26 Years Ago…

SA Trigger Warning

It amazes me the things our bodies hold on to. The fact we may not mentally remember, yet our nervous system and subconscious mind are holding on tightly. The remember. They activate at triggers… smells, tastes, feelings, dates.

It’s been 26 years since that awful night. I don’t think of it often. I try not to think of it ever. It’s the little things that bring it back… Noticing a bottle of Yukon Jack behind the bar. The crunch of leaves under my feet in the dark. The smell of fall. Seeing one of “them” in public. The feeling of sheetrock. Puking. Voting booths. Boones Farm Strawberry Wine shit. Police Cars. Statement Papers. Driving by where the house was or the old police station.

Sometimes it’s a brief memory. Fleeting. Quick. I push it backwards and it goes away. Other times it’s an entire scene that plays out in my head. It’s every detail on instant replay. Like it’s happening all over again.

I haven’t dealt with this in therapy. I’m not sure I can. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

They’ve tore down that house. Maybe they knew the evil that was in it. The things that happened to a scared, young girl. Things that never should have happened. Things that were left unsaid and should have been said. Charges that were never filed and should have been.

I was 14. 14 and mostly alone in the world. Freshly kicked out of my Grandparents. Just trying to fit in, trying to make friends, trying to learn how to live in a world that I was totally naive about. I thought I knew it all. I knew nothing.

Today I was fine. Then I’m just sitting here. Crying. Why. This is stupid. Trying to work, trying not to cry. I type the date again. It’s November. Then suddenly I’m brought back to that night. Vividly. Like every other year. November 2nd. Today was the last day my life was “normal” 26 years ago. The last day I didn’t know about the true evil that lurked behind friendly faces. Behind people I genuinely thought were my friends.

November 2nd.  I hate that date. I hate it every year. I hate it anytime I think about it. It’s the date everything changed. The date I lost me to a new me official. The date my alcoholism began and eventual other addictions. The date I lost my light and was filled with darkness.

I hate the two “men” from that night. I hate the “adults” that didn’t pursue this further. That just let it go. I hate my mom simply looked the other way. Like nothing happened but me.

I’d wrote a poem back then. I don’t fully remember it yet parts of it are engrained in my brain: As I watch from the wall, I can see it all. The determination he makes, the way her body shakes. I can hear her soft cry, her plea to just die. See her scared, blank stare, yet he doesn’t care….

There was a whole page. Yet, that’s all I remember.

I was 14. Now I’m 40. I still live with these memories. The before, during, after.

Being given the Strawberry Boones Farm and then told to mix Yukon Jack with it. Just give it a shot. It’ll make you feel great. I wanted to fit in. So I did. It burned. It was gross. I hate whiskey to this day. We drank both those bottles. I feel like I drank the most. I don’t remember anyone else being fall down, puking drunk. I was 14, 115 pounds and drinking as much as 3-4 adult men.

Shane. The schizophrenic. He just wanted to know my blood type when they left me alone with him to go buy another bottle and pick up Kristen. He still obsessed over my blood type when they took Kristen back home. Why didn’t I go home when Kristen did? Because they said to stay. Because I was cooler than her. Because I could get away with more. I should have left. Then. Really I never should have went. Why did Shane care about my blood type? Obsessively? Who knows. Because he was Shane. He was creeping me out. I know he was in his late 20s. I should have been creeped out anyways. I was worried he like wanted my blood. Eventually they came back from getting more alcohol and dropping Kristen off. Then they made Shane leave. I didn’t like Shane then, but I wish he’d of never left. Maybe he’d of said something to save me. Maybe they made him leave knowing he was crazy but would speak up. He’s crazy but he’s not a psychopath like them.

I was 14 years old. 14. These guys were old enough to buy alcohol, drive cars, live alone. Old enough to know better.

I remember Jesse telling me it was time. Kidding me. I thought he liked me. Then he said he was going to initiate me into KOS. Okay, cool? What’s KOS? It’s a gang. The new gang he’s bringing to town Kappin’ Off Suckas…. Are we killing people I ask as that’s what Kappin means. Right? No, not today. That’s because on this date they were just killing my soul. Later, he’d say the KOS tattoo he’d put on my body stood for “Kind of Slutty”. Later when I wanted nothing to do with them after that night.

What do I have to do? To be a part of your gang? To be a part of this family as you call it? He then showed me. As he forced me against the wall. The unfinished, sheetrock wall that scraped my back up. Forced my clothes off. Forced himself inside of me. While he told me he wanted me to get knocked up and have his baby. He’d been telling people for weeks he wanted me to have his baby – I thought it was sweet. I thought he liked me. He didn’t. He just wanted to use me. To mark me off like a victory. I can smell him. Feel his breath against my hair as he says this. I was fucking 14 years old Jesse. How in the hell can you want to knock up a CHILD?

He was bigger than me. Stronger. I remember realizing there was no point to fight it. He was going to do whatever he wanted. Instead I zoned out I guess. Waited for it to be over. Feeling like it would all be okay once he was done. Jokes on me. He was done. I was getting dressed. Trying not to cry. When I heard him tell Bobby it was his turn. His turn? No. No. No. I thought you liked me? You don’t share people? wtf?

The panic. The fear. You share with your brothers. And this is part of being part of KOS. You don’t have a choice. Remember? Oh. Yeah. I don’t remember much of this. I think it was too much. Maybe it was that quick. I simply remember Bobby laying his nasty ass leatherish 49ers coat on the floor and telling me I could lay down. Then it was over. What happened it between. No fucking idea nor do I want to know.

As I walked out of that room – drunk, battered, bruised and soulless I’ll never forget the look in Jesse’s eyes. He told me it was Tim’s turn. No. Then my initiation would be over. Please no. Tim thankfully refused, telling Jesse he’d wait for another time, he didn’t feel up for it. I thank God for Tim. He couldn’t stop it all but he stopped what he could. They gave him shit. He stood firm that it was over and they were leaving me alone. I still didn’t go home. By this point the large amounts of alcohol had kicked in. I then remember sitting on the washing machine while they tattooed KOS on my arm. A tattoo I’d later cover up that year with a broken heart. To stay my heart shattered that night would be an understatement.

After that tattoo I began to puke and puke and puke. So much puke. I was so sick. The guess was I puked from Midnight to 8 am when the police came looking for me. I wish I’d of went home when Kristen didn’t I’ll always wish that. Tim held my hair while I died. Then the knock on the door when I’d finally dozed off. I tried to leave. Hurry up Jesse says, you can’t get caught here. I head out the backdoor just to get picked up by the officer waiting.

I can’t remember the officers name. I remember he was kind. He gave me crackers while I puked on the police station bathroom floor. He gave me statement papers to write. I told him I couldn’t. He told me I could as there was no good reason a 14 year old girl was with those men. I maintained I couldn’t. I was part of KOS now. I couldn’t betray them. I felt like only he cared. My mom was just pissed and wanted to hurry up and get me to school. Other officers were simply annoyed and just wanting to give me my MIP and send me on my way. This guy tho. He truly wanted to help. I took a breathalyzer and blew a .089. I hadn’t drank in over 8 hours. The kind officer asked if I realized how drunk I’d been if it had been that long and that I’d likely had legal alcohol poisoning. Yeah, I can feel that. Which means you couldn’t agree to anything that happened. Whatever. Will you tell me? No.

Now, now I wish I’d of let him help. I wish I’d of told him the truth. The awful things. I didn’t tho. Maybe because I was still in shock and denial. Because I thought it was my fault. I chose to go to that house. I stayed alone with them. I put myself in that situation. I blamed myself. For years. It wasn’t until the last few years and a lot of work I realized it wasn’t my fault… I didn’t ask for it. I was a fucking child.

Jesse ended up in prison eventually for assaulting another girl. She was 12 or 13. Even more of a child. He’s lucky he got only one charge as there were numerous young girls. Sometimes I wish we weren’t beyond the statute of limitations. I’m brave now. I’d speak out. I’d tell him how I feel. Hell, if he reached out I’d tell him how I felt. Once upon a time he reached out. When I was still young. I haven’t heard from him since I was old enough to know what he did was wrong. What he did was illegal. What he demanded others do wasn’t okay.

Tim went to prison right away. He got violated. That made me sad. He was my only saving grace that night. It could have been worse. So much worse.

Bobby – I don’t even know. I feel like he also ended  up in trouble for random shit. He moved away. But he came back. I run into him sometimes. My kid hangs out with him in the racing world. I hate him. Yet, I don’t fully blame him. He too wanted to fit in. Be accepted by Jesse’s “gang”. What he did was wrong but I feel like he was coerced also. So while there’s hatred and anger there isn’t as much.

Now, 26 years later – I’m still traumatized. I still have flashbacks. I still live with the memories and pain of that night. I feel like I’m slowly making progress though.

Maybe next year will be even better. Maybe every year will be better. For now, I’m going to go focus on work and not replaying this in my head for the next 3 days. Not replaying every moment and what I was doing on this day 26 years ago at this moment….

It’s amazing how the nervous system and brain remembers. Forever. Yeah, I need to deal with this in therapy. Obviously. Not now though. Someday.