the first time, as it happened, completely
an essay from my collection, unfold, + your weekly poem/song
hi friends,
i’m working smarter, not harder, this week by publishing a story from my collection, unfold, instead of writing something new. i hope that’s okay.
i wrote the first draft of this essay during my junior year of undergrad and made the mistake of submitting it to my Advanced Fiction workshop. the first mistake, actually, was writing this essay as a fictionalized account of one of the worst things that happened to me instead of what it was — a real-life trauma.
imagine being in one of those roundtable, the-author-can’t-speak workshops about your (fictionalized) sexual assault story as the most conservative man you’ve ever met says, “I just don’t understand this protagonist. Nothing about her decision-making makes sense.”
and maybe he was right. i have always been the speaker of my poems and the protagonist of my fiction, and i am no longer afraid to admit that. i no longer feel shame around the things i said or what i did; i no longer feel shame for what i didn’t do or what i didn’t say.
the biggest difference between the day i wrote this story as a fictionalized re-telling and the day i adapted it for this collection is that i no longer need to separate myself from the bad things that have happened to me. and the difference between the day i adapted this for unfold and today is that today, i realize that just because i wrote the story from beginning to end doesn’t mean that i am done processing it.
cw // descriptions of moments leading up to sexual assault (no graphic descriptions of the assault itself)
i was barely eighteen and hated waking up alone, or at all.
most mornings, my roommate made her breakfast and tore the curtains wide open as if to devour the sun. some still wonder if i am the reason she never could. rays peeked through the unwashed windows and made the dusty air look like glitter. i liked to pretend i was a snow globe’s protagonist, my dorm the glass dome. this way, my world was still beautiful even if it flipped upside down.
my routine never changed, because i never did. no eighteen-year-old ever does. we’re invincible, smoking marlboros on abandoned rooftops. moaning about the pain of becoming. how we’ll never go home, even when the moon comes.
the day was two months before my suicide attempt, and there was no self-harm like suffocating under someone else’s weight. the name isn’t important. he was almost thirty and living with his mom and said i was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
there are a lot of days i wish i’d tried to kill myself sooner.
when night fell and the curtains closed, i snuck to my date with a man who picked me like a dandelion. when he saw me walk outside, he honked twice and waved once. he had the same type of car that cops drove. i still check for him in my rearview. the car smelled fake-new. a magician masking the truth.
“you’re even cuter in person,” he said.
i snuck a glance at my knight in shining dodge charger. he looked like every other frat boy i’d fucked. brotherhood isn’t really fellowship, it’s unfamiliarity with the way their sisters cry about the men who look like them. i buckled in and he drove us to the 7-eleven down the road.
“a gas station?” i asked.
“trust me,” he said. “they have the best vanilla lattes, and i’m getting you one.”
he left me idle with the car, intentions in motion. he returned with two drinks.
“cheers,” i said.
“i figured we’d be up for a while.” he smiled. “can i have a kiss for that?”
“for getting me coffee?”
“c’mon, please? i’ve been wanting to kiss that pretty face of yours since i saw it pop up on my screen.”
“i’m not convinced,” i replied.
“i’ll convince you.” he traced his fingers across my thigh until they made a home beneath the fabric of my dress. the pressure felt ten thousand pounds. there’s no forgiving a heavy hand. i hesitated. i kissed him. i was supposed to.
he drove me back to campus and walked me through the streets he took as a former student. today, a memory lane that hurts to go down.
“i love girls like you,” he said.
i think i responded, but there are a lot of things i think i did. he was gripping my hand in his as we walked along the sidewalk. i think i tried to pull away, but maybe i didn’t. he led me to a bench on the outskirts of the university. he asked to put his arm around my shoulders and i didn’t answer, and he did it anyway. we didn’t say anything for a while, and his hand drifted from my shoulder to my arm to my shoulder to my neck. i thought i’d felt the worst there was, but the ache always returns.
this is a world with no bottom. we fall until the wind chooses to stop holding us back.
and i was on that bench next to that man. he traced my jawline and tilted my face towards his. i try not to believe this accident was my fault, but the truth is that i didn’t swerve enough. i should’ve seen it coming. he kissed me. i heard my heart screeching and the sound of his breath and the cicadas singing my grave song around us.
“i didn’t expect to like you this much.”
“we don’t really know each other.”
“that’s what’s so amazing about it, huh?”
he stood and stretched. sometimes i forget how big a man can be.
“wanna go back to my place?”
i shook my head. “not tonight.”
“that’s okay,” he said after a beat. “i’ll take you home.”
we walked from the bench to the car and let the sound of the engine fill the silence. i thought about how every movie has that moment. the one right before the ultimate resolution, the protagonist’s “all is lost” moment. where they’re vulnerable, lost, helpless, scared. this is where i found myself. searching for hope inside a car with a man who picked up a teenager from her dorm.
“can i ask why?” he was soft.
“why what?” the blinker switched on and matched my heart’s tempo.
“well, i thought the vibes were good, and you’d come over . . .” he pulled into traffic, and i felt bad. his eyes were soft and he was kind. i was just anxious. reading into it too much. sure, he touched me and kissed me, and it wasn’t what i wanted. but it’s okay. how else would i know i was wanted?
“i’m just nervous, i guess.”
“to have sex?”
“yeah,” i lied.
“are you a virgin?”
“yeah,” i lied.
“oh,” he said. “i wouldn’t have guessed.”
i didn’t respond, and he pulled into a gravel parking lot behind the local crossfit. there was one streetlight, me, him, and the entire night sky. all was lost. and i was alone. he turned off his headlights and reached across the middle console and grabbed my face. he kissed me and i couldn’t breathe. i pulled away to say:
“i thought you were taking me—”
he interrupted with another kiss.
“take me home,” i said with my eyes open.
he grabbed my waist and pulled me over the center console until i was straddling his lap. i wanted to fight but i was trying not to cry. he kissed from my collarbone to my neck to my ear. i get sick when people play with their food.
“i am going to show you what sex feels like,” he whispered.
i have decided not to detail what happened after.
time healed the wound, but the scar is still so fucking big.
when he was done, i dissociated in the passenger seat as he laughed about how turned on i must have been. he dropped me at my dorm, and i washed the blood out of my underwear in the community bathroom sink.
i was home but it was still happening. the worst parts replayed and replayed, and i would have done anything to stop watching. i closed the curtains before going to sleep.
i want to move past this nightmare, but i’m too scared to go through.
your poem rec:
Small Craft Talk Warning by Dean Young
playlist of the month:
it’s been a while since i’ve dropped a playlist — this month, we’re focusing on hope <3
all the love, all the warmth, all the light,
housekeeping:
icymi: i made a doc full of book recommendations for people who want to read more poetry but don’t know where to start!
don’t forget to complete your one click today to support aid efforts in Palestine
unfold: poetry + prose, is available on amazon, bookshop, indigo, b&n, or wherever you get books <3
you can still buy paper girl from amazon, barnes & noble, indigo, or your local indie.
i love you. and i see you. and i am so glad you're here.
who i am: a writer, a lover, and a very Black + queer person. i love deeply, forget rarely, and spend most of my time cuddling with my dog, my cat, and my partner.
who i'm not: a therapist, mental health professional, or emergency service. i love hearing the stories of your experiences, but please don't send explicit or triggering details of your story without my prior consent.
if you're in crisis, please call 911 or use any of the following resources:
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
Crisis Text Line: Text HELP to 741741
S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends): 1-800-DONT-CUT (366-8288)
Eating Disorders Awareness and Prevention: 1-800-931-2237
RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673
The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
I can’t believe unfold is 2 years old now!!