STFU Christine Blasey Ford, Part II

Dear Christine:

(Can I call you Christine? Because I feel as if I know you a little more now.)

I remember so vividly sliding into the tub, slowly, silently, but yearning to remove all he'd left behind.

I was young. I don't remember how young; probably 16 given some following events. At the time 16 didn't seem young and, even now, given the life I was forced to lead, it doesn't really seem young to me now. But I know how others see it.

One of my good friends - a guy I went out with twice a week to go to play pool with at the cheapest place in town - came over to my parents' house one evening. My parents were pretty lenient with my friends coming over. I worked the graveyard shift and, coincidentally so did my friend "P," who was coming over. The basic rules were that 1) we couldn't wake up my parents coming into the house which was crazy-hard because their bedroom was in the main hallway and they didn't close their door (by design? probably. my dad blamed it on the stress put on the air conditioner. heh) or while we were watching videos [we had no cable, so it was VHS or network] and acting like morons, and 2) we stayed in the TV room, which was probably the 3rd bedroom in the back of the house before the previous owners added on an additional 2 bedrooms in the back; one of which was mine and the other was for guests, so it was like a weird suburban rotunda you had to pass through to get to the other rooms. And it did have a door between the TV room and the main hall but, again, suburbs. Thin veneer wood on either side, totally empty in between. Obviously, like every single other time someone came over when my parents were sleeping, we shut the TV room door as well as my bedroom door. We never wanted to watch TV; we wanted to listen to music which, for some reason, you couldn't do too successfully in the TV room without pissing off my father. And I don't think it was just because he had something against punk music.

My friend...ugh. It sounds so "you deserve it" now, but ALL of my friends were older. When I was in 8th grade or a freshman, all of my friends were seniors or in college already. So, this guy, "P," just turned 21 on this evening. As in, it was his birthday. I told my parents about it beforehand because we had open communication about my friends, and they had no issue with him coming over, so long as we abided by the 2 Rules. He was upset because he'd had a party at a 21+ venue (which is why I wasn't there, and I knew about it) and only about 3 of his friends had shown up. He had about 5 bottles of Korbel champagne left over, one of which he brought with him to my place. You could tell he'd been expecting something decent because he had his pitch-black dyed hair gelled out into spikes to resemble Sid Vicious.

Now, I don't remember my parents ever having a discussion about drinking alcohol in the house because, honestly, my emetophobia is legit out of control. Is, as in,  that early age of my life, spending time with nothing but binge-drinkers, I thought all alcohol consumption resulted in vomiting. So, no. Just no.

But you know what? He convinced me that there was hardly any alcohol in champagne, that it was mostly just sparkling white grape juice and I could drink the whole bottle and still drive a car. That's why they always served it celebrations; so it wouldn't mess people up too much to drive home. And I had a car, so...I believed him.

We split the bottle. I got two glasses from the kitchen and we split it. We didn't chug it; we had lots of good conversation and gossip before I started to feel weird. My mistake? I told him I felt weird.

He laughed and shoved my shoulder. I was sitting on the floor and he was sitting on my bed which was just box springs and a mattress on the floor. I almost fell backward. I remember catching myself with my arm and kind of twisting my wrist because I hadn't expected him to pop me that hard. But I didn't fall backward. We were laughing. I told him I was getting really tired and he should probably go home.

He jumped on me and pushed me down onto the floor. He grabbed both of my arms and held them out straight over my head. I kept laughing and struggled. He wasn't laughing anymore.

That's when he grabbed both of my wrists in one hand - I only weighed about 70-something pounds and I had (and still have) tiny wrists.

With his free hand, he pulled down my PJ pants a bit, then used a leg to remove them entirely. The sad thing is, I wasn't even panicking. I should have been. I should have been freaking out over the fact that boundaries were crossed and it happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to fend him off but, honestly, I was impaired and I was trying to process what was going on and before that happened, it was too late.

He had the faculties enough to joke and ask me if I had a condom at the precise moment he thrust himself into me and laughed. He saw me open my mouth. Was I going to gasp for breath? Scream? Say something directly to him? I don't remember. The room started wobbling from side to side and I was starting to get really hot and, thinking back on it, it seems as if I remember (or maybe it's just how I see it now) floating above myself, watching the whole thing take place from a completely different mental perspective even though my physical self was most definitely in the moment, with him on top of me.

I do remember fighting him as best I could which really meant nothing. I mean, I was tiny and although "P" wasn't a big guy, he was tall and could keep me pinned down by weight distribution alone.

In what seemed like only seconds after it began, he flopped his sweaty torso - even through his black t-shirt and through my thin grey one - onto mine and I could feel the clamminess soaking through onto my chest, and he began grunting and thrusting even harder. I wasn't a virgin; I knew what that meant. Even in the unfamiliar state I was in, I remember panic setting in. What if he just got me pregnant?!

My stomach started to churn. I started getting even hotter but my face was freezing cold. I couldn't tell if "P" was near my bedroom door or near my closet. I couldn't even tell which direction I was lying in. The room was spinning and my vision was blurred. I couldn't understand how this disorientation happened so quickly. One minute I felt fine but was just a little tired and, then...this.

As I lay there, I knew I was going to be sick, I was just trying to judge how much time I had. Despite my phobia, I've always had the incredibly useful trait of being able to tell that I'm going to vomit about 15 minutes beforehand and I have always been able to hold it for a few if need be. Given the fact that I wasn't even really sure I could get up, that was a good thing. I was able to grab my boxers as I saw "P" adjusting his skin-tight black denim jeans.

By the time I managed to get all of my clothing comfortable and remind myself not to throw up just yet, "P" was gone. I didn't get it. Within a few confusing seconds, I came to realize that he'd been really quiet and left through the front door and I was alone.

Still aware of my stomach's protests, I stood up. Semen rolled down my leg. It was warm and thick, skipping the first bit of my thigh and finding its way to right above my knee. I was concentrating more on that than I was on my stomach as I made my way to my bathroom which, unfortunately, in the main hallway outside the minimally safe confines of the TV room and door.

All I wanted to do was to get the monster's cum off of my body - and I knew it was IN me too, and it had to go. I began filling the bathtub with water as I went to the toilet area and wiped off as much as I could from my leg. That's when I gagged. Nothing came out. I don't remember how many times I heaved, but nothing came out. I am NOT a silent puker, so I was very surprised when my mother didn't come in to see what was wrong. There is no way in the world they didn't hear it - especially my light-sleeping dad - but nobody came. And even if they did, what was I going to say? "I got drunk when I thought I wouldn't and a 21-year old guy had sex with me when I didn't want him to?"

The tub was full and the water was hot but not steaming. I got in and just laid there, opening and closing my legs at the knees, hoping that I could flush his violation out with some kind of suction or something. I'd done it before, just not for this reason. I watched as milky, cloudy puffs filled the space between my knees. I was going to be sick.

Soaking wet and naked I jumped out of the tub and vomited violently into the toilet, multiple times.

I dried off but didn't unplug the tub. I knew it would make too much noise as if I hadn't made enough already. I slipped on my robe and padded down the hall towards the kitchen. I pulled out 2 slices of bread. I just needed something bland in my stomach. Even with the glass of water I'd poured, the bread was mealy and it was hard to get it to break down inside my mouth.

That's where my memory ends. I know I went back into my room because the next morning I woke up in bed, fully clothed, with the worst headache and a sore throat.

I'm not going to lie. In between paragraphs, I tracked down his parents' names through our county's tax assessor's office. Then I did some more Internet searching and found both "P's" address as well as his parents'. It's in a state nowhere near here. What am I going to do with this information? Maybe just send a letter. To him? To his parents? Undecided. I think an anonymous "You raped me, do you remember," or another simple, anonymous "your son raped me on his 21st birthday" letter might be appropriate. But, as with everything on the Internet, you have to quadruple check to make sure the information you have is up to date, so this is something I will continue tomorrow. For once in months, I'm actually tired - even though it's 3am - and I should seize this opportunity to get sleep. It's been too many nights of tossing and turning and watching the blue skies start to peek through my blinds.

Tomorrow, asshole. I remember your name, and tomorrow I will find you and mail you a handwritten reminder of what you did. I'll keep it to a page in length, but you WILL get it.


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