Something Happened - Part 1

I believe that something has happened to all women at some point in their life.  Something that they didn't want to happen.  The next question is usually why did it happen if you didn't want it to happen?  The answers are usually complicated.  The "something" that happens does not always define us.

A year or two I blogged about something that happened to me while I was in high school.  That was a long time ago.  I was a virgin before it happened and I was a virgin after it happened.  So, I wasn't raped.  I was just assaulted.  If that makes any difference.  It didn't really change my life.  What was more interesting to me is what happened after I got home.

First of all, I had a lot of beer that evening and I didn't have much experience with beer.  Ironically, it was my friend who needed the "liquid courage" and I was just there for support.  The support meant drinking a lot of beer.

I got into our house somehow and got into my bed and I was passed out before my head hit the pillow.  Hours later, I remember waking up and not feeling bad.  I also noticed that it was light in my room and the black-out blind had been pulled up.  I always left it closed so I immediately knew my mom had been in my room.   This was pretty major as my parent's respected my privacy so I opened my eyes wide.. I was wearing different pyjamas than I was wearing when I went to bed and the sheets and bedding on my bed were changed.

That had to be the best cure to a hang-over as I was very alert and very scared of what was going to "happen next.  I went into the kitchen where my mother was waiting for me.  She wasn't happy.  She told me that I had thrown up in the middle of the night - everywhere.  I remained asleep and my mother changed and changed the bed.  So, she wondered, "how much beer did I drink?"

I didn't even hesitate with my reply.  I wasn't drinking.  I had some bad pizza.  Seriously, we all felt sick because that pizza gave us all food poisoning.

"Really", my mother said, "you think I don't know what beer puke smells like?"  I could see all of my bedding freshly laundered and folded.and ready to go back on my bed.   She also had a large closed green garbage bag by the door. She said that after she scrubbed all the puke chunks off my bedding, she got tired of doing it so she decided that she was going to throw away the nightgown.  She told me to open up the garbage bag and smell it.  Definitely not the smell of fresh flowers. 

"Bad pizza, my ass," she said. 

So, I did what I did when I was in trouble.  I started cleaning.  I changed my bedding.  I vacuumed the whole house.  While vacuuming, I went into my father's den.  Of course, he knew about what happened, but, he pretended not to.  I dusted.  I scrubbed walls.  I reorganized closets.  I cleaned my desk.  I did all the bathrooms.  I was running out of things to do so I asked my mom if I could do my homework.  I didn't have any homework but I sure made it look good.  I had to keep my door open.  My mother brought me dinner in my room because she didn't want me to lose the rhythm of my homework.  Afterwards, I offered to clean up the kitchen.  My parents accepted and no more was said.  We had an unwritten agreement that it was just bad pizza. 

Thinking about it today, I wonder why I didn't tell the truth.  Why did I have to make up a lie to explain why I was drunk (and likely suffering from acute alcohol poisoning) rather then say that I was assaulted.  Did I really think that my parents wouldn't care?  Did I think that because I was intoxicated that I asked for it?  Would it be any different today? 

I've told that story many times (without the assault aspect) and people who knew my mother laugh out loud because they can just imagine the tone that she said, "bad pizza, my ass." 

Another thing that I also wonder was what would have happened that night is I was Indigenous.  Perhaps I wouldn't be here to tell the story.