I thought I was done writing about this, but last week's prompt at the online group wrung this out of me. It still hurts.



NO CONSEQUENCES

He did not want any consequences, he made that clear to me every time he touched me. The first time I remember I was ten.

Actually he made that clear afterwards. “Don’t tell anybody. If you tell I’ll lose my job.” He made me promise, say the words, “I promise.” Then he’d be all happy again. We’d go out to lunch and I could order anything I wanted, even a vanilla milkshake.

He never mentioned jail as a possible consequence. I don’t think he even considered it as a possibility. Like he was too good for that, such an upright, law abiding citizen.

I never told, but when I was forty, the neighbor’s twin girls told their mother and my daughter, and she told me.

I went crazy for a while. I wanted to kill him. It was like it was happening to me all over again. I drove up to my parent’s house and started screaming. He kept backing away from me and saying, “I should just kill myself.”

“NO!” I screamed, “I just want you to STOP!” My mother actually threatened him with divorce if he didn’t get some counseling and stop molesting young girls. It was a relief for me to hear her finally admit his sickness.

The neighbor lady tried to prosecute him, but the statute of limitations had run out. So she walked the neighborhood and told…everyone…what he’d done. My mother was outraged at being persecuted by the neighbors and tried to get me to sympathize. I told her to shut up among other things.

Two of the neighbors sold their houses and moved and it all blew over. He died without ever having to pay for what he did. Not with his reputation or his wealth. So I guess he got what he wanted. Except for the fact that my sister is certifiably nuts and I’ll never have a relationship with a man as long as I live. Except for that. No consequences.