She remembered a whole lot more than I do.

[fflo]

I don't remember what street we were on.  I don't remember what day or even what month or year it was.  I don't remember where we had been or where we were going, though I think we were going home.  But I remember exactly who it was and exactly what he did, from the moment he crawled over the seat to the end of his various sloppy teenaged forcings of himself on me, while my brother drove on, oblivious? amused? titillated?  I have no idea.

I do remember it was dark out.

I'd gotten a ride from my brother, who had a car at 16.  It wouldn't be okay for me to have a car until I was in college, on account of how dangerous it supposedly was, "out there", for girls, in our own cars.  But it was okay for me to have to ride with him.

And yes, I could tell you exactly what his friend did to what specific parts of me with what specific parts of him, and in order, while I tried, and failed, to fight him off.  And I could tell you, at great length, of its legacy with me, and how, among other things, it both ruined my joyful imagining of future pleasures and diminished my experience of them; further fucked up my already complicated emotional life; and reinforced my impression of the shittiness of the world.  And I know I'm not even aware of all of its impacts on young me.

I don't remember what happened right after it ended, or what made him crawl back to the passenger seat.  I'm pretty sure he'd been drinking beer.  I have no recollection at all of the hours afterwards for me, but I do know that I never for a moment considered telling anyone about it.  Like other experiences in my childhood, no contemplation was needed at all to know that it wouldn't do any good to tell anyone.  It was quite possible no adult would believe me, and more possible an adult not wanting to have to deal with it would instantly take the stance of not believing me.  It was also almost certain that, if somehow I were believed, it wouldn't matter.  Nothing would happen.  And then it would be worse, because I would have to deal with that pain as well.

I don't know whether I was 14, or 15, or older.  But I know he was two years older than I, and I know he was my brother's asshole friend, and I know his name was Barry Hoppert, and happily now he apparently is living in Florida, where he owns a transportation service, has children, has been divorced, makes over $150K a year, and is registered as a Republican, but ISN'T on the verge of being annointed for life a Justice to the highest court in the land.

I tell you this, the few of you who read here, just to tell one more story, for the sake of telling it, because it's true, whether anyone believes me or not.

Comments

[fflo.livejournal.com]

P.S. How not surprised am I that that guy was delighted to perpetuate what he and friends called his "trademark $1 joke" on women in bars:

https://groups.google.com/forum/#!msg/rec.skydiving/TbWYS9HnJo8/haHJSAn239QJ

That is, if that was even the same shitbag Barry Hoppert. It could well be a different shitbag Barry Hoppert.

[daphnep.livejournal.com]

I’m... scrolling over this fast, not even reading, because I can’t right now but I will come back to it and read every word, soon.

But thank you. Thank you for putting it here. Thank you for taking the time. Thank you for taking the emotionl exertion it takes to write. I believe you. I benefit from you writing it, even now.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

💜

Thanks for this. It's funny, I read someone else's post on the subject just after posting this one, and that was what leapt to my mind/heart to comment: thanks.

There's something about knowing what it takes to speak up. My word of course we greet that with gratitude!

[microbie.livejournal.com]

Came here to write something similar.

[peteralway.livejournal.com]

This pervasive crappiness makes me sad. Sad that there seems to be this club of crappy men who put this cloud over the lives of so many women. And sad that this club seems to not just escape any sort of punishment, but that they also seem to be rewarded for being the kind crappy people who just take what they want. And now there seems to be a powerful political movement that has taken over all branches of government in this country that says that the shitbag Barry Hopperts have the inalienable right to keep their special shitbag Barry Hoppert million-dollars-every-six-years, and shitbag rapist judges get their who-the-fuck-knows-what, while the rest of us should have to do Kickstarter campaigns to pay for essential medications.

Just fuck the whole thing.

Pardon me. I'm going back to facebook to post pictures of pretty bugs.

[peteralway.livejournal.com]

In case it's not obvious, of course I absolutely believe you.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

Thanks. Also thanks for calling Barry Hoppert a shitbag with me. :D

[coconuthead.livejournal.com]

Thank you for writing. I believe you.

I don't want to share my stories, but oh boy, do I wish I could go back in time to Centerville High School c. 1991 and talk to one particular girl, the happy-go-lucky one. I remember her walking into study hall and how she looked when she saw one football-playing senior. (Travis wasn't too bright, but oh boy, did everyone think he was funny.) I knew what that look meant, even then.

She was never quite so happy-go-lucky after that. Wherever she is, I hope she is ok.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

Me too. (As they say.)

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

The more these stories get told the more chance there is that this sort of behaviour will stop. Thank you.

[amw.livejournal.com]

Although I'm sure it's not pleasant for people to revisit their trauma, I do think the more people who share their stories, the closer we will come to a society that understands this shit is pervasive. No one can claim ignorance any more. The question is now: do we want to live in a society that allows it to continue? I do hope for most the answer is no. Thank you for sharing.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

One thing that's way better now: kids generally have a more of a heads-up to know it's wrong. I mean, I knew it was wrong, and hated it, but I didn't put "assault" with it at all, and I've had to work to understand that/how it was traumatic. As with other experiences that caused wordless misery. Wordful misery being a major notch up.

[elainegrey.livejournal.com]

I'l listening, believing, and i know what he did, and your brother -- permitted him to do -- was wrong.

And i know the squirming wormy cultural standards that twist around the event to make silence the only option, as i reflected.

[tsuki-no-bara.livejournal.com]

i'm continually impressed by the strength of all the women who've shared their stories the past few days, so thank you for posting this. i believe you, and i'm so, so sorry it happened to you.

[pane-carasau079.livejournal.com]

I wish I could hug you. And there is an equal (but heavier) wish to kick that douche bag asshole in the nuts until he has none!

I am so sorry this happened to you. It's not fair, it doesn't make sense, and I can only imagine how you felt at that age without getting help from someone you trust in the front seat.

But know I am proud of you for putting your story out there. I believe you. And I am proud of you for not protecting him. He does not deserve it one bit.