TW: Sexual Assault
“I was eighteen, nearly finished with high school, riding the bus home from the Goethe Schule. Four years earlier, I was proud of the uniform with the large ‘G’ that meant I was growing up. Now, even after shortening the skirt just a bit more than the school allowed and tailoring it for a tighter fit, I still felt marked as a child.”
“I got off the bus I took from school next to a railroad line. Our home was on the other side of the tracks, and I had a choice. I could either walk the half kilometer each way to a crossing or take a shortcut through a break in the fence to cross the tracks. Even though I always promised Mutti I wouldn’t, that afternoon I took the shortcut.”
“I was just through the underbrush when someone grabbed my arm and spun me around. A well-dressed, middle-aged man had followed me. He could have been any affluent porteño (Buenos Aires resident), no different from one of my friend’s fathers, except for the pistol.”
“He told me to be quiet, or he’d kill me.”
“I had seen someone die violently. It’s still my worst fear. I imagined a piece of lead tearing into my body. I would fall to the ground, my blood spilling out. The world would turn gray, and I would be dead. I started to panic when a strange calm settled over me, and I told myself I would do whatever it took to survive.”
“The man pulled me deeper into the underbrush and reached under my uniform. As he groped me, I told him that I was having my period.”
“He swore and said he should take me from behind. Instead, he unzipped his trousers and told me to start sucking.”
“I did what I was told. When he was finished, he zipped up his pants and said, ‘Stay here for ten minutes and take care. I know where you live.’
“Ten minutes later, I ran home. The police were no help, suggesting that I caused the incident by wearing my school uniform too short. And why was I even there? Everyone knew that putas (prostitutes) worked along the railroad tracks.”
Vivian’s cheeks were wet with tears, and her arms were crossed tightly in front of her. She snuffled, and I handed her my handkerchief. Blowing her nose, she continued, “For weeks, I saw him in every middle-aged man on the street. I began to wonder if the police were right. Maybe it was my fault. What if he came back? He said he knew where I lived. Would I ever be comfortable with men again? I finally decided that no man would ever control me, not even in my thoughts.”
Vivian snuffled again, blew her nose, and said, “I guess I still have work to do.”
I would have taken her in my arms, but I sensed she needed space. Words felt either trite or empty, so I said nothing. After a few moments, I offered her my hand. When she took it, I said, “I’m so sorry this happened. You know you’re still my strong Vivian.”
Her face went blank as she scanned mine. Like that Saturday afternoon at the café when I asked her out to dinner, it felt as if she were trying to figure out who I was. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
She finally said, “I’m hungry.”
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