My Friend’s Husband Touched Me, and I Never Told Her

How growing up in rape culture keeps us quiet about our assault

image by Ulkar purchased by the author

It was 1990 something, and I had been 18 for a few months. Everywhere I turned, I heard barely legal whispered, sung, and even yelled at me. Does every young lady get to wear this label as soon as they turn 18? I remember a website that counted down the day until the Olson twins hit the big one eight.

I wanted to be an adult and treated as such. The label, barely legal, seemed to mean I was a kid in disguise — a fantasy for older men. I thought that I was too old to feel uncomfortable about sexuality. So whenever someone brought it up — I ignored it, chuckled uncomfortably, or quickly changed the subject.

I spent a lot of free time working with my church. It was a small church with a lot of young people around my age, and I enjoyed most of my fellow church-goers.

Only one of them made me steadily uncomfortable, and he was the one who sneaked barely legal into every other sentence as if it were the funniest thing on earth. He was the husband to a lady I’d befriended in church. She was one of the coolest women I’d ever known. She showed me photos of her in the 80’s flaunting purple hair, neon green Mohawks, and other crazy hair-dos I’d only seen on TV.

She was also witty, kind, and unique. I loved her, and I loved her kids who I took care of in my after school childcare job. We were building a wonderful friendship. She was in her late 30’s, and as a young woman, I would have significantly benefited from her mentorship.

My mom and dad had taken off to Texas for another of Dad’s many jobs, and I was home alone with my younger siblings. I was having car trouble, and my friend and her husband picked us up for church one evening.

Their car was a bit snug for three teens plus their two adolescent boys, so my brother and I held her children on our laps. My friend sat on the front passenger’s seat while her husband drove. I sat behind her with their youngest son on one knee.

My friend’s husband draped his hand over her shoulder but behind the headrest. He slowly lowered it until his fingertips touched my bare knee. At first it seemed to be an accident. I was…