though, I wanted to have sex again, and in my situation, where there was a lot of vaginal tearing and I had to be sewn back up. The healing made me, well, basically a virgin again, so I had to be open and honest to the men I dated to make them aware of the situation. Also, I wasn't sure how I was going to respond to having sex again, so I had to prepare any suitor I wanted to be intimate with.
But I digress...
I want to tell you about my "friends". When we went to Cancun together, a local was all over me. They were deep in conversation about their jobs, and didn't see me flagging them down for a little help. It was like the foreshadowing in Stephen King novel.
So, a couple of years later, we were at a concert. I had to meet them there, and there was nowhere to park by time I arrived. I had to park in an isolated alley, but it was light out, and I was sure they would take me to my car. After the show, the plan was to go to a hip club to dance. (I actually was hip at one time!) They wanted to get to the club immediately after the show. I asked them to take me to my car, or even just have one of them ride with me. Nope, there were a dozen reasons why they couldn't walk a little further, or pretend to be salmon going upstream by driving against traffic to get me to my car. They will wait for me at the club.
You know what happened. I didn't even call them. I never told them. Instead, they just treated me like dirt for not showing up at the club. They thought I was being pouty and childish. I was also spending too much time with the guy I was dating at the time. The guy who took me to the hospital, sat with me at the police station while I worked on composite sketches and relived everything in interview after interview. The guy who held my hand when I was told I wasn't raped--it was sexual assault since the attacker used a dildo and not his penis! The guy who took care of me before and after my surgeries to piece me back together; just call me Franken-pussy. (HOW CRUDE, MISS BETHIE!) (Laughter got me through a lot.)
Anyway, before my post here, only about ten people, outside of doctors and law enforcement, knew about my attack.
It was somewhat freeing, though, to get it out there. At the time, there were reasons I kept it to myself. And even now, I have no intentions of telling my family. No need to, and now I feel pretty even-keel again.
Our heroine was also released when her rape in not only found out, but that her attacker is revealed to be sexual predator.
I feel a kinship with a fictional teenager. And I love her.
We suspect the heroine of the story has been raped, and as the story unfolds, our suspicions are validated. She was at a party the summer before she enters 9th grade, has a few beers, and is attacked by a senior. She never actually said "no", but then, he covered her mouth, so how could she? She calls the police, the party is busted and several kids are arrested, but by this time she has gone home and told no one what really happened. But she is hated for busting the party and her first year of high school is utter hell. And she isn't even sure she was raped. She never told him to stop, after all!
And it felt personal to me. She was ostracized by friends she didn't tell, because they didn't know what had happened. I was also forgotten by my friends. She feels like if she can just tamp it down and not tell anyone, she will forget about it. For me it worked for a few years. Eventually, though, I wanted to have sex again, and in my situation, where there was a lot of vaginal tearing and I had to be sewn back up. The healing made me, well, basically a virgin again, so I had to be open and honest to the men I dated to make them aware of the situation. Also, I wasn't sure how I was going to respond to having sex again, so I had to prepare any suitor I wanted to be intimate with.
But I digress...
I want to tell you about my "friends". When we went to Cancun together, a local was all over me. They were deep in conversation about their jobs, and didn't see me flagging them down for a little help. It was like the foreshadowing in Stephen King novel.
So, a couple of years later, we were at a concert. I had to meet them there, and there was nowhere to park by time I arrived. I had to park in an isolated alley, but it was light out, and I was sure they would take me to my car. After the show, the plan was to go to a hip club to dance. (I actually was hip at one time!) They wanted to get to the club immediately after the show. I asked them to take me to my car, or even just have one of them ride with me. Nope, there were a dozen reasons why they couldn't walk a little further, or pretend to be salmon going upstream by driving against traffic to get me to my car. They will wait for me at the club.
You know what happened. I didn't even call them. I never told them. Instead, they just treated me like dirt for not showing up at the club. They thought I was being pouty and childish. I was also spending too much time with the guy I was dating at the time. The guy who took me to the hospital, sat with me at the police station while I worked on composite sketches and relived everything in interview after interview. The guy who held my hand when I was told I wasn't raped--it was sexual assault since the attacker used a dildo and not his penis! The guy who took care of me before and after my surgeries to piece me back together; just call me Franken-pussy. (HOW CRUDE, MISS BETHIE!) (Laughter got me through a lot.)
Anyway, before my post here, only about ten people, outside of doctors and law enforcement, knew about my attack.
It was somewhat freeing, though, to get it out there. At the time, there were reasons I kept it to myself. And even now, I have no intentions of telling my family. No need to, and now I feel pretty even-keel again.
Our heroine was also released when her rape in not only found out, but that her attacker is revealed to be sexual predator.
I feel a kinship with a fictional teenager. And I love her.
posted by Beth at
7:59 PM
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