Telling the truth

From now on I'll be calling the brother that molested me Nathan. That is not his name, but I need to call him something, in order to make various conversations more clear. I'll call my other brother- the one who did not molest me- Eddie. I change their names, not to protect them, but to protect myself.

A year passed. During that time my mother, Eddie, and I went up North again to spend the summer with my grandparents. We left Nathan behind, since he was 18. My mom wanted him to watch the house.

I didn't tell anyone what Nathan had done to me. It was my little secret...when I'd read something or see something on the news about incest or child molestation, my heart would jump into my throat when I'd think "That happened to me". I wondered often how many of my friends carried around the same secret. I read the statistic "One in four", but I didn't believe it- I thought I was probably the only girl I knew who had ever been through it.

When we got back from the North, we found that Nathan had trashed the house during our absence. Everything that was valuable had disappeared, the place was completely roach-infested, there were holes in the walls. As soon as we got back Nathan stopped staying there- he moved somewhere with his now 13-year-old girlfriend (who I will call Ella). We all knew he was on drugs. At that time I don't think we realized which drug- I don't remember it being spoken of aloud- but nowadays I know that it was methamphetamine.

A school year passed, then it was summer again. I went to church camp for a week with all the other kids my age from my church. It was there, in our little cabin, that I first admitted to one of my peers that I'd been molested. Later, the pastor of my church took me out for a walk, just to have a "one-on-one" as he called it- a counseling session of sorts- this was something he did with each of the youth during camp. During that walk he was trying to convince me that my life was not so bad despite the fact that my parents were divorced. He described his own childhood to me, in an attempt to convince me that his life had been much worse that mine was, and that I shouldn't feel so bad about what I'd been through. He told me about his parent's drinking, their abject poverty, and then said "At one point my brother and sister were even having intercourse with each other".

Upon hearing that I could hold my secret no longer. I said "But Pastor J., that happened to me too!" He stopped and faced me and gently asked for details. I told him that Nathan had molested me for several years, starting when I was eight, but it had been more than a year and a half since he'd touched me.

His next words made my heart sink to my toes: "You know, of course, that I am required by law to report this to the authorities".

I hadn't known- there was no way I would have told him if I had known. I knew what "reporting this to the authorities" meant, and I wanted no part of it. I begged him, pleaded with him, to no avail. He was determined to get "the authorities" involved. Finally, the only thing I could think of to say was "If you report it, I'll say you are lying. I'll deny it ever happened." Still, he told me he'd have to speak to my mother and probably report it anyway.

The day after I returned home from church camp, my mom packed us up and we headed North for our annual visit. As the year before, Eddie came with us and Nathan stayed behind. My mother had not had time to talk to the Pastor, and I knew that, sometime before we returned home, I would have to tell her what Nathan had done.

The idea terrified me completely, but after a few days I worked up the nerve. I called her down to the same basement bedroom where the whole nightmare had begun. I said "I have to tell you something". She said "Well, tell me, then, I'm getting ready to go out, so hurry up!"

I said "You remember, before Nathan started going out with Ella?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, he molested me before that."

"WHAT?!?!?!" My mother looked at me wide- eyed, in total shock.

For some reason I felt that I needed to minimize things as much as possible, so I lied quickly - "We never went all the way, he just used to touch me, and he hasn't done it for a long time, but the thing is that I told Pastor J. and he says he's going to report it."

"WHAT?" my mother said again. "I don't believe this!"

Those words were all I needed to hear. "I don't believe this". Not "I'm so sorry I didn't protect you from him". Not "I love you and everything is going to be okay". Just "I don't believe this."

Then she said "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

I started to cry. I said "I'm afraid Pastor J. will tell and I will have to go live in a foster home. But I told him that if he reported it, I'd say he was lying. But I thought I had better tell you before you found out about from someone else."

"Well, thanks for letting me know," she said sarcastically. "I need to go out now, We'll talk about this more later."

But we didn't. We never spoke of it again.