10. I come to at some point and realize I am bent over something and there is a sharp pain in my ass.
“When I was 10 or 11, my mom, her best friend, my brother and sister and I were at the beach not too far from where we lived. We were the little shopping area by this particular beach, it was about two blocks square of the typical kitschy beach side shops with apartments on the second story you’d find in the early 80’s. While looking at shoes through a window, this Hispanic guy walks up to me.
‘Hey, you look like a strong guy, I need help moving something out of the door by my apartment around the corner, can you give me a hand real quick?’
Being the helpful kid I was, I told him yes. We go around the corner and he goes through this door and it’s the place where they keep the dumpsters. He points to the door that leads into the building.
‘You first, you can squeeze by the rug and push it out.’
As I move by him, I feel him touch my head and everything goes dark as he slammed my head up against the dumpster. I come to at some point and realize I am bent over something and there is a sharp pain in my ass. I manage to turn my head to look back as I see a fist coming and everything goes dark again.
I wake up and look around. My shorts are around my ankles, it’s dark and stinks in the room, the taste of blood in my mouth and he’s nowhere to be seen. I pull up my pants and walk outside to see my mom and siblings just down the street. They’d been looking for me for about 10 min. I tell mom what happened while her friend kept my bro and sis away, she grabs a towel, wipes away the blood and tears on my face, and she puts us all in the car to drive home.
I am immediately put into the shower and told to scrub everything. My mom sits on the toilet and tells me never to tell anyone what happened ever. She tells me what happened was bad and to forget it ever happened. If anyone asked about the bruises on my face and neck, I slipped going into the pool. It was the summer and I was usually covered in bruises from doing typical 11yo boy stuff anyway. After probably 20 min in the shower, scrubbing myself multiple times I get handed a towel and clean clothes.
That was the last time my mother spoke or acknowledged what happened. My mom or her friend didn’t go to the police, hospital, or anything. There was no consulting or support. Hell, I don’t think my father got told what happened. He probably saw the bruises and figured I did something stupid, which I was known for in the best of circumstances.
After that, my personality changed. Neighbors commented how much I’d withdrawn and wasn’t my usual helpful self. I overheard my mom and our elderly neighbor talking about my personality change not too long after the incident. She told my mom it was normal for boys to do that as they approach puberty and that I’d be fine. So as far as anyone knew my personality change was just puberty.
Time went on and I’d like to say it didn’t affect me at all. I don’t have nightmares about it or anything. I can’t stand the smell of dumpsters or landfills without getting panicky. I don’t go out of my way to help people anymore, especially people I don’t know. In a way, it’s made it hard for me to make friends, especially guy friends. The number of people who I’ve told I think I can count on one hand, maybe one finger on the second. I carry my wounds deep and try not to make it a big issue. I don’t act the victim. Not because mom told me to, but because I am stronger than that and living in fear only lets that guy win.
My mother went to her death bed never talking to me about that day that happened 30 years earlier; same with my mom’s friend. As far as they were concerned, it never happened. I’ve have thought it was my imagination because of how people handled it. But that little divot under my eye from where he punched me and chipped part of the bone is a daily reminder when I look in the mirror.
Male sexual assault is a thing. But it’s treated as something lesser because it is a guy. Rape is rape regardless of the gender of the rapist and victim.”
—TAWForToday
