Catherine

Here's what I remember

I remember him blocking my path.
His frame- bulbous and meaty, the door frame- precise and sharp,
my frame- weak and pathetic.
Cowering to the broken shrieks of laughter blowing against my ears,
'it's just a game, it's just a game.'
It's me that's pathetic- running off to a teacher, so childish and thick.
He pushed me back and the shrieks climaxed.
They cheered him. I was the villain.
'It's just a game, it's just a game,'
a game worth more than my dignity.

I remember his grip on my hand.
His sweat made it stink for hours.
I told him to get off; I needed my hand for piano and poetry and little girl things.
It's me that's pathetic- with my bitch face and attitude that I was worth more than this man's hand.
They encouraged him. I was the villain.
'it's just a game, it's just a game,'
a game worth more than my activities.

I remember his hand up my leg.
The way my hairs stood up like match sticks striking against the friction of my skin.
I remember the relief of cold tears against the scorching heat in my face as he crept his way up higher.
Very, very vain I was.
I squeezed my thighs till they stuck together because my hands couldn't pray,
pray that he wouldn't take anything more away.
I wouldn't denounce him. I wouldn't be the villain.
'It's just a game, it's just a game, it's just a game,'
a game worth more than my morals.

He was Ibrahim.
I was petrified.
He was Andres.
I was petrified.
He was Tyler.
I was petrified,
but their reputations aren't worth more than my peace of mind.