Ambiguity

This is a dream. Finally after a month of nightly, vivid dreams, one comes that startles me to realization. I haven’t addressed it yet; I was raped. It was four years ago this Halloween.

I am in the living room of the house where I live. In my dream my husband David is away to drill in Salina for the weekend. His friend is visiting, sitting on our futon facing me as I stand in the doorway to our storage room. He gets up to get a drink from the kitchen. As he walks past me I feel his hand grab and tug on my ass, rounding out the back of my stretchy blue jeans. He keeps walking but he calls over his shoulder,

“I like that ass.”

I stand where I am, feeling awkward but oblivious as to a way to communicate some boundaries. I easily decide to let it go. As he returns to the room he half-turns me around to face him with a hand on my shoulder and half-steps around me and then wraps me into a desperate, throbbing embrace. His hands press into my clothes and traverse across the back of my body and he grinds against me. When his fingers rise to touch my neck I speak,

“You should talk to me about this, ask if you can kiss me. I am able to make a decision about doing this with you.” He has paused for a moment and I think he might listen, but he does not. He continues to grab at me.

He is pushing me toward the bedroom but I am fighting against his direction. We come to struggling in the open front doorway of my house. With both my hands I break some of his fingers that are on my leg. He doesn’t wince, doesn’t whine. I think of the crowbar just by the coat rack but then I remember this is David’s friend. What can I do to him? I feel my lighter in my pocket and say,

“Listen, it didn’t have to be this way!” I hold the lighter in my grasp, “I have been raped before and I will destroy you!”

With that my left hand grabs his face, my thumb in his mouth and hand wrapped around his jaw. I start the flame against his lips. Now he is fighting to get away from me, but I will not let go of his face. I hold the lighter tightly and although my fingers hurt I take it across his eyes.

I do not remember that he ever made a single sound during the assault.

My phone beeps and vibrates with a message from my friend during the next scene, waking me up. In my dream he had been cleaning out his locker at school where the hallway is completely deserted but for us. I find myself apologizing to him as he walks out and then I feel incredibly alone.

Then, as I stutter awake, silently thanking my friend for texting me, I feel devastated that David might already be in formation at drill before realizing he won’t leave town for two more hours. He will be home from class in fifteen minutes. I sift through my disorientation and walk into the living room, then into the dining room to sit at the desk.

Ten minutes pass before I jump and shriek as David’s keys rattle against the door. My whole body tenses as I fear it could be someone other than him. But David walks in and walks to me, holding out a postcard. It is a postcard from a friend whom I had lunch with two weeks ago after five years of separation. When he places his hand on my shoulder, I tell him I had a dream about rape. As he makes a sound of empathy I finally let my body relax.

“I burned his face off and then I apologized.” Now these are emotions I haven’t been able to identify yet. In this realm my self becomes indistinct. I sense a hint of revulsion at myself for not taking a stand at the very beginning, but then I am willing to apologize at the end for my fight to survive? What the hell?!

I am coming to the conclusion that there is no blame for me, as much as I am still trying to find it. Me, I am the sort who asks for forgiveness in the end after I have destroyed you for threatening to destroy me. And me, I am the sort who will always blame myself for the handful of ass you grabbed. And me, I will stop in the middle of it and think of who you are, even though you never listened to me. Someone will say you deserve to die. Someone will say you deserve to live. Well me, I don’t decide things like that. I don’t get to have a decision. Remember? You didn’t give me one.