(Remembrances of a man about his boarding school days)

 

There was nothing to say about it

because who was to care? I wasn’t

the most loveable of offspring nor

one of the most talented, funniest

or outstanding, no doubt just

the sort of boy to be molested

when others were sleeping, or

at least pretending to.

 

I chose never to tell my parents.

They were too consumed with their

own problems anyway and didn’t

care what I did or where, so long

as I didn’t bother them with it,

my mother with her rotgut gin and

my father drowning himself in yoga

and meditation that he picked up

from a wild eyed guru in India.

 

So when the teacher approached

my uncomfortable bed I didn’t even

have enough sense to be concerned.

At first he just wanted to know about

my dreams: were they bad? Did they

produce liquid and not to be upset

if they did; that was normal. I was

too embarrassed to say anything

so he took that as permission,

 

I guess, because then he began to

touch me in unfamiliar ways. It

didn’t hurt so I paused, waited,

and then more was felt and it

was strange but not painful so

I let it go on and on until it became

regular, like a glass of water before

sleeping, another soporific.

 

Time passed and I forgot that and

much else. After all, I had family

issues to deal with in addition to

whatever happened in that dark

cell of a room. But nothing is ever

forgotten. We fool ourselves and

it wasn’t so bad, it didn’t hurt

until it did.  It still does.

__

Note: “Nothing to Say Until Now” is not about an actual case or place. 

Mandy Fessenden Brauer, Ph.D., grew up in a boys’ boarding school founded by her grandfather that has tried to deal openly and sensitively with allegations of sexual abuse. As a clinical child psychologist and retired university professor she and her husband reside between Egypt and Indonesia. Dr. Mandy writes books for and about children published in Arabic and English and also writes poetry.


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