i think of You

I looked up to you, big blue eyes open and wide. My fingers wiggled with excitement; my favorite person had his eyes only on me.

it came to me, suddenly, swiftly, one tuesday afternoon. a hazy and static memory—almost a dream—but a deep certainty filled my gut. i always wondered why You no longer could look me in the eye.

He turned away from me and walked around his room, then rested his calloused hands on his bedframe. “You know,” he started bashfully. “I think maybe you should change your underwear.”

“Oh!” My cheeks turned red. Did I have an accident? I was too old to have those.

“It’s okay, it happens.” He comforted me. “Look—I’ll change my underwear too.”

i can’t quite remember how he phrased it, how we both ended up changing.

“Okay!” I couldn’t ask why; I was just happy that I wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t making fun of me for having an accident. And I was happy to do it. All my family’s suitcases were kept in his room, as it was the one with the most space. I went and grabbed clean, cotton panties.

“Turn around, no peeking!” I grinned at him. He chuckles half-heartedly and slowly turns around. I turned around as well, as that was only fair.

with every man that i meet, i think of You. i see You in the preyful gleam in their eyes, their desire to take, to lie.

Once I finished changing, I turned back around—his back was still to me. “Done!” I exclaimed.

As he turned to face me, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before: an obvious bulge. “What’s that?” My unfiltered curiosity got the best of me.

“Oh, that? It’ll go away soon.”

the memory fades out. i cannot remember the rest.

nothing bad happened to me. my story is not worthy of the title “survivor.” what did i survive? other than these tainted memories? can I even trust myself, these memories? i once read that memories aren’t all that trustworthy, that our brain reconfigures them over time, we forget certain details, and then we try to fill in the blanks ourselves. was it all just a bad dream? who would believe me, anyway?

it has been a decade since i remembered, or dreamed. but i cannot shake it—You. i think You regret what You did, and i hope that you’re ashamed. i hope and hope and hope because i am terrified that You have done it again to another. is this a part of who You are, or am i a one-time mistake that You confess to Your therapist about in confidentiality? am i the reason that Your first engagement failed? did she even know? 

i want to forget again. i can’t.

i want to be rid of You.

i want to be more than You.