karen alkalay-gut
After
I would probably have been okay
I mean I didn’t even know
for sure it was actually rape
until I got home and saw the blood
and nothing really hurt
except where my head
got slammed against the steering wheel
but the old stories were true:
I was damaged goods
from that very moment
There was a guy named Richie
who was nice the first day
in science lab, and sat with me on the stairs
while I blubbered away –
but he lost patience or maybe
got warned that frat boys stick together
—and suddenly switched lab partners
and never talked to me again
except to warn me that women
who cried rape could easily be turned
into whores in court.
I missed him, but I guess I understood.
Especially when all these guys
suddenly wanted to go out with me
and vanished when they learned
I could drink and drink
and never forget
the horror of touch
They probably went home
and told each other
they too
had me willingly
and I was hot
From then on my friends
were all the other social rejects,
the smart kids, the gays, the teachers.
And I never go to a class reunion
although my heart hungers
for an alma mater.
From High Maintenance