by Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl (retail) (epub)
HIM: But maybe just a little bit?
ME: Well, I am taking power thanks to this project. So maybe I am a passive-aggressive Midwesterner.
HIM: No, that’s my job. [We laugh.] We can’t both do that.
ME: I mean, this project interests me because it’s complicated. The fact that I’m giving you a voice in it—that’s going to make a lot of women mad.
HIM: Because I feel like the natural reaction is: I’m supposed to be the irredeemable villain.
ME: The idea of the nice guy, though—
HIM: Nice guys are a total lie.
ME: A lot of times, when I meet a man, any man, I think—at the very start: Has this guy raped somebody? I hate that that’s my thinking.
HIM: But it’s a reality too.
ME: You mentioned that the assault changed the story you could tell about yourself. What is the story you would tell about yourself?
HIM: I don’t know. I don’t know how to articulate this.
ME: If you were writing a brief character study of yourself—
HIM: Yeah. I mean, I was a real asshole. Maybe slightly reformed. [Server checks on us.]
ME: Would you have ever expected this?
HIM: Of myself when I was, say, sixteen?
ME: Yeah.
HIM: No. I mean, I think I thought I would have been better than this. And wasn’t. Yeah, I think I thought of myself as the exception to most of the rules. In some ways, like I said, the rules didn’t apply to me. I used to—it’s not comparable—but like, the petty theft. I pirated anything I could get my hands on, just to say that I did, online. I don’t know. It was just, after that happened, I don’t know. I hated myself for it for a long— [His voice trails off.] I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
ME: You mentioned that you’d thought that maybe I was so drunk that I’d forget.
HIM: I almost feel worse about thinking that—
ME: That I’d forget?
HIM: That it would just go away.
ME: But that’s an honest answer. I want honest answers. I appreciate your honesty. Is any of this helpful? I wish you well.
HIM: Well, thank you.
ME: You are trying to make it up to me. So that’s why I feel able to forgive you. The fact that you agreed. It demonstrates—
HIM: Something. I guess I’m just glad that you’re getting something out of it. That part is helpful to me.
ME: I think that some men—usually the perpetrators are men—feel genuine remorse, and some men don’t. The ones who don’t, sometimes they seem like they feel remorse. They manipulate to get sympathy. But when somebody really seems to feel genuine remorse and tries to make amends, I think it’s important to recognize that, to not completely dismiss it. It’s like with prisoners.
HIM: This project is my rehabilitation. [We laugh.]
ME: I’m not saying we shouldn’t punish men—again, they’re usually men—for sexual assault. I’m worried that a strain of conservative thinking is entering modern feminism. This zero-tolerance policy: No matter what, he’s banished. Away with him.
HIM: He is a bad guy and we put him in a warehouse for fifty years.
ME: And I don’t think that’s always productive for society.
HIM: I’m not, in general, interested in zero-tolerance policies.
ME: One thing I found hard when writing my first book: I thought of us as close friends, but the only appearance of you—
HIM: Well, to be in the book for more than that—I mean, it’s a book about your dad. It’s a book about a lot of things.
ME: As a writer, you have to make decisions. You can’t include everything. But you also can’t force the narrative into some tidy plot. And that’s why this project, why it’s so complicated. Like I said, I’m also writing about my good memories of us. You were a supportive friend.
HIM: I’m happy you can still think of me in that way. That it didn’t completely crowd out all of those memories. Because it did for me for a long time.
ME: Crowd out the good memories?
HIM: For a long, long time, it had sort of shrunk down our relationship to just: we were friends and then I did this horrible thing and then, the end.
ME: It scared me when you couldn’t send me five good memories right away. I worried I’d misconstrued the friendship. But overall, it’s been really helpful to me, this project. How are you feeling about it?
HIM: Anxious. But I’m anxious about everything.
ME: Is there anything I haven’t asked that you think we should discuss?
HIM: I feel like you’ve been pretty thorough.
ME: I’m just now remembering one of the questions that I left back at the hotel: After our first conversation, where did you see this going? This relationship going.
HIM: I really wasn’t sure. To be honest, part of me was just glad to hear from you. And then, I felt—I felt—I spent about the three or four days leading up to that first phone call just in full-blown existential dread. And then I was just kind of distraught afterwards. Which I think I sent a couple pictures. But—I don’t know. I was really not sure where it was going after that first phone call. And I was very nervous about it. I felt quite a bit better after our second phone call, which I felt like we were able to hit more on how you were feeling about it. [Server brings check and I grab it.] Do you want to split it?
ME: No. I ordered more drinks than you did. I’ll get it. You can get tomorrow.
HIM: Okay. I feel like I win that deal. [We laugh.]
ME: So you felt better after the second phone call.
HIM: Yeah, and part of that was just—because I had been up, either the night before or the day before—I had read your book in one sitting.
ME: Selfish question: Did you read the print copy or the Kindle?
HIM: The print copy.
ME: Okay, good. [We laugh.]
HIM: I’m not an animal. [We laugh.]
ME: Okay, that makes me feel better. That’s actually been on my mind. But it’s one of those questions—
HIM: That you feel ridiculous asking. [We laugh.]
ME: Yeah. Because the formatting is slightly off at times in the Kindle—like, there’s not enough white space between the chapter openings, those sort of meta sections, and the chapters themselves. And anyway, print books, they’re such a better experience.
HIM: But yeah, I had read it in one sitting, shortly before we spoke. So I was not in a particularly good place. Which is fine. I feel like I keep saying stuff and then I have no idea where I’m going with it.
ME: That’s okay. We’re talking about a hard subject. [Server takes credit card.] Where do you see things going now?
HIM: I don’t know. It’s kind of like you said: friendship between men and women is hard in the best of circumstances. Obviously, we’re never going to be in a relationship. I would like to stay in contact, but also I’m bad at that.
ME: I have a few close male friends. But when you and I became friends, we were so young. [Server brings back receipt for me to sign.] What was I saying? I don’t remember. Oh, but yeah, friendships. I don’t think it’s impossible for men and women to be friends. It is hard to—sorry, I need to figure out the math here.
HIM: So as not to accidentally tip her two dollars?
ME: I tend to overtip out of a fear of undertipping. My bank has called me on multiple occasions to ask: Did you mean to leave a 40 percent tip? [We laugh.] Do you think participating in this has changed any of your approaches to—do you think you’ll make any changes? [Server comes back, takes receipt.] I think they really want us to go. [We laugh.]
HIM: Since she’s over here every three minutes. Maybe we should leave and talk outside.
ME: Okay.
HIM: Is it obnoxious to say that I think of myself as a feminist?
ME: No. I don’t think so.
HIM: Or at least attempt to be?
ME: But I mean, do you think your friendships—
HIM: I don’t know. If you’re asking, Do you think th
is handful of conversations is going to be the miracle cure and I’m going to have the normal happy life? I don’t realistically see that. But it’s been good. To get some of this out in the open.
ME: Do you think you’ll talk about it with anyone else?
HIM: I seriously doubt it. I mean, where do you start with something like that?
ME: Therapy? [We laugh.]
HIM: I guess. But how do you start that conversation? You’re in a slightly different position in that regard. I did this awful thing to you. Who wants to hear about my side of I-did-this-really-awful-thing?
ME: For enough money, a therapist would— [We laugh.]
HIM: Yeah, for a couple hundred bucks an hour.
ME: I told my therapist, Maybe I should look up therapists for Mark. And my therapist said, No. No. Mark can go do that. And I said, Maybe there’s sliding scale. And he said, It’s not your job to find him therapy.
HIM: You’re trying to fix things.
ME: Yeah, I guess so.
HIM: I’m comfortable being broken.
ME: Okay. Let’s head out. Let me stop this. I have this fear that it didn’t record any of this.
EVENTUALLY, I’LL JUST STOP THINKING OF HIM
I draft a list of post-Mark-conversation resolutions:
1. Stop letting men talk over me.
2. Disagree vocally when I disagree mentally.
3. Stop volunteering to do more.
I meet with Jung and Molly at the restaurant where we usually meet to discuss our writing.
The last conversation I had with Mark, I tell them, he said that his parents would be really happy to hear from me. That’s strange, right? I think it’d drive me nuts to say hello to his parents and not explain why I disappeared.
Maybe he wants to get caught, Jung says.
Or, maybe, Molly says, he actually believes that you’ll keep what he did a secret.
If I get in touch with his parents, I say, and pretend as if the rape didn’t happen—for me to behave as if it never happened, it tells Mark that he can pretend it never happened.
I’m impressed, Jung says, that you’re able to stay focused on this. I’d be too angry.
I feel sort of angry, I say. But it’s as if I can’t hold on to it for long enough. I think the project is actually getting in the way of that.
Walking back to my house from the restaurant, I think that if the guy who raped me in New York photographed an abandoned factory to demonstrate, to me, his tortured conscience over raping me, I’d be annoyed. Angry, in fact. Furious. But because I’m constantly thinking about plot elements and metaphors for this book, Mark’s photographs become useful—to the project, anyway. Processing my feelings is hard to do authentically—because the project, the thing I intended to get at the truth, is getting in my way of understanding my feelings. And writing about this material, I feel compelled to turn off my emotions so as to remain focused.
But this book also gives me some sense of control. I can take charge of the material. I can include and cut what I want.
As if reading my thoughts today, Mark shares photos that he took from a hot air balloon. He explains in a text: My mom wanted to go on a hot air balloon ride because it was a bucket list thing for her, so I tagged along and took these. It was kind of a fun challenge to visualize shots in real time because obviously you don’t have any control over where you’re going, so you can’t chase perfect frames too much.
So we went from an abandoned factory to a hot air balloon? I take it he’s feeling better. I put on the mood ring and agree with its conclusion: I feel unsettled mixed emotions.
I email Mark a release form. The publisher needs it, I explain. Mark signs it and emails it back within a few hours. He doesn’t ask to read the manuscript.
We arrange to talk this weekend. But then a few hours later, he cancels. He’s not feeling well. I don’t really need to talk with him.
But I want to know: Will he ever tell his parents?
If Mark tells them that he raped me, then maybe I really could move on. I like to think that someday he will tell them. He’ll hand this book to them and say, Mark is me. And they’ll read it and understand why I disappeared from their lives.
Instead of describing to my mom what Mark did, I’ll hand her the finished manuscript—because how do I even begin that conversation?
The semester starts in a week. I’d like to spend my remaining summer days—the next year, really—revising this manuscript, teasing it apart sentence by sentence, ensuring the stressed syllables outnumber the unstressed, stuff like that. But the temptation to censor my thoughts and feelings in the revision process is too strong. So instead of revising what’s here, I revise my Writing Creative Nonfiction syllabus. I add a section about sexual assault resources.
I text Mark again, ask if he can talk. He replies. He says yes.
I skim the transcripts and realize I never asked him if he’d been sexually assaulted. How did I miss that?
So I call him, one last time.
. . .
ME: You said that your parents and siblings would be really happy to hear from me. The idea of my reaching out to them. I’m curious to know where you think that impulse comes from.
HIM: I think it’s that we were all friends, and my parents loved you. They loved all my friends. And that doesn’t really go away. As much as it’s counter to my interest of not having to live with this with the rest of my family, they would, I’m sure, love to hear from you.
ME: Do you see how that would be hard for me?
HIM: Right. I guess there’s an element of, Is he not getting it?
ME: Yeah, that is what I’ve been thinking. Also, I’ve been wondering if—does some part of you want to get caught? Because you’ve said that it feels good to get a lot of this off your chest. And when you said that it would destroy your relationship with your dad, part of me—I didn’t say this at the time, but part of me didn’t, doesn’t, think it would. A lot of parents love their kids regardless. You see the parents of murderers still support their kids.
HIM: You’ve got a point there. They would still love me. But it would irrevocably alter our relationship as opposed to destroy it.
ME: Okay, and then the other part of me, the one operating under the assumption that you don’t want to get caught, that part of me thought, It’s strange that he thinks I would be able to have a conversation with his parents—I don’t know. That I could compartmentalize in that way. Because I couldn’t. That’s why I fell out of touch with them. And I can’t—I can’t imagine having a conversation with them.
HIM: Yeah. I guess we’re a family of not really talking about the things that are bothering us. You internalize that. Our whole family dynamic is piles of passive aggression.
ME: You know, I had a nightmare about this the other day. I was at your house. I was in the front room with your parents, and you were watching me talk with them, and they were asking me what I was working on, and I felt awkward. I lied, said I was writing poetry, and you looked happy, and, I don’t know. I understand recounting one’s dream can be pretty boring for the listener, but whatever. [We laugh.] I love hearing people’s dreams. So anyway. I went for a tour through your house and the rooms had been moved around. But my most vivid memory of the nightmare is how happy you looked, and how uncomfortable I felt. Talking with your parents took so much effort. And, okay, going back to our conversation at the café, you mentioned that you don’t think your mom would hold it against me now. And I’ve told you, several times now, that I feel really bad about falling out of touch with them. I’ve been afraid that they held it against me—because I just kind of disappeared.
HIM: But I mean, that happens. It’s happened to most of my high school friends.
ME: But I would have rather disappeared for some other reason. So when you mentioned that you didn’t think your mom would hold it against me now—did she hold it against me?
HIM: Not that she ever said to me. I don’t think she has any ill feelings toward you.
I mean, I’m sure she would have taken my sister’s side in whatever dispute you two had.
ME: Right. The thing about the Fulbright fellowship.
HIM: I mean, God, it was what? Fifteen years ago?
ME: I just wonder, if Amber really told your sister what had happened, like you said, then is that partly why your sister ended her friendship with me? Was it too hard for her to acknowledge what you did to me? It was so weird. She cut me off because I suggested she apply for a Fulbright teaching fellowship?
HIM: That is a line of reasoning that is totally in keeping with my sister. I’m willing to believe that it’s just that. She’s always been hyper-defensive about intelligence and achievement and stuff. I think she’s sometimes felt pressured to be more academic than she feels comfortable being.
ME: Okay. Well, the main reason I called was to follow up on your suggestions to reach out to your parents and siblings. To ask your sister what she knows.
HIM: I guess the other part of that, there’s some of—I’ve been trying to be conscious of not attempting to control what you’re doing with this project. To my mind, if you needed to talk to my sister—
ME: I was surprised that you’d think I could reach out to any of them. That is the thing that’s been really hard for me. I didn’t like disappearing. It was really hard to never talk to your family again.
HIM: Yeah. It’s an understandable act of self-preservation at that point.
ME: Partly, yeah, it was self-preservation. But also, I was afraid of seeing them and crying and then it coming out, what had happened. Really, I was protecting you. It sounds like you don’t think you would ever tell them.
HIM: I mean, I can’t say I’m planning on it.
ME: I’m not asking you to. I just wasn’t sure how to read the suggestion, which is why I’m following up on it. And okay, and now another big question that I thought I had asked you: Have you ever been sexually assaulted? Did I ever ask you that?
HIM: You haven’t asked me. But if you’re curious, no, I have not been.
ME: Okay, it was one of those questions that I thought to ask you way back and apparently just never did. Okay, so those were the big questions, really big questions I recognize, that I wanted to ask you.
