So stupid
It is funny how reading someone else's writeup can take you back. Back to some day, some experience... Back to something you had actually (almost) forgotten. Something you... something I didn't want to remember.

So many years. 38. That's a lot of time. 38 years. I was 12. Pretty stupid for a 12 year old too. Stupid in a "I know there are bad people and things out there, but why would they want to come and hurt me"-kind of way. Aren't we all, when all is said and done...? Don't bad things always happen to other people? Aren't accidents supposed to give us the slip and go hurt someone we don't know?

I remember being infatuated with this boy, who was a couple of years older than I. He was dark and mysterious - a "bad boy", I was told. His older brother was a really nice boy, and he had taken to watch over me, much like an older brother would look out for his sister. He looked out for his younger brother too, and I remember feeling really bad for him, afterwards.

I was so flattered when he (the bad boy) asked me to go for a little walk. We were at some youth-party. Lots of grown-ups around, even though they obviously weren't very attentive. It should be noted, that I was neither pretty nor cool, so I was completely blown away by his attention.

There were some bushes, and tall grass. There were stars overhead, and the wind was warm. From afar I could hear music. I still remember the sounds he made, and some pain. And the helplessness. But worst of all was the shame.

When he was done, he got up and left. I stayed where I was for some time. I didn't cry. I felt weirdly numb and empty. And I remember shaking all over. My back hurt, and my thighs. And my wrists, 'cause he had been holding on to them. My eyes felt like they were on fire, but I didn't cry. I haven't cried because of that night, ever.

Eventually I got up and got dressed again. I walked back to the party to let my friends know I was leaving. And he was there, grinning with his friends, high-fiveing and joking around. He never even looked at me. I think it was then and there I decided it never happened. I left, I walked home, I put the memory in a small box and shut it. I threw my knickers in the trash. I got on with my life.

I have a good life now. Since that night I have met a lot of good men. Well... quite a few. All right: three! One of whom became my husband (and then my ex-husband), and one of whom is my present 'significant other'. I am not terribly scarred by that experience, 38 years ago. Or what?

I met him, you know, just a few years ago. Accidentally met him on the streeet. I knew him instantly. The eyes. Mostly those dark, hard eyes. And no matter how much I had been telling myself that I was over it... My knees almost buckled, right there on the spot. He didn't recognise me, though. Walked right past me, and I, too, kept on walking. But that icy feeling in my stomach convinced me: I'll never be "over" it. I may not feel too troubled by it, but I won't be over it, ever.

So, do I hate him? No. Not even close. I know that I have a good life. He wasn't really trying to hurt me. I don't think he ever realized he did something wrong. I was the victim of stupidity - his as well as mine - which doesn't make it better, really. Just makes it stupider...

When that is said, I don't think I'd refrain from kicking him in the bollocks, given the chance...