This was the date that my life (not to mention the lives of the participants mentioned within) was irreparably changed.
Some
time around 7:00 in the evening, my friend Jax (17 at the time) was
laying on her belly in the middle of her parents' living room floor
doing homework. Neither of her parents were home and her sister was
living in the city closer to university at the time. She heard the
front door open and rolled half on her side to figure out who it was.
The man was fairly tall and was wearing something on his face - she
wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it was covering his features.
She
figured it was Clarke, as it was not unusual for him to be arsing
around ... and Jax's place was "the hangout spot" in our neighborhood.
We lived in a very small place. Everybody knew everybody. My aunt and
uncle owned the convenience store across the street from Jax's house.
Very few people even locked their doors at night, and everyone in our
group knew how to gain access to most houses in the area in the event
that someone did. It was these very factors that allowed the intrusion
... without alarm. She scoffed at him and told him to 'fuck off, (she
didn't) have any cigarettes' as she rolled back onto her belly to
continue her math.
He
was pulling her off the floor by her hair and jamming the muzzle of his
gun into her ribs before she realized this was not any of her friends.
Dragging her through every room in the house, he ripped each and every
phone (including the jacks) out of the wall. No chance for arousing
help. Are there any more? He barked the question into the side of her
head. She shook her head side to side, the shaking of her legs making
it hard to remain standing. An awful thought occurred to her. She
remembered her father had recently hooked up a phone in the laundry
room, located in the basement. What if Mom or Dad called home to check
in? What would he do to me if it rang? She tried to open her mouth to
say something, but found no voice.
The
finite details of what happened next are vague intentionally, out of
respect, out of complete disgust ... out of not possessing power over
enough words to describe the horror. He bound her hands with a coarse
rope that burned through the skin on her wrists leaving open gashes
that took weeks to heal. He raped her. Repeatedly. Such a short,
seemingly harmless group of words. The physical acts were heinous,
violent, degrading ... sickening. Not that she would have been able to
vomit. She was threatened with her very life against that. But it was
the lingering fear that did the real damage.
Before
he left her, he tied her ankles with the same rope. Left her naked,
face down on her parents' couch. He whispered in her ear before
disappearing into the night ... soft, almost apologetic: thank you. The
sound of that in my mind (to this day) causes the hair to stand on the
back of my neck and that hot strain of utter disgust to burn through my
shoulder blades.
She
laid there for likely an hour or so. Not daring to move. She was in
shock. To pass the time, she sang. 'When the dog bites, when the bee
stings, when I'm feeling sad ...' for over an hour, getting louder with
every round ... Naked. Bound. Afraid to move, but equally afraid of her
father's reaction when he walked through that door and saw her. I was
at my house, less than a five minute walk away. Hanging out my bedroom
window, smoking. Had the road not had a bend in it, I would have been
able to see into her front yard. She later told me she was screeching
the words to the song by the time her parents arrived home to find
their youngest daughter in the aftermath.
The
next morning, as I walked to my school bus stop (at the convenience
store), two things hit me pretty hard. No Jax, and police tape
encircling her house. My heart stopped. I wanted to run across the
street. See what had happened. Comfort my friend. I could easily see
that was not likely to happen. Police had descended on the house like
ants on a candy apple. In and out of the doors, in the driveway, around
the yard ... It was surreal. Jax's parents' vehicles notably absent...
maybe it was just a break in and they were staying somewhere else. But
... wait. Jax would have been home last night. The low, dull pain in my
belly began to grow - ever slowly.
The
day at school was like slow motion. There were rumors flying all over
the place. Nobody really knew anything for sure, but in hindsight -
there was a remarkable amount of accuracy to those rumors. I was nearly
frantic by the time I was called to the office ... to the phone. It was
Sally, the woman that cared for my sisters while my parents worked. She
was actually a cousin of Jax's as well. She informed me I was not to
come home on the bus. That she was on her way to pick me up. She told
me I would be able to speak to Jax later that evening on the phone, but
first I needed to speak to Jane from S.S.A.V. Save? What's the hell is
save?
The
moment that passed between my asking the question and Sally answering,
was the last of my childhood. I didn't know it then. I had no real idea
how all of what was happening would affect any of us.
"Service
for Sexual Assault Victims". Before I realized what had happened, I was
bum first on the floor of the principal's office. I don't really
remember sliding to the floor, only that I was there. The secretary was
hurrying toward me, arms flapping like a disgruntled goose. Sound
stopped. I don't recall actually doing it, but I must've gotten up and
walked down the hall to the girls bathroom. I vaguely recall vomiting
and then perching myself on the edge of the commode and dissolving
into tears.
In
the weeks following the attack, Jax slowly came to purge herself of the
offenses perpetrated against her. She could not talk to her parents
about it at all. This was my job. I never left her side. Not for a
minute. I slept with her, stayed home from school with her until she
was ready to start attending again. I missed almost all of the second
term of grade 10 (as did she). She was my only job. My only focus. She
got a lot of counseling in the following months. Her grandparents
bought her a fully trained doberman pincher, aptly named "Angel ". Her
family had all measures of security and so forth installed. Slowly, she
started to allow herself to relax slightly. Eventually, the time came
for her to go back to school. I was stuck on her like a body guard. I
had never known the kind of ferocity a mama bear could have when her
cub is in any danger. I certainly learned that in hurry.
There
were good days and bad ... and when a bad day came, I was excused from
class to drive home with Jax. Some nights (after I started sleeping at
home again ... weeks later) I would get a call in the middle of the
night and hear Jax's terrified voice on the other end of the line.
Nobody else in her house awake, she turned to me to lull her to
sleep... or talk her through the dark. I used to tell her silly made up
stories until dawn broke.
Finally,
in April - they caught the son of a bitch. Turns out he raped 18 other
women (that we know of) during a period of time in which he was on
parole for another sexual assault charge. A serial rapist. We learned
through the investigation and subsequent trial that he had raped
another woman not far from our community and forced her 4 year old son
to watch. The item he had worn on his face turned out to be his three
year old nephew's (I think) tee shirt. The child had apparently been
left in the car alone during Jax's attack. Of the 19 women we were
aware of, only six agreed to testify in court. In the end, it was only
Jax and the "mom" from the neighboring community that didn't allow the
defense lawyers to shred them on the stand. Two, out of 19.
I
did not attend the trial. She didn't want any more 'publicity'... and
asked everyone to stay away. I was the only one of her friends that
actually listened to her. It nearly killed me, but I respected her
wishes. I didn't witness it, but I was so proud of her. She was a rock!
She stared that wolf of a lawyer straight in the eye and recounted the
most horrific moments of her young life - all while he attempted to
discredit her at every turn. Things she could scarcely whisper to me,
she then had to recount for the entire community, her friends, busy
bodies and her shocked and horrified parents to hear. It turns out that
while the 'alleged' rapist is innocent until proven guilty, it is quite
the opposite for the victim.
Someone actually said
during the trial that it was a damned good thing Jax was a virgin prior
to the attack. I'm not so sure THAT wasn't the most abhorrent part of
the entire ordeal. What in the holy hell could that possibly mean?
Getting brutally raped, at gunpoint, by a serial rapist could somehow
have been her fault? Even if she was the loosest girl in the country, I
don't see how it could have been any less HER fault. It was
heartbreaking.
The
trial was merciless. The rigors etched deep worry lines in our faces.
All of us torn apart by the uncertainty. She was terrified for her
life, and the lives of her family that he would not be convicted. He
told her he'd kill her, her sister, mother and father if she tried to
find him. He had been watching her house for months prior to the
attack. Ironically, it was this fear that kept her so strong. He was
convicted of 6 counts of sexual assault and assault with a deadly
weapon. He was sentenced to somewhere around 30 years in prison because
the judge had the good sense to make his sentences consecutive.
We
are approaching the 21st anniversary of that night. He has tried three
times to be granted early parole. Three times, we have managed to block
this from happening. It is really only a matter of time now, before he
gets his day in the sun... though I'm not entirely certain he'd make it
all the way to the end.
Jax
doesn't live in the same province anymore. She married her first love.
He is the only other man that has ever touched her. Everyone moved
forward from that day ... left foot, right foot ... repeat. I developed
an all encompassing case of agoraphobia the following fall. It
eventually forced me out of school. I didn't understand why at the
time, but later learned my pubescent mind just couldn't process what
had happened and as soon as Jax didn't need me so much anymore, I
started to come unglued.
Until that night, our world
was very simple. We lived in "Mr. Roger's neighborhood". A place where
my bud, Clarke could gain access to my bedroom via my window at any
time it pleased him. A place where I walked the street between my house
and Jax's most nights of the week ... in the dark - alone. Somewhere
that parents didn't worry about leaving their teens at home alone, save
the fact they may get into their own brand of mischief. Nothing would
ever be the same for a single one of us.
Twenty plus
years later, I don't dwell on this so often anymore. I usually try to
forget January 11th on my calendar. I haven't spoken to Jax since she
got married - several years ago, now. I know how she is ,as I am close
friends with her sister, but our friendship died a very long time ago.
Something more painful for me than any of the other events spoken in
this post. She was my best friend, my cub. I loved her like family.
I guess in the end, I was too much of a reminder for her.
