Pickup trucks, VW Buses, Smart Cars, and Maserati’s were snug together, as if close friends. Forced contact resulting from finite minutes to complete the LA commute.  An awkward menagerie of diversity sweating all over the freeway.

The windows were down, letting in dust and heat. I was sticky. The first drivel had moved down my right thigh. 8 minutes until I’m fully committed to the pleather seat.  I wondered if his air conditioner was broken but didn’t ask.  

“I moved 3000 miles to get away from her.”  He looked toward me as he spoke, not fully completing the 90-degree rotation. The Vice President of Student Affairs had picked me up from the airport to drive me to my speech. Sexual assault awareness week and Take Back The Night.  My chauffeur did not seem to mind that he was over-qualified for his current task. 

I had met him on the East Coast five years ago and had been to speak at his prior institution five times. 

He’s telling me about his ex. I ask if he has found someone new yet.  He was only in his forties.  Quick with banter and astute with analysis. He said maybe. They’d only been out once so far. 

Then: “How do you enforce a policy you’re guilty of breaking yourself?”  Pause.  “It wasn’t wrong back then.”

I look at him now.  Full rotation of face and neck, but not my shoulders.  My shirt was wet.  The guy in the BMW next to us in the traffic has air conditioner.  His windows are up.

“She was 18.  She was drunk. And, I raped her.”  I heard him.  I don’t think I moved.  He self-confessed what he had done over 20 years ago.  That part came out faster than I thought he could talk.  Like a half of a single breath. 

Each month, I’ll share snippets, stories, and slices of my journey as an educator, activist, author, speaker, and survivor. By Katie Koestner.