Story continued from last issue:
“You’ll like the hotel where I booked you. Order whatever you want. It’s the suite where I put up our VIP’s.”
I was still on his last words . . . “She was drunk and I raped her.” It was the heat. It was a vocal mirage in a treeless desert. It was the sweltering of my whole
brain.
But, then he was continuing from the preceding lines. “I knew she was a virgin. We were at a Catholic school.” Not a mirage, and not an oasis. “I
got her pregnant. I paid for the abortion. I took care of it.” There, he said it.
I say nothing. I am in the passenger seat of the car of a rapist. I
am wearing my seatbelt. I am firmly affixed to his vehicle. I now wonder if he moved 3000 miles away from the divorcee or his victim.
He is extra brave, bold. He has the
windows down, causing him to speak more loudly. His confessional is more public along the California road.
I hear about 10 stories of rape at every school I visit.
From all genders. And, then sometimes, the story is from the rapist in admission of guilt. And so now I’m left wondering if this VP will start enforcing the policies he’s broken himself.
Each month, I’ll share snippets, stories, and slices of my journey as an educator, activist, author, speaker, and survivor. By Katie
Koestner.
