Why You Shouldn't Skip School or How I Lost My Virginity

It was a good day to cut school. The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky. The air was warm, but not muggy. Being in a river valley, St. Louis tends to have air thick enough to swim in. I decided to walk to N's bus stop instead of mine that day. If I got out of the house early enough, I'd take her bus. I got to walk past run-down victorian homes with huge windows and cute little turrets. I would always imagine living in one of those architectural wonders someday. I had dreams of buying a whole block, and returning them to their original state. I was a 15 year old kid, so functional obsolescence was not a part of my vocabulary.
I met N at her bus stop, and she was deep in conversation with another friend. T had a new boyfriend, but she wasn't sure she could trust him, so she was looking for someone to check him out for her. N and I happily volunteered for the job. Everyone in my neighborhood had skipped school at least once to spend the day with a friends' boyfriend or girlfriend. This was called "checking them out". It was a way to keep your friends from getting involved with someone not worthy of them. Never mind that you were putting your own self at risk. You checked out their dates, and they checked out yours. It was part of the South Side Code.
We hid behind some bushes when the bus came, then wandered around looking for something to do until N's mom left for work. When the coast was clear we headed to her house. N lived in a section 8 townhome, and if we weren't great friends I would have been jealous. Her mom paid $64 a month for a thousand square feet of sheer luxury. They had 2 bathrooms and own washer and dryer! We made breakfast, watched some tv and then headed out to the boyfriend's place. Along the way we ran into Joyce. She had actually graduated high school, and I idolized her for her common sense and maturity. She decided to come along with us. She thought it was a bad idea for two adolescent girls to go to a strange boys apartment.
G lived over by Roosevelt High, so we had to walk across several grassy medians to get there. I always look at the grass when I walk across it, and I spotted a four leaf clover. I stopped, and thought about picking it, then decided to let it be. Perhaps the mutation would spread, and the next spring would see a whole median of four leaf clovers.
G invited us in and offered us beer. N and Joyce each had one, while G and I opted for wine coolers. He was hispanic, that was a surprise. We didn't usually date other races, but, to each her own. His hair was thick and glossy, and he seemed reasonably fit. So far, so good. The apartment was cleanish, I didn't see too many roaches... he even rolled a joint for us. Pot smoking was one of those ways you could get acquainted with someone. I took a puff every time it was passed to me, even though I didn't care for the effects. Joyce was doing it, so it must be ok. I thought. I was already tipsy, and now I was stoned on top of it. Joyce and I went to sit in the living room, while N stayed to chat with G in the kitchen.
Some time later, I went looking for them and found them smootching in his bedroom. That was unacceptable! You don't kiss on your friend's boyfriend! I knew N was drunk and stoned, and therefore she couldn't be held responsible for her behavior. I broke them up saying, "Hey, why don't you guys come into the living room. Or do you expect us to entertain ourselves?" I pretended not to notice her smeared lipstick or flustered appearance. She dragged me into the bathroom and thanked me for stopping her. She didn't want to lose her virginity to this guy, and she was afraid she would have. we left the bathroom and found G kissing on Joyce! N said "Huh uh! You're supposed to be dating T!" and dragged him by his hair off of her. We decided it was time to go home. G decided to tag along. I don't know why we let him, but we did.
We headed back to N's house, me drinking wine coolers the whole way. They were so tasty! We chatted as we walked, all of us acting like nothing had happened. The conversation turned to sex, and I stated that I was a virgin. I was saving myself for the right time. I chattered on about how I would know when the time came, and that I hoped I wouldn't be stupid enough to lose it to some guy at a party. I guess G took that for an invitation.
When we got to N's, she went upstairs to plug in her curling iron so we could fix our hair. I decided to sit downstairs with Joyce. I wasn't about to leave her alone with this guy. I thoroughly distrusted him at this point, so I played watchdog while N did her hair. She returned, freshly moussed and curled, and I turned the guard duty over to her. I just wanted to get away from him. I went upstairs to N's bedroom, and started curling my bangs. G came up the stairs and stood in her doorway. I felt like a trapped rabbit. I said, "Excuse me." and tried to squeeze past him. He pressed me against the door jamb and kissed me. I shoved him away and went into the bathroom, and he followed me. "Smooth move, Ex-Lax!" I thought. I was not stuck in an even smaller space than before. Something clicked in my head and I started poking him in the chest while berating him for his attitude. The poking caused him to back off, but he was blocking the stairs, so I returned to N's room. My plan was to lock the door and wait him out. I wasn't fast enough. He was in the room and closing the door before I could react. I sized him up, and decided I could get to the door and scream before anything happened. I'd look like a fool, but I wouldn't be trapped anymore. It was a fair trade.
I grabbed the door handle and he spun me around and pinned me to the door. I went to shove my knee in his balls, but it didn't work. He stuck his tongue down my throat and pulled down my jeans. God he was quick. I didn't know what to do. My usually agile mind was blank. I pushed on his chest and said, "No!" The next thing I knew, I was falling toward the floor with him on top of me. I thought, "Oh, God. He's going to rape me." He was still french kissing me, so I bit his tongue as hard as I could. He pulled back, and I thought for a second that he'd go away, then I saw that he was going to punch me for biting him.
Visions of other rape victims flashed through my head. I saw their brutally beaten faces, and heard some anchor man saying, "Most victims of rape are brutally beaten for resisting." And I froze. I just kind of dropped into shock and didn't move as he penetrated me. I was stuck in my head, thinking odd random thoughts while he did his thing. I wondered where my underpants had gone to. I considered the rug-burn I was getting on my back, butt and thighs. I worried that N would see the blood from my broken hymen on her carpet, and tried to imagine cleaning it up before she saw. I replayed the whole day in my mind. Seeing points where I could have stopped this in little flash-clips of memory.
...If I had taken the bus...If N's mom left for work late...If I had picked that 4 leaf clover... Then he was done, and kindly re-buttoning my jeans. He smiled and offered me a hand up off the floor. He said, "That was great, wasn't it?" then, "How do you feel?" I got up and said, "You raped me, how am I supposed to feel?" He at least had the decency to blush. He said, "I didn't rape you." And I replied, "Yes. You did." There was an uncomfortable pause, then I stated, "I told you no. You didn't listen. I bit your tongue and you raped me." He responded with, "I pulled out before I came, so you don't have to worry about getting pregnant." I coldly thought how ironic it was that I had gone on the pill a month and a half earlier, because one day I'd want to give my virginity to my boyfriend, and I wanted nothing to stand in my way.
I wasn't angry, I wasn't weepy, I was just numb. I looked for something good in the situation. Mom taught me that every bad has a good to go with it. She also taught me to be polite under any circumstances. I searched and searched, and found only one thing. I said to him, "Thank you. Now it won't hurt when I have sex with someone I love." After that he left the room, and I went back to curling my hair. I needed to finish curling my hair. I needed to look normal. I needed to wake up and feel something. When my hair was done, and I couldn't stall any longer, I went downstairs. That bastard was still there. I was 15, I was skipping school, and I'd been drinking. I couldn't go to the police. If they don't jump out of the bushes at you, is it still rape? I knew in my heart that it was, but would the cops see it that way? I felt displaced. My friends sat there having normal conversation with my rapist, and they didn't know what had just happened. There was no sign that I had just shed the last piece of my childhood.
I sat on the arm of the sofa, feeling a squishy bruised wetness in my vagina. Nobody had ever told me that sex was wet. I wondered where all the wetness had come from. It didn't feel like a period, it felt like slug slime. I watched my friends joke and laugh, and joined in while silently wishing G would just leave already. He stayed for an hour and a half. I kept debating whether it was rape or just sex-I-didn't-want-to-have. I wanted to laugh out loud because I had thanked him, but it wasn't funny. Nothing was funny.
When he finally went home, N said to me, "Well? What did you think of him?" I said, "He raped me."
Joyce stared, and N laughed one short bark of laughter. I just looked at her as the truth dawned on her. Her eyes grew round and she said, "Oh my God, you're serious." Then I cried. I told them the whole story, crying the whole time. N scavenged up some vodka while Joyce held me and let me cry it out.
They walked me home in silence. The sky was still a beautiful bright blue, the air was still pleasantly warm without a trace of humidity. The world around me was still the same, but I could finally see how run down and crappy my neighborhood was. There were no more gemstones in the gutters, only broken glass. The setting sun didn't light up the buildings with it's rosy glow, it made them bloody. I wanted it to hurt, and I still felt nothing. The sun was too bright because my pupils were dilated from shock.
It took a couple of weeks for me to get back to normal. The shock wore off after a few days, but I still needed to put the event in it's place in my head. I told my boyfriend what had happened about 3 weeks afterward. He broke up with me. My friends called him up and told him what kind of scum he was, so he came back and told me he would "forgive me". Excuse me? Forgive me for what? Going into shock? His arrogance really helped snap me back to myself. I had a choice. I could mourn 15 minutes of my life forever, or I could get over it. I chose to get over it.

For those of you who've been there, you know that's not as easy as it sounds. I acted like I'd gotten over it, until I finally had. I had flashbacks for years. A look, or a scent or a texture would send me back; and I would lash out at my partner, then cry all over him. For a while, I let myself flash back. I used it as a litmus test for my boyfriends. If they responded appropriately, I'd keep them a while. If they weren't understanding, I'd ditch them. All that ended when I befriended JW. He heard the story from his girlfriend, and pumped me for information. JW actually found G. He told me he knew where the bastard was, and asked me what kind of revenge would be appropriate. Oh, yeah! I'd been planning this one for 3 years!!! I listed the tortures I had imagined for him. JW said that could be arranged, and he would even pay for it. It wasn't right, a great girl like me getting raped. Then he said, "Of course...They'd have to kill him afterwards. They can't do all that stuff and let him go."
I recoiled from the thought. How could I ask for his death, when I not only lived -but thrived? Nope. It was time to give up my desire for vengance. Although there's a secret part of me that still hopes a truckload of men anally violate him some bright sunny day.