You never want to be the person who admits to being raped twice, but I’m that woman. It was at college and I was a virgin. The assailant’s family had a lot of money and were well connected. He was never prosecuted.
The second time, I blamed myself because who gets sexually assaulted twice? But after a time I decided to exorcise the demons and wrote a monologue about it. It was my only way of explaining my story. MY story. My thoughts, my experience. It’s okay ’cause I’m okay. And I’ll always be okay. I’m a comedian.
I was never an active participant in my earlier life. I am now, but back then…driving home from a friend’s house. Listening to the DOOBIES, man…jammin’ out, I wasn’t thinking about anything but my favorite song on the radio. “China Grove” blasting made me happy. I had an ice cold Dr. Pepper in the cup holder, my favorite summer outfit on…
Funny the things you remember when you’re trying to forget.
I was in a Subaru hatchback. Not a high-end vehicle. Not even a cute car.
It sorta looked like a suppository. I’m stopped at a red light.
It’s summer time.
For once it’s a perfect summer night in New England. The air was balmy and sweet…only 75% humidity– better than the normal 100%.
My windows were down. The moon was up…stopped at a red light, taking the long way home.
I felt something cold at my cheek. Felt the weight of a shadow on me. A man.
A gun. I heard the passenger door open just as I remembered that I hadn’t locked it.
The other gun was in my ribs before I could think…or speak…or gun the car like on TV.
Or scream, right? Women always scream in the movies. Well, I don’t have that ability.
I’m not a soprano. I’ve sounded like Selma Diamond since I was 7.
Besides, there was no need for them to tell me NOT to scream.
I wasn’t afraid of dying- I know that sounds crazy, but I was 22. I was concerned that I was way past curfew and we were a one car family.
I didn’t need the grief from my newly divorced, hard working mom.
They crammed themselves in. It seemed so ridiculous. I mean, it was a hatchback! Part of me wanted to laugh, but the part with the guns pointed at her told the idiot comedian to shut up and drive.
So, I drove.
They directed me to a park near one of the colleges. I lived in a college town.
This was an Ivy League crime.
This was what I was thinking. I was out of my mind.
“Get out the car.”
Their broken English and my fractured Spanish frustrated them and did little for my morale, but they were nothing if not determined.
They stayed the course; although they did pause to snort what I assume was cocaine.
They shoved some at me. I declined demurely: “No, gracias.”
I may have even smiled sweetly.
I dropped my car keys. They didn’t notice. In movies when one is struck upon the noggin with the butt of a gun, they are rendered unconscious. Nothing could be further from the truth in my case. It hurt like a sonofabitch but I wasn’t knocked out.
I was like DeNiro in ‘Raging Bull’: “You never knocked me down, Ray”
I was shoved to the ground. One of them pinned my shoulders with his knees.
Looking up I noticed that he had a little hole in the crotch of his trousers. His underpants were white.
He smelled of laundry soap and Drakkar Noir and he spit when he spoke to me, trying to force me to look at his friend, Javier.
It was crazy. My shoulders hurt. But I was silent…sullen, even. I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg them. I felt such strength in my silence…like maybe they were afraid of ME.
I was clearly delusional.
Shoulder guy—let’s call him #2, he unzips his fly. It was the first time that I had seen an uncircumsized penis. It reminded me of littleneck clams. I clamped my lips shut like an 8 year old refusing liver.
He slapped me. For some reason, I started laughing. I didn’t even notice Javier sliding my shorts down.
He was experiencing performance anxiety. I couldn’t stop laughing.
They took offense. # 2 placed his gun in my mouth. I could taste metal and salt.
Javier slapped me.
They got slap happy, but I wasn’t scared. I was pissed.
Get it over with. Kill me, if you want to, but enough with the slapping.
#2 stood up and I took that as a positive sign.
Then he and Javi exchanged words. All I could glean from it was a reference to both my vagina and my anus.
I felt something hard and cold–speculum cold, inside me. A gun.
For cryin’…they clean guns with oil, don’t they? I’m gonna get a nasty infection.
This is what went through my head. I’m not really focused on death or what might be perceived as the “big picture”. The devil is in the details. Nothing made sense. Nothing mattered.
Javi was really enjoying himself, urging me to take it all. Talk about projection.
It’s a gun, dude.
#2 was getting worked up himself. This was exciting for them.
I was out of my body. Waiting. Watching them.
#2 pushed Javi aside and tried to force himself into me. He was semi-hard.
It was comical and sad. I kept scooching away. It’s what I could do.
Javi was laughing and sweating. I closed my eyes and went away, Javi’s sweat hitting my face.
When it was over, the sun was rising and the town was coming to life. There was dew on the grass.
I hadn’t noticed time passing. My cheeks were wet. My eyes burned.
Had I been crying? Wow.
Javi kissed me. I vomited, impolitely.
I said- “Lo siento”. I said, “I’m sorry” in Spanish, so they’d understand me.
What the FUCK, man?
They ran to the car to drive off, but they couldn’t. No keys. I dropped them, remember?
They ran back to me. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, just like Max from “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”
Where are the keys? “Yo no se nada”
I was ready for a beating, but it was worth it. They just looked at one another and started cursing at me, calling me a whore.
Yeah, well sticks and stones may break my bones but you could never fuck me.
It was nuts. I was insane. It didn’t matter.
I vomited again. I stood up and pulled up my panties and shorts.
There was blood. I hope it’s mine.
HIV. Cross contamination.
Gotta get tested. Pick up some Monistat-just in case…that gun oil…better safe than…
The coke saved me. I’m anti-drugs so I felt a surge of pride.
I was nuts.
I walked to where I had dropped the keys and started my drive home.
They’d ripped my favorite t-shirt. Sonofabitch.
I was exhausted. I was in a daze.
I had survived. Forget that, I had prevailed.
They didn’t get what they wanted. They didn’t take me away from me. I was beaten but I was also angry.
I’d kept the car. And I lived.
Some time after, I was diagnosed with PTSD. That angered me so I searched for Javi.
I didn’t prosecute. What can he do from a wheelchair?