Skip to main content

A Trip Down Memory Lane, Pt. 1

My life has been humming along quite nicely. But something happened to throw a wrench in my beautifully laid plans. To help you understand it, I need to take you back...

The year was 1992. I was a music major in the second semester of my first year. I had a room by myself in the poshest dorm on campus, and all was well in my world. I had great friends, and I wasn't doing too badly in my classes. In fact, I was an active member of my church choir and the gospel choir on campus. As a result, I wasn't really going out a lot...mostly to gigs and hanging with my peeps. As far as guys were concerned, there wasn't anyone special. I had given up all my playthings to dedicate my life to Christ. And while I did get caught slipping on occasion, I made it a point to get that under control with a quickness.

There were a couple of guys in my classes that kinda caught my eye, though. They were commuter students, which meant they didn't live on campus. One in particular took two classes with me...class piano and music history. Even though he wasn't exactly my type, there weren't many folks who looked like me around, so we tended to gravitate to each other.

One day, he asked if he could come by my room after class. I didn't mind because I knew he didn't really have a spot to relax on campus, and I had a room to myself. He came by, and before I could get my bearings, he was making moves on me. I wasn't too worried about it because we were in my room alone...what else was he to do? After that happened a couple of times, I told him that I couldn't let him come by anymore because he'd be detrimental to my Christian walk. He was cool with it, but he made it a point to tell me that he'd catch me slipping one day. I didn't think anything of it.

Fast forward a couple of months. It's Greek Show weekend. While that was a highlight for most students, I didn't go. To me, it was pointless for me to spend my hard-earned $8 on something like that. Instead, I turned in for an early night.

My phone rang at 1:30 in the morning. I was knocked out, but I answered it because in those pre-Caller ID days, you couldn't know who was on the line prior to picking it up. It was Commuter Boy, wanting to stop by for a visit. Since it was after curfew, I decided to go to the gate and meet him. I was in the process of finding something to wear when someone started banging on the door. My suitemate was also my Resident Assistant, and the last thing I wanted was for her to wake up and find a man at my door. So I quickly got up, let him in, and got back in the bed. I did that to cover my state of undress.

He sat on the bed, and started trying to kiss me. I wasn't completely opposed to that, and since I still wasn't fully awake, I let him. What happened next was a scene out of the world's worst nightmare. He positioned himself on top of me to get a better angle. I laid there with my legs closed so he couldn't get too close. He said, 'Open your legs.' I still laid there closed. He said it again, but with more force. 'OPEN YOUR LEGS!'

Even though we were in my room, and the RA was right next door, I got scared. He was bigger than me, and I didn't know if he'd been drinking. In hindsight, I guess I should've screamed. But I was afraid I'd get in trouble for having a man in my room after curfew, so I was quiet. And I opened my legs. And I let him have his way with me against my will. I cried the whole time.

When it was over, I asked him, 'Why did you do that?' He told me that he liked me and was just expressing himself. I was like, 'Couldn't you have bought a Hallmark card?' I tried to make him understand how horrible it was, but he didn't get it. I said, 'How would you feel if someone did this to your sister...or your mother?' No response. He left.

I was never the same. On the outside, I was cool, but something inside of me died that night. I never reported him because I knew that the first and only question that would've mattered was, 'Why did you let him in your room in the first place?' Let's face it...rape is the only crime where the victim is punished.

Another reason I didn't report it was that I didn't want him to get in trouble. A rape case would've meant he'd get kicked out of school. Even though I was hurt, I didn't want to take his future.

And that was that. I went about my life and he went about his...until this past weekend. I'll continue this post later...


JB said…
Oh, I just started following your blog and, well, I wanted to know the rest of this story and it never showed up!

I have empathy for you. It's a horrible experience and I guess I was hoping you heard that this guy was dying of syphillitic dementia in a high-security prison. You know, how justice should prevail and the story should end happily. Most of all, I hope you learned not to blame yourself.
MackDiva said…
Aww...JB, thanks! First of all, I appreciate you following me. I'm humbled that you'd be interested in my musings. And please forgive me. I got busy and didn't think anyone would care. Now that I know you do, I'l be writing the second half very soon. Hold tight...I got you! :-)
JB said…
Hey, no rush, but I was curious.

Yup, I like your musings. They read well and you make me curious about what's going to happen next. Hopefully, the writing works for you somehow, like opening your windows for a bit on a snowy day.

Popular posts from this blog

MackDiva at the DNC

Even though I've never been a political person by nature, I attended the Democratic National Convention in Denver this week. For me, it was a chance to actively participate in a historic moment. Of course, it didn't hurt that there were parties galore and men for days, but we'll have to talk about that later. :)

Anyway, I have to say I've never been more moved in all my life. Being in Denver exposed me to a whole new world, and I loved it. It was wonderful to see all those Black men in suits. Whether they were legendary or just legends in their own minds, they walked with a confidence and swagger that brothers in baggy jeans and Timbs could never duplicate.

Plus, I loved being around progressive people who don't just talk the talk. They actually walk the walk. These are folks who want to make a change in their communities, and take the necessary steps to do so. While public service and civic duty have never been aspirations of mine, I was glad to be exposed to it.



There's something to be said about getting older.
Your knees ache. You may get winded walking stairs. Your hair gets gray everywhere -- and I do mean everywhere. You start having hot flashes, and you realize that miniskirts may not be for you anymore.
There is a beauty in getting older. You don't wonder about certain things because you've experienced them. You look at young girls and you want to tell them not to worry, but you don't because they think you don't know what you're talking about. But you do. Because you, unlike them, have experience.
I think about my friends who didn't make it this far. Camille, Toni, and Stacy won't get to know the joys of the aging process. They won't get to age out of watching sports because the players are young enough to be your sons.
Don't get it twisted. I thank God for every day of 48 years. I do. But sometimes...I miss my youth. Just sometimes.

To Be Loved...

I would give anything to be loved. I would give anything to be the object of someone's affection. I would do my level best just for someone to care about me.

I really would.

Right now, I am so hurt. I feel like no matter what happens with me, I never can seem to make the connection that brings me to where love finds me. And while I try to make it look like it doesn't matter to me, it so does. It's all I ever think about. And I try my very best not to be consumed by my pain. Most times it works. But sometimes I get here...where I just want to be loved.

Inasmuch as I'd never kill myself, I know why people do it. It's hard to live a loveless life. But here I stand. I am trying to hold it together. I really am.