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Abstract

table, and he was the one who sneaked barely legal into every other sentence as if it were the funniest thing on earth. He was the husband to a lady I’d befriended in church. She was one of the coolest women I’d ever known. She showed me photos of her in the 80’s flaunting purple hair, neon green Mohawks, and other crazy hair-dos I’d only seen on TV.She was also witty, kind, and unique. I loved her, and I loved her kids who I took care of in my after school childcare job. We were building a wonderful friendship. She was in her late 30’s, and as a young woman, I would have significantly benefited from her mentorship.My mom and dad had taken off to Texas for another of Dad’s many jobs, and I was home alone with my younger siblings. I was having car trouble, and my friend and her husband picked us up for church one evening.Their car was a bit snug for three teens plus their two adolescent boys, so my brother and I held her children on our laps. My friend sat on the front passenger’s seat while her husband drove. I sat behind her with their youngest son on one knee.<figure id="031a"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*g2zCz51JSui6pXEH_TT4Yg.png"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>My friend’s husband draped his hand over her shoulder but behind the headrest. He slowly lowered it until his fingertips touched my bare knee. At first it seemed to be an accident. I was uncomfortable but I just moved my leg away

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as much as I could and said nothing.He moved his hand back to my leg and lowered his hand more until his finger grazed there. Then he began to rub my leg softly, moving up my shorts.I sat frozen and didn’t say anything. No one could see what my friend’s husband was doing. By the time we reached the church, he’d grazed the crotch of my panties but moved his hand quickly.<figure id="a5a6"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*g2zCz51JSui6pXEH_TT4Yg.png"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>I never told my friend. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I was also unsure of myself. Had I somehow misconstrued what happened? I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing.I vanished from my friend’s life because I knew her husband would do something like that again, and I couldn’t let that happen. I faded away from the church as well and joined my parents in Texas.Last year I heard that my friend died of cancer, and I felt a pang of intense guilt for not telling her. I lost my friend as soon as I chose to remain silent, but I always imagined someday sharing what happened.Now that opportunity is gone.I tell this story to every young woman and girl I know. My teenage niece and I imagine her experiencing a similar, circumstance and she practices what she’d say. I learned a lesson that I’m sharing with a new generation, but the cost was much too great.</article></body>

My Friend’s Husband Touched Me, and I Never Told Her

How growing up in rape culture keeps us quiet about our assault

It was 1990 something, and I had been 18 for a few months. Everywhere I turned, I heard barely legal whispered, sung, and even yelled at me. Does every young lady get to wear this label as soon as they turn 18? I remember a website that counted down the day until the Olson twins hit the big one eight.

I wanted to be an adult and treated as such. The label, barely legal, seemed to mean I was a kid in disguise — a fantasy for older men. I thought that I was too old to feel uncomfortable about sexuality. So whenever someone brought it up — I ignored it, chuckled uncomfortably, or quickly changed the subject.

I spent a lot of free time working with my church. It was a small church with a lot of young people around my age, and I enjoyed most of my fellow church-goers.

Only one of them made me steadily uncomfortable, and he was the one who sneaked barely legal into every other sentence as if it were the funniest thing on earth. He was the husband to a lady I’d befriended in church. She was one of the coolest women I’d ever known. She showed me photos of her in the 80’s flaunting purple hair, neon green Mohawks, and other crazy hair-dos I’d only seen on TV.

She was also witty, kind, and unique. I loved her, and I loved her kids who I took care of in my after school childcare job. We were building a wonderful friendship. She was in her late 30’s, and as a young woman, I would have significantly benefited from her mentorship.

My mom and dad had taken off to Texas for another of Dad’s many jobs, and I was home alone with my younger siblings. I was having car trouble, and my friend and her husband picked us up for church one evening.

Their car was a bit snug for three teens plus their two adolescent boys, so my brother and I held her children on our laps. My friend sat on the front passenger’s seat while her husband drove. I sat behind her with their youngest son on one knee.

My friend’s husband draped his hand over her shoulder but behind the headrest. He slowly lowered it until his fingertips touched my bare knee. At first it seemed to be an accident. I was uncomfortable but I just moved my leg away as much as I could and said nothing.

He moved his hand back to my leg and lowered his hand more until his finger grazed there. Then he began to rub my leg softly, moving up my shorts.

I sat frozen and didn’t say anything. No one could see what my friend’s husband was doing. By the time we reached the church, he’d grazed the crotch of my panties but moved his hand quickly.

I never told my friend. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I was also unsure of myself. Had I somehow misconstrued what happened? I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing.

I vanished from my friend’s life because I knew her husband would do something like that again, and I couldn’t let that happen. I faded away from the church as well and joined my parents in Texas.

Last year I heard that my friend died of cancer, and I felt a pang of intense guilt for not telling her. I lost my friend as soon as I chose to remain silent, but I always imagined someday sharing what happened.

Now that opportunity is gone.

I tell this story to every young woman and girl I know. My teenage niece and I imagine her experiencing a similar, circumstance and she practices what she’d say. I learned a lesson that I’m sharing with a new generation, but the cost was much too great.