Missing Pieces

By Sara Davidson

I don’t remember much, not just of that night, but in general. It’s not that I’m confused about what took place, or how it made me feel. It’s that the night was a blur, a puzzle missing pieces for the longest time. I do remember, however, that my feelings that afternoon and my feelings that night couldn’t possibly be more opposite. It’s a night that I couldn’t remember, but now it’s one I will overcome.

I was fifteen years old and a sophomore in high school, trying to figure out life. I was finally touching my feet on solid ground and putting painkillers, Smirnoff, and razorblades behind me. There was snow on the ground and Santa on the mind of everyone in Meridian, Idaho. I was passing classes, loving my friends, and adoring my boyfriend of the last year; it seemed to me that life couldn’t get any better. I had done my shopping, gotten treasures to give away, and it was almost time to show everyone how much they meant to me.

Every Christmas Eve my family traveled the twenty-seven minutes it takes to get to the side of Boise that my great-grandma lived in. Every year we pulled up to her old yellow house with orange monarch butterflies perching on the side. This is where our whole extended family got together for a party that went very early into Christmas morning. It had always been for me the highlight of the season: to see all my relatives (even the ones with nine children who lived in the middle of nowhere). 2006 was the year the party lost its charm.

I decided on Christmas Eve 2006 to go to my on-again off-again boyfriend’s house. I had gotten him a mirror for his bedroom and, being the perfect girlfriend I aimed to be, wrote cute notes all over it in erasable marker.  I also picked up a few presents that were, in all fairness, worthless, but they each contained a secret inside joke from our last year together. It was perfect and would show him exactly how I felt about us. My mom and I headed to his house where she dropped me off. I felt like such a dork because I was still getting rides from my mom, but what else could I do? I remember running inside and heading to his bedroom where I knew he was waiting for me. I walked down the dark lonely hallway into the dark lonely bedroom. I saw the usual scene: a mattress with blankets on the floor, clothes thrown in a corner, his bass guitar (his most prized possession) hiding in the closet, and the usual blanket over the window which only added to the blackened effect.

There he was, lying down watching a movie, exactly where I thought he’d be. I showed him everything I’d gotten for him. He seemed to force a smile, but I didn’t care, and then we decided to finish the movie. We lay on the ground; the only thing separating us from carpet was a thin mattress with no frame. The bed was warm and welcoming, and before I could tell which movie we were watching, I fell asleep. I don’t, to this day, remember what the dream was about, but I remember being awakened by an immense pain. To my surprise, the person I loved was on top of me, and inside of me. My clothes were tossed on the floor carelessly. I was still sleepy and tried to pretend it was just a horrible nightmare. This couldn’t be happening, not to me, not because of him, but it was. 

“Lowell,” I said, “this hurts, we need to stop.”

“No, you know you like it,” was all he viciously hissed in my ear.

“I think I hear someone coming…” he put his hand over my mouth before I could say much else.

I started punching and kicking at him, but my strength was no comparison for his muscular figure. I lay there trying to think of anything else, be anywhere else…or anyone else. I clenched my eyes shut as though opening them would have been the death of me. I cried through the pain until at last he was gone. My eyes had been closed for what seemed like forever and they ached from the tension. I had no idea where he went, or why I had been damaged. I curled into a naked ball on the floor. I felt the cooling air of the fan he had left on sweep over me and give me chills. I continued to shiver, but I could not tell if the chills were from the fan or from the knowledge of the event, but they were fierce. He came back into the room to see what, I’m sure, looked like a seizure. I was shaking from cold, anger, and endless tears. The only words I could muster were, “you just raped me.”

Rape. I’ve heard that word a million times, heard all the stories, but never once had I thought I would be a victim, especially not by someone I thought I could trust. My head was swimming with emotions and thoughts as I heard him say, “Well, I better take you to that party.” The drive is still like a missing piece to the puzzle. A blur that never becomes clear for me. I remember stepping out of the old, run-down pickup truck and hearing, “I love you, Sara.” That is the last lie I ever want to hear, I thought to myself. I somehow swallowed my tears and gathered every inch of courage in my soul in order to walk into my grandmother’s house.

I felt disconnected from everyone-- gone from the world. The house was full of family, but none of them felt like mine. My parents weren’t there yet, and no one recognized me with my new reddish purple hair. Nothing in the room looked appealing except for a dark corner in a vacant room; this was where I resided the rest of the night. I could hear talking, but the language seemed foreign. All I could focus on was trying to put my pieces back together, but it was too frustrating, so I put my energy into forgetting. I couldn’t eat anything or join in opening presents with the rest of the family. I was on a different planet, wrapped up in my emotions. The rest of the night flew by, and next thing I knew, I was in my own bed, but unable to sleep. I stayed that way for a month.

I endured thirty one days of sleepless nights. I was left exhausted, with nothing but a broken puzzle and a blur of that night.

It took me two years to piece together the puzzle and make the blur go away. It took me another year after that to move on. By that time, I was 18 and ready to leave Idaho and every memory behind. I had been accepted to a college in Oregon, three hours away, and was counting down the days to get out of Idaho. Since that night, I hadn’t let anyone get to know me enough to have them learn my secret. I came to college in September and felt that I was doing well for myself by going to class, being on my own, and forgetting my past. It took me a few months to realize I could never forget what had happened, and I had no choice but to face the truth. I started seeing the on-campus counselor, and she gave me the facts in the most blunt and straightforward way. Some people may have been hurt at how she put things, but I felt true honesty for the first time in years. She was the first person I’d ever gone into detail with about the rape. She and I had special sessions where she helped me face every issue of that night and move past the emotions attached to that memory. She also gave me the tools to tell my family what happened.

 This past spring break, when I went home, I broke the news to my family. They were hurt and angry. They had a lot of questions to ask me, more than I was prepared to answer. At first they wanted to blame themselves, but I reassured my parents that it was no one’s fault but his, and he would have to face his demons sooner or later (something I had learned in therapy). I had moved on and was there to tell them that everything would be okay… and for the first time in years, I believed myself.