I Wasn’t Going to Tell Anybody.
The heavy, stinking man walked me back to the bar. Outside he muttered, “Just don’t say nothin’.”
“I won’t,” I promised. I meant it.
We went straight to the bar together. It wasn’t a large establishment; the bartender was standing right there, staring into my eyes as I tried to order drinks.
All that came out was a choked sob. No words. No tears. I held up two fingers. It was the best I could do.
Larry was still in the corner with the band, singing. The bartender started pouring drafts, still staring at me. I presented a tight-lipped, meek smile.
Bonnie grabbed me from behind and spun me around. “There you are!” she said. “Where the fuck did you go?”
I grabbed her and hugged her tight, said nothing.
When I finally let go, the man was gone. He was not standing next to me, not drinking the beer I’d ordered, nowhere to be found.
Bonnie saw my face and hugged me again. I was a big believer in keeping a promise even to that horrible man, but I’d forgotten about Bonnie. We sat at our table. As I triple-checked repeatedly that he was really gone, I told her what had happened.
“That mother fucker!” she screamed. “I’ll kill him!”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I told him I wasn’t going to tell anybody.”
“I’ll kill him!” she screamed again – just as the band stopped playing. Larry strolled toward us, uncharacteristically without his signature smile.
“I saw you leave with that fuckin’ guy,” Larry growled at me. “Where did you go?”
“I thought we were doing some coke …” I started.
“You fucked him, didn’t you?” Larry said. “You’re fuckin’ lyin’!”
Bonnie lifted her jaw from the floor and said, “He fuckin’ raped her!”
I considered the word “rape.” I wondered, is it rape if he doesn’t actually get an erection?
I considered the many times I’d had sex simply to avoid conflict.
It was easier to have sex than to try to get away from whichever man was “asking.” I didn’t actually want to have sex with strangers. For the first time I thought, If I had said no instead of just having sex with guys, would I have been raped?
I’ll never know the answer.
I looked at Larry. “Well, I don’t know if …” I started again.
Bonnie’s eyes widened. She yelped: “He fuckin’ raped you, that mother fucker, I’ll kill him!”
Larry guffawed. “He didn’t fuckin’ rape you,” Larry said. “You fucked him and you’re trying to get away with it!”
I considered the word again. Was it rape?
And then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone what had happened. I’d promised. He said he’d let me go if I didn’t say anything. I’d be safe. I’d be free.
I wanted to be safe and free, but I felt very, very far from safety and freedom.
“He did rape me,” I said quietly. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me.”
I’d cheated on Larry a thousand times, and he’d never seemed to notice. The one time I chose not to cheat, the one time I’d been senselessly and violently attacked, Larry didn’t believe it had happened.
“Prove it,” Larry said. “If you were fuckin’ raped, let’s go to the cops.”
“I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I said. I was desperately trying to do the right thing, but the line between right and wrong felt very blurry.
“Fuck that,” Larry said. “You weren’t raped.”
I sat very still. Thinking.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go to the cops.”
We never went back to that bar again.