Almost raped

I had a memory bubble to the surface in the wee hours this morning.

These memories make me tired - they are more of the same theme.  Yes, my parents were assholes.  Yes, my childhood was a lesson in endurance - enduring time, pain, depression, physical abuse, loneliness, ostracization, etcetera lather rinse repeat.  But bubble they do, and even though each one just piles on the facts of the case, on top of the already loaded fact shelf (so to speak), I need to take them out as they get here, and examine each one.

Because I never know what triggers these memories.  And it is likely something in my present-day life, my under-brain is niggling me to HEY!  pay attention!  this could apply! so maybe if I keep writing I will get there...

{Scooby Doo Flash Back Music}

I was 10-years old in this picture.  I was TINY.  Imagine how small I was at 7.

(p.s. I was clean here, but that's because there was going to be a picture.  I NEVER had my hair brushed or had clean legs, always scuffling around by the railroad tracks and scabby knees - nobody groomed me until picture day.  These were probably new clothes.  Those were my usual Van's tennies, but clean socks.  Where did that barrette come from?)

I was probably 7.  Second grade.  Very Young Indeed.  Saturday afternoon.  I was riding my banana seat bike around, alone.  I was ALWAYS alone, even by 7 this was by choice.  I didn't know how to be around other kids and I was always trying to quiet the scrambling chaotic rats in my brain, from being yelled at/going to get yelled at/was already yelled at. (I'm all kerfuffled even writing about that feeling, it's the same feeling as after a party and I have to go lie down too much sensory overload ugh)

I had ridden aimlessly *deedle dipple doodle la de dah* all the way over to Palmyra elementary school.  (Where my dad had enrolled us the previous summer for softball (go, KITTENS!) but never. ever. went to a practice, they never drove us over - the four youngest sisters had to ride our bikes there every week and we gave zero fucks about sports, I had never held a bat or even SEEN ONE before then.  I hated sports, I was uncoordinated so I was laughed at and the other sisters were on other teams so I was isolated at a school I had never been, with kids I had never seen, with coaches who had never seen me, with equipment that had never occurred to me (a MITT? on my HAND?  wtf?  how do I catch a ball with THAT?  oh, I see, I catch it with MY FACE.  huh.), and nobody on the sidelines who knew who I was, what if I had gotten (seriously) hurt?  what if I had actually caught a ball? - typically awful memory there).  anywhoozle:

THIS Saturday, I had no agenda, just Get Out and Stay Out Of The House like every weekend, so I made my way over to this school, through 1960's suburbia,  to see if I could find it on my own.  (I just google mapped it - it's only 1.5 miles from our house, but it seemed WAY farther.  I'm guessing my size/age had something to do with that).  There I was, on the deserted playground, in the grass on the swings (near the monkey bars!).  Noodling around in my head, just sitting there.

A group of like 5 boys comes into the scene.  Kids always travel in packs (besides the freaks like ME), and this group was 8? 10? years old-ish.  Typical boys, on bikes.  Loud, laughing.  Hang-10 tee shirts, Van's tennis, etc.  We start talking and I go over and hang on the monkey bars and laugh and it was all just fine, a day in the life.  Just fine.  Until it wasn't.

I dunno if I was being too friendly - too chatty.  I had learned some skewed behaviors when I was in Florida, and inappropriate flirting with males was just ONE thing.  Something had made me suddenly REALLY register on the collective radar of that pack.  The change was sudden, at least to me.  And they started circling me.

(no, not excusing THEM with MY behavior.  But it was all very Lord of the Flies - they were very young too.  We had no social clues.  Remember, this was 1968 - the age of Seen and Not Heard.  Kids only learned social behavior of adults at cocktail parties and from our older siblings in basement rec rooms - not a great way to learn respect) - (at least, I hear that's how kids learned about societal norms.  My parents never, ever had people over.  We never had family barbecues.  We NEVER met any of dad's "friends".  I learned in Florida, and then from Charlie Brown cartoons).

They started circling me.  And cat calling.  And talking about sex.  Rubbing my arm.

It was getting ugly quick.  Make no mistake about it - this was going to be a rape, in the dirt, and I knew it.  (I already knew what rape was.  What penis penetration was.  What forced sex was.  Yep, Florida must've been a great place).  These boys - there was something in the air, egging them each on.  Individually?  probably just your average lost-front-tooth 8-year old, getting-sorta-chubby 10-year old.  But as a group?  They practically had war paint on and sticks in their hands.

I was backed up to the swings.  I was on the ground.  I remember fighting VERY HARD with my feet and legs - I was in the dirt under a swing.  I got away.  More like, they let me go.  Probably because I fought so hard - there had been no previous plan to find a 7-year old girl and rape her - I actually even doubt those boys ever formulated the word 'rape' but yeah, once it started the older ones at least knew what was going on.  There were lots of grabby hands and yelling and struggling and scuffling.  Then it was over and I was running to my bike and gone.

I rode my bike home.  It was getting on toward dinner time anyway - the street lights were about to come on and that was the Bat Signal that your ass better be in the house.  I just shrugged it off.  In the time it took me to ride my bike home, I calmed myself down and filed the memory away and just went on with everything.

I never told anyone.  Why on EARTH would I tell my parents?  I had been too far from home.  I had no way of knowing who those boys were - they all looked like Bobby Brady or that kid from 'Flipper' to me.  I never had 'neighborhood boundaries', but I know I would have gotten in deep shit for being so far from home (the irony there, oh it hurts).  It would have been my fault, and I would have gotten in big trouble.

I would have gotten YELLED AT, probably grounded <--(worst punishment ever, meant I had to stay at the house fuck me) and possibly beat.  Even if I HAD gotten raped, I know I wouldn't have told anyone.

I have no idea how I lived through my childhood.