Saturday was the alumni day parade in the small, lovely little town I live in. We inadvertently bought a house on a parade route. We love it. Watching a parade from your front yard has to be one of the most wonderful small town experiences I’ve yet to collect in my life. This is our second year here and our second parade. My daughter loves all the candy she gets from people tossing it from the floats. We stash it in the mailbox until it’s over. It’s like reverse Halloween. It really is the best.

Later that afternoon I was remembering my high school graduation and the weeks that led up to it. The final moments of childhood before being thrust out into the world, or in my case college. The last weeks of a fear creeping into my throat and not knowing what to do about it or whom to even talk to. The fear of leaving Him. The cliche that has been made into so many movies and written about in so many songs. The student. The teacher. The forbidden fruit.

It had started four years prior as a freshmen who finally had a teacher take interest in her that no one had previously. Looking back of course it’s crystal clear. I was creative, from a broken home, I was a waif of a teenage girl at 125 pounds standing 5’9″ looking for someone to love her. I was an easy target. And of course it started easily enough with occasional phone calls for help with my math homework. Twenty plus years later and I can’t imagine a teacher making their home phone number, or themselves, available in the evenings to help students with their homework. But he did. He was also the most popular teacher at school.

Psychological grooming is a deeply powerful tool. Once your bait is hooked it’s your move on the chess board and the pawn will never want to give up the affection, attention, and validation they get from their predator. What’s interesting is that this particular one was exceptionally patient, cunning, and subversive. It didn’t really escalate until I was a sophomore making regular calls to him in the evenings when his wife was at work and slowly testing the waters of sharing more and more of myself because he had led me to believe it was ok to do so.

What’s amazing is that through the four years of grooming I had managed to have a pretty “normal” high school experience which included extra-curricular activities, a boyfriend, and friendships. I was a good student. I was involved. I don’t know that I would call myself popular, but I was on the list of nominees for the court at prom. I don’t know how that happened. Maybe in the days before the internet it was easier to actually live life in a way that felt more visceral. That must be it. Now life feels so much less tactile. Connection is different. I miss my analog childhood more and more as I age and time feels like it’s moving faster.

Once I got accepted to college the reality that I would be leaving him hit me one night like a ton of bricks. Suddenly there was a sinking feeling in my stomach and my heart. I didn’t know how I would cope. When would I see him again? On my school breaks? That seemed unlikely given that he had a wife and two young kids. Would I call him? Again, unlikely now that his wife stopped working evenings. That phone call took the wind out of me. The night that I called for help with my homework and of course to talk and she had answered the phone instead of him. It felt like a slap in the face.

The weeks leading up to graduation were awful. I don’t know how many times I cried. I went through the motions of each event with a smile on my face, the excitement of any typical teenager with a “bright future” on the horizon, and with a sadness in my chest that I didn’t know how to handle. The day of graduation I must have cried a dozen times. He pinned flowers to my blouse, looked me in the eyes, and told me things that I don’t remember but I’m sure made it even harder to want to leave. I had managed to get labeled a “good student” early in my high school years and had maintained that status. It meant I could get away with anything. I did. What I managed to get away with was being a favored student by a sexual predator without anyone the wiser.

It was the last week of school when, after 4 years of waiting, it happened. The kiss on the stairs, his hand on the small of my back, then another event where we were alone together. The only thing stopping him from going further than he did with his touch was the fact that he had to pick up his children at a certain time. It is amazing what grooming will do to an impressionable mind. I wanted more. So much more. Of course I did. That’s how grooming works. This all happened in the days before graduation. Days when I was technically still his student, and he, still my teacher. A technicality that would prove imperative during the investigation that would commence during my freshmen year in college when I finally came forward. I can’t remember why or exactly when I came forward. But I did. That’s what matters.

To say I didn’t exactly have a typical first year of college is an understatement. I was a star witness in an ongoing investigation, I was a victim, I was a freshmen. I was a mess. I wasn’t the only one. Of course I wasn’t. I wasn’t special. I was prey. That’s how it works. The age old dance of feigned interest, feeling special in the eyes of someone you look up to, the slow burn of stolen moments that you know are wrong, and then finally, the crescendo of whatever act the predator chooses.

The first few years of aftermath were the worst. I was whispered about in my community. I was “that girl” who got him fired. I was the one who caused the favorite teacher to be exiled. I was also believed and supported by a wonderful group of adults who genuinely cared for my wellbeing. For the first time in my life though I was a pariah. The nightmares lasted for over a decade. I didn’t attend my ten year reunion. I was still being talked about all those years later and still couldn’t face anyone. The night of my graduation I didn’t attend any of the typical post-graduation events. Instead my boyfriend and I drove with a friend and her brother out to Ithaca, NY for an Ani Difranco concert. We got back at 3 or 4 in the morning. I didn’t attend the alumni day events. I wanted to. I didn’t know how to. To say that I was lost in a whirlwind of confusion is accurate. It took many many years of processing to be complete with this experience. Standing on the other side of it, now as a parent, I have a vigilance and insight that others do not. Or, maybe, they do because of an experience that decades later they still don’t talk about. I pray that when they tell their story they are believed.

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

~Mary Oliver