Thirteen years

I looked him up the other day and was shocked and angered to find him. Not for the reasons you'd think. There he was, married, with a son and happy. Just out there on Facebook for everyone to see. It didn't seem fair. But nothing about the situation is. The statute of limitations was up ten years ago, but even then it would have been a waste. People tell you that you're brave and that they're sorry for you. I only feel cowardly when I'm alone with myself. Because sometimes I wish I had just made it all up. What if I had been the liar girl or the girl with the horrible story? Instead of what they called me. If it was a story then at least it would be over and thirteen years later it wouldn't pop up like the most inconvenient surprise to paralyze and terrify me. And take those ice cream scoop sized swipes of my lungs and stomach and heart. I used to think that the worst part maybe, wasn't the physical pain and humiliation, but rather, the complete denial of my humanity right there in my face. And Jenn, that's something everyone can relate to, so maybe you shouldn't feel so bad. But now I wonder, if maybe it's actually the eternal vigilance, not only for myself but for every person who I love who happens to be a her, that yes, that's a thing that can and will and does happen. How can I ever forget. So torturous for a mother of an only daughter. I take comfort in my statistic if it keeps the people around me safe. Protected. But there's only one me, and so many more woman I love than just three.