THIS HAPPENED TO ME | MEMOIR
I Had to Sleep with a Lock on My Bedroom Door
Why did Mom keep a pedophile in the house?
CW: sexual and domestic abuse.
After graduating from high school and turning 18, I decided to move back to Mom’s house, the same home I had fled on an early morning two weeks before my eighth-grade graduation. What transpired that day changed the trajectory of my life.
A couple of weeks before my eighth-grade graduation and my 13th birthday, my Mom’s live-in boyfriend Duane sexually assaulted me while I slept. He stuck his hand in my underpants and fondled me. I felt a strange sensation, a pain in my vagina. I was confused. Was I dreaming? I woke up, startled, and glanced toward my bedroom door. I saw Duane running out of my room. He was naked except for the towel around his waist. I immediately realized what had happened.
My hands trembled as I quickly dressed. Would he come back and attack me? He was a tall, muscular guy. My Mom still wasn’t home from work yet and my little brother was asleep in his room. I didn’t want to use the front door because it was next to my Mom’s bedroom, the den containing the lion. I climbed out my bedroom window and ran. I cut through a yard to a house the next street over and pounded on my best friend’s parent’s door. Tori let me in. She could see I was upset. We went upstairs to her room.
“Duane molested me,” I told her. “He tried to finger me in my sleep!”
“That son-of-a-bitch,” she said. “Go back to sleep. I’ll make you some pancakes.”
Tori could relate to what I was going through. Her uncle molested her.
I was silent as Tori’s Mom drove us to school. After my last class, I called my Dad and asked him to pick me up. He drove me to his home in the city. Once there, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. My Stepmom Dora heard me and knocked on the door.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” she asked.
I wouldn’t tell her what had happened. I was ashamed and embarrassed. Dora kept pressing and when she asked if something happened with Duane, I nodded. She told Dad and they called the police. While we waited for the police, Mom called.
“Chevie, Duane said you were upset when you left for school this morning. He said he tried to cover you up and his hand slipped.”
I felt anger bubbling inside of me. That fucking liar!
“Mom, his hand was inside my underpants,” I said.
“Will you come back home if I kick him out?” she asked.
“No, I’m staying at Dad’s,” I told her.
I didn’t trust her to protect me anymore. When I was 9, her live-in boyfriend Maury molested me over a four-month period.
A new life
I left everything behind: my mom, my brother, my friends, my home, my neighborhood, and my town. I began a new life at a new school. It was a rough adjustment, but I craved some sense of normalcy. I wanted to feel safe, especially while I slept.
I’m not entirely sure what all transpired after the pedophile preyed upon me in my sleep. He apologized to my father, but not to me. He went to counseling for a while. He wasn’t jailed or ridiculed. His mother never knew what he did.
My mother decided to keep him. Their relationship continued. This was difficult for me to understand as a child, and it’s still difficult for me to understand as an adult. I suppose she didn’t want to be alone. I suppose she still loved him. I suppose, most of all, it was because she mimicked what she learned from her parents.
A terrible cycle
Mom’s Uncle Cy molested her when she was a child. It went on for years. Later, when her parents found out, her father said, “I ought to kill that son of a bitch,” but he did nothing. Her Mom said that she couldn’t shun Cy and welcomed him back into their home. It was her brother, after all.
The message Mom received was that it didn’t matter that she was molested. Life went on as usual and there were no consequences for the pedophile. He got away with it. There was no justice.
The message I received was that I wasn’t important. I didn’t matter. I was nothing more than an afterthought. The men in Mom’s life were much more important than her children. I felt neglected, abandoned, and unloved.
To make matters worse, Mom stabbed me in the heart when she brought Duane to my eighth-grade graduation. He stayed in the background, but I knew he was there. His presence overshadowed the joyful time I should have been experiencing with my family and friends.
Visits with Mom
Dad and Dora talked to the Department of Children & Family Services. An arrangement was made so I could visit Mom at her house as long as she had Duane leave for a few hours. Dora recently told me that Mom refused to make Duane leave. She chose him over me once again.
Visits with Mom occurred on the weekends at the mall or in restaurants. During the week, I missed her so much that it physically hurt. I cried myself to sleep many nights. I needed my Mom. I felt betrayed by her, but I still loved her.
During my freshman year, my Mom was in an accident at work. A huge hook came loose when she was on a scaffold and hit her in the face. She could have been killed. When I heard the news, I bawled and couldn’t sleep. I felt intense fear and separation anxiety.
Mom sent me cards and letters and I read them in my room. She brought me gifts for my birthday and I opened them on the front porch. Dad and Dora stayed inside.
My Dad became the enemy. He wouldn’t let me see my Mom as much as I wanted to. He wouldn’t let me spend the night at her house. I wanted to be back in my old neighborhood with my friends and cousins. So what if Duane was still there? He wasn’t going to try anything again. I wasn’t afraid of him.
Of course, Dad was right in not letting me stay at Mom’s. He was doing his duty as a parent to protect his child. Soon, his child became an adult and she wanted to reclaim the life she once had. No one was going to stop her.
Moving back to Mom’s
When I broke the news to Dora that I was moving back to my Mom’s, she ran out of my bedroom crying. I sat there, not knowing what to do. My mind was made up. I wanted to make up for lost time with my Mom. I wanted to be closer to my friends and my boyfriend. I wanted to party. Plus, I’d be attending a college that was closer to Mom’s house.
Duane wasn’t happy when I moved back. He wanted Mom all to himself. He was like a spoiled child. When they began dating, Mom was 31. Duane was 10 years her junior and 10 years my senior. In the beginning, we got along. We shared a love of rock ’n’ roll and we attended a concert together as a family. We had a family portrait taken and went to an amusement park for vacation. We also lifted weights together at a gym Mom and Duane belonged to. Mom taught me how to benchpress and do squats.
Over time, it became evident that Mom couldn’t focus her attention on me or my younger brother because Duane got jealous. When Mom tried to help me with my homework, Duane came in and literally picked her up and carried her off to the bedroom while she screamed at him. I hated him for hogging her. I hated him more for violating me.
Don’t tell me what to do
Now I was 18 and I had an attitude, but I had to install a lock on the inside of my bedroom door. I locked it at night when I went to sleep just in case Duane got any ideas.
My boyfriend Sam and I were drinking a lot then. One night, Sam, Frank, and I went to my house after a party. We walked in and Duane sat in the living room watching The Dukes of Hazzard, his favorite show.
Duane looked at me and said, “Get in there and do the dishes.”
“Fuck you!” was my reply.
Duane jumped up and began coming toward me. Sam and Frank ran into the kitchen and I ran into my bedroom and locked the door. I called my Mom at work. I was scared, but I was also angry. Duane picked up the phone in the living room so he could hear what I was saying to Mom.
“You better tell him to leave me alone,” I told Mom.
“Leave her alone, Duane,” she said. “She doesn’t have to do the dishes.”
Before I hung up, I went in for the kill: “By the way Duane, Mom has a new boyfriend.”
It was true. Mom met a new guy at work. They had been sharing notes and he wanted a chance to date her. She told me she wasn’t sure what to do. I helped her make up her mind and happily contributed to Mom and Duane’s demise. I finally got that SOB out of the house and out of my life. I didn’t have to lock my bedroom door anymore when I went to bed at night.
Mom married her new boyfriend, the wonderful man that became my stepfather for the next 31 years. He died two years ago and we still mourn the loss.
I’ve never mourned the loss of Duane.
Duane got married and had a son. He still lives in a nearby town and I’ve seen him a few times in the city. I stayed in the shadows; I didn’t want him to see me. About 12 years ago, Mom went to Duane’s mother’s funeral. He was surprised and happy to see her. When Mom told me that he asked about me, I cringed.
“Did Chevie ever get married?” he asked.
“No, she never did,” Mom said.
“That’s too bad,” he said.
