I’m standing in my back yard, among the tall trees, shading me from the bright morning sunshine. Down the street walks a young woman with long legs, wearing tight shorts, and absorbed in her phone as she walks. She’s a vision.
I stare. She can’t see me in the shade, on the hill across the street. I pretend to be picking up fallen branches, but really, my eyes are on those beautiful legs.
I know I’m a creep. It’s not a news flash: Old Guy Ogles Young Woman.
But I keep watching her until she’s gone.
Why am I writing about this? Who even cares?
Shame, that’s why. I was born in shame, as a Catholic baby. My earliest lessons: Don’t think too much of yourself. Don’t pinch your sister and lie about it. Never think about sex. And for God’s sake never touch yourself. Sex is for sinners.
When I was a young teen and masturbating “too much,” I was sure I was going to hell. When my friends joked about sex at lunch in high school, I kept quiet.
Years before high school, I had been molested by an old man, repeatedly, but I told no one. If it was sex it was a secret. I kept that secret for decades, until someone else started talking about it, and I had to admit the truth. I like to pretend it didn’t happen, but my brain has other ideas.
My brain: Look at that girl across the street!
Me: Nice!
Brain: Haha you’re just like [molester] now.
Me: Jeez, I didn’t think of that.
Brain: Yes you did.
I stand in my yard, in the shadows, surrounded by my trees, and involuntarily relive moments on a couch, in a bed, from more than fifty years ago. They’ve always been with me, and I have no say in that. They were inflicted on me by someone I’m not comfortable naming in public yet.
But as I’ve developed my writing voice again lately, this topic keeps waving at me: Tell that story. Get it out.
In “My Name Is Lucy Barton,” Lucy’s writing teacher says this:
You will have only one story. . . . You’ll write your one story many ways. Don’t ever worry about story. You have only one.
This feels like my one story. Or at least the one I need to tell before I can move on to any others. I’m not sure if I can do it, but I’m committed to trying, here, on this blog.
