Innocence Lost

I came across this picture again the other day. It triggered a few memories…

This was my grandpa’s horse, Sloppy Joe. Actually - his name was Joe, but us kids nicknamed him that because whenever we would feed him sugar cubes, he would slobber all over our hands, making them sloppy and sticky. That was pretty much the extent of our relationship with Joe. Feeding him sugar cubes from the other side of the fence… unless there was an adult outside with us. You can imagine my excitement when I was finally able to ride him. I believe this picture is my first solo ride. I was 8. I don’t remember much about that ride, but I do remember feeling tender and mom finding blood in my underwear later on. She mentioned something about my hymen possibly tearing, and I’m sure she explained what that was, but I really can’t remember anything else outside of her making it a bigger deal than I felt about it.

It’s interesting how something that mattered so little to me at 8, ended up being a pretty big deal later on…

When I was 14, an older boy from a different school, decided I meant yes, when I kept saying no. I hate that I was too scared and embarrassed to push him away or get louder with my no. To this day, I still don’t understand why I didn’t. Anyway… I’m getting ahead of myself…

I’m not altogether sure why we ended up in the bathroom, but I remember how the floor felt especially hard on my back, the popcorn ceiling was really sparkly and that I didn’t want to be there. I stopped saying no when he wouldn’t listen to me and I remember bracing myself for pain…but it never hurt…much to my relief. I don’t remember leaving the bathroom, I don’t remember anything else from that day at all. I guess our bodies really do take over to try and protect us, don’t they?

Later on, I heard that the boy was claiming and loudly that I wasn’t a virgin because I didn’t flinch and I definitely didn’t bleed. It was then that I remembered mom making a big deal about the blood in my underwear after riding my grandpa’s horse….about my hymen tearing…and feeling like I had to defend my honor even though, or maybe it was actually because I wasn’t able to defend my own body. I carried a lot of shame around for that….for years.

When I found this picture, I just sat there looking at it…it bothered me that I couldn’t remember any other details about that day - just like how it used to bother me that I couldn’t remember the details from the day that a boy turned my no into a yes.

Now I actually prefer not knowing all of the details. It’s sort of like a bad dream that you can’t completely recall the next morning, but you can’t completely shake it either.

Somehow it’s easier that way…