Nowhere but Up by Pattie Mallette, with A. J. Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

unable to fully process it all as his hand slowly and deliberately groped its way inside my shorts, resting where it didn’t belong and touching me in a way he shouldn’t have. Oh no. Not this. Please, God . As deep as my feeling of disgust was, I was also scared. Scared of rejecting him. Scared of saying no and risking him hating me. I thought, How am I going to get out of this situation without offending this sweet old man? Do you see how warped the thought process of a sexual abuse victim can be? It’s a battle I could never win.
    I let out a fake yawn and inconspicuously stretched, as if I had just woken up from a catnap. I shifted my body away from his lap so I ended up sitting more on the chair than on his legs. Then I yawned again, got up, and stumbled away, pretending I was still drowsy. I hoped my act was enough to diffuse the unsettling situation.
    I walked back to the camper, the sun blinding me and blasting me with its heat. I felt as if I were trudging through a barren desert, miles away from civilization. The truth was, I was miles away from myself. Once again, I detached from the colorful scene in front of me. I could barely make out the families grilling food, the little kids tossing Frisbees, the worn hikers returning from their long walk. I walked in a fog, stunned by what had just happened.
    The old familiar feelings came back as if they had never left. Rather, they’d been hiding under the surface, waiting for the perfect time to reappear. Patterns in my brain immediately reconnected with my past abuse, transporting me back in time, and the floodgates of all the old memories unleashed with fury. The event was so upsetting, I tried to convince myself the incident was a fluke. Maybe I had imagined it all.
    But I didn’t dream it up. It happened. And I finally found enough courage in that moment to tell someone.
    When I got back to the camper, I pulled aside my friend and told her and her sister what had happened. My friend chewed her gum loudly, looking at me with a half-cocked eyebrow. I had the feeling she was suspicious. No, it was worse. As soon as I noticed the first sign of her head shaking, I knew she didn’t believe me.
    Popping a huge bubble right in front of my face, the sticky gum only inches away from exploding on my suntanned cheek, she looked at me with contempt and accused me of lying. Her sister was just as vocal about me being a liar.
    I didn’t expect that kind of a response. Their reaction devastated me. The PSA I’d seen all those years ago hadn’t prepared me for the possibility that I could tell someone but they wouldn’t believe me. What then? How do you handle being called a liar when you are the victim?
    My mistrust of others grew in that moment. The conversation also taught me a valuable lesson. Though I was pretty confident I would never again talk about stuff like that, I knew that if I did, I’d choose my confidante wisely. It wouldn’t be someone close to the offender. I would need someone who wouldn’t automatically come to their defense.
    I wanted to leave the campground immediately after opening up to my friend, but for some reason I stayed. I tried my best to brush off the incident and was determined to pull myself together and act as if everything was fine. I was used to spending time around my abusers, pretending nothing had ever happened, so it was easy to do. What dirty old man?
    The four of us played cards later that night. As I was waiting for my turn in our second round of Crazy Eights, I felt a hand slither up my leg and stop below the end of my zipper. It was the grandpa. Okay. That’s it. Enough is enough . Still not wanting to make a scene, I got up and said I wasn’t feeling well and was going to bed. I didn’t want—or rather I didn’t know how—to handle the situation any other way. I would just take myself out of the picture, and no one would be the wiser. What was I going to say, anyway? “Your grandfather’s trying to cop a feel again.