#05 Independence Day (Regrets About Your Rape)
Lisa was a childhood friend of mine that I’ve known since pre-K. Despite a six-year gap where we lost touch after elementary school, she’s one of my oldest friends. We don’t talk much now, but I think of her from time to time and always feel guilty about not being there for her on the third worse day of her life.
Lisa grew up in a decent family, but always played the role of the black sheep. She was rebellious. Smoked weed. Ran away a few times. Had abusive relationships with men. Contemplated or even attempted suicide. Basically, her life was Dr. Phil’s wet dream.
For the most part, all of these negative experiences happened to Lisa during that period of time where we had lost touch. There was nothing I could do to change any of that, but there’s one horrific incident that occurred while I was a part of her life that I always wish I could have prevented. It’s eaten away at my soul for years.
It was the summer of ’96, maybe ’97, and the 4th of July weekend was coming up. Lisa had plans to attend her co-worker Natasha’s barbeque and wanted me to roll with her.
Always the focused workaholic, I was taking summer classes that year to keep my plan of graduating college in four years exactly on track. I had a paper due either that Monday or the week after, and since this was way before I even had a home computer, I used to write my papers out by hand and then retype them on my word processor (remember those?). Needless to say, it was a tedious process that would take me the whole weekend to get done so I declined Lisa’s offer to work on my paper.
The 4th of July came and I worked diligently on my paper, while Lisa (and the rest of the free world) enjoyed the holiday. Day turned to evening, evening turned to night and night turned to early morning. Although I made major progress on my assignment, part of me wondered if I should have taken some time off and gone to the barbeque instead. Maybe if I had, this story would have had a different ending.
I was almost done with my first draft when my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. I glanced over at the clock in the corner of my room and the red analog numbers read 3:37am.
“Hello,” I answered inquisitively.
“Hey,” Lisa replied.
I’ve known this girl most of my life so I could tell when something was wrong. I could hear distress in her voice and I queried, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, trying to play it off.
I knew she was lying, but I wasn’t going to press her. Lisa always told me what was on her mind when she was ready.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“How was the barbeque,” I asked.
Before she could even get her first words out, her voice cracked. I heard her stifle back muted sniffles and felt the tears forming in her eyes through the phone.
Finally, her walls came down and Lisa began to tell her story:
“Well, were all just chillin’. You know, drinking and smoking—just having a good time and there was ‘This Guy.’ He’s a friend of my co-worker Natasha’s brother who’s in jail. They don’t really know him like that but he visits her brother all the time and keeps the family up to date on how Natasha’s brother is doing.”
“Okay.”
“So, we're drinking and smoking, playing spades and what not, and when it’s time to go home ‘This Guy’ offers to drive me and this other girl Renee home. I hop in front seat and she gets in the back. He decided to drop Renee off first and passed out for a bit cause I was twisted from the Henny and weed. When we get to Renee’s house, ‘This Guy’ wakes me up and asks for my address. Everything is a blur from there. I was so wasted, I didn’t mean for it to happen…”
Lisa starts crying.
“What’s wrong,” I ask. "Tell me what happened.”
“I remember him driving down my block, but he went right past my house,” she continued. “I tried to say something but I couldn’t get the words out. Next thing I know we're parked on some dead end street and he’s on top of me. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t listen. I bit the bastard hard on his chest, but he still wouldn’t stop until he was finished. He drove me home like nothing happened and I got out the car and called you.”
OH, MY GOD!
Never in my life have I wanted kill another human being until that night. I swear my heart stopped for three seconds before I could muscle through the anger to ask, “Lisa, are you okay?”
"I'm fine."
“I'm coming over...”
"No."
“Did you tell your parents?”
"No."
“What?! Why not?”
"They won't understand. They'll just add it to my list of f*** ups."
“Come on you can't really believe that, Lisa? You have to tell them.”
"No, I'm not telling them."
“Did you call the cops?”
"No, ’cause then my father will find out.”
“You need to call the cops. Did you take a shower?”
"Yes, I felt dirty."
“Well, what do you wanna do? Who is ‘This Guy?’ Where can we find him? What do you need me to do?”
"Just talk to me...”
I spent the next few hours trying to console Lisa until the point she felt “better.” The most disheartening thing about it all was that this wasn't Lisa’s first time being raped. It's not even her second—this marked her third time being violated by a man. The previous two instances occurred during that six-year gap in our friendship with two separate boyfriends that decided to take what they wanted from her.
Every time I tell this story, most people's reaction is sympathy for Lisa. However, when I confided in my close college friend Francine she had this to say: "No one gets raped three times. No one is that unlucky. Lisa has to look at herself and her actions to see why she keeps ending up in these situations. Three different men? She’s the common factor.”
I thought Francine’s assessment was cold and callous, but after I got over my initial reaction I saw some validity in what she was saying. I’m in no way shape or form letting any of these “men” off the hook for what they did to Lisa nor am I saying any woman, regardless of her past, deserves to be raped but Lisa was no angel.
She often sought out comfort in the arms and laps of men. I remember sitting at a barbeque at her house one time and realizing that she had slept with practically every man in the room—including myself. They say that sex is a weapon, but in Lisa’s case it was often her crutch.
Still, Lisa didn’t deserved this. Not again. Not with me in her life. I just always felt there was something I could have done.
Maybe if I had went to her co-worker’s barbeque instead of working on some stupid paper about something I can't even remember, I could have saved Lisa the pain of her third rape. Maybe if I was there I would have made sure that “This Guy” dropped her off first. Maybe I could have protected her. Maybe I could have done something, anything better that what this particular 4th of July had to offer.
After a few days, I convinced Lisa to press charges against “This Guy” and she finally told her parents. They were "disappointed" but not as cold as she thought they would be.
Unfortunately, all the evidence was gone by that point. Lisa’s lawyer didn't make it much easier on her either. Basically, he told her that her checkered past was going to come up, and then it'd be a simple case of He Said vs. She Said.
What bugged me out the most was the fact that Lisa had the nerve to be concerned about “This Guy’s” family. Oh, yeah, he was married with a wife and kid. I so wanted to slap some sense into Lisa when I heard her mutter, “What about his family?”
“Get the heck outta here,” I said. “He wasn't thinking about his wife and kid when he was violating you, so why should you give a damn about them either?”
Despite my objection, Lisa eventually dropped the charges because the whole trial process was “too hard.” At the end of the day this was Lisa's life and Lisa's decision. All I could do was be there for her as a friend. It’s the least I could do given the guilt I felt for staying home doing work instead of protecting her that night.
In case you’re wondering I got an A on the paper, but I'd take an F any day if it could’ve saved Lisa from the pain of being raped—again. I’ll never know what she went through that night, but I won’t forget it either or wonder how things could have been different if I was there. Sometimes you just gotta live with regrets.
Have you ever ditched a friend for something that wasn’t that important in retrospect? How disappointed was your friend by that? Did you regret your decision? Have you ever had to console someone through a tragedy like a rape? How did you help them through the ordeal? What do you think of Francine’s statement about Lisa being the common factor in her sexual assaults? Do you think it’s fair to hold someone’s past against them when it comes to a case of rape? Is there anything in your life you wish you could back and do over?
Speak your piece…
BONUS
The Rape of Shaniqwa Jenkins + Rape Hotline Info
PLUS 1 in 4 South African Men Admit Rape



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