TARGETS

My folks were unable to accompany me to the meeting with my rapist, since they had retired to Costa Rica. The Restorative Justice people made an exception and allowed a friend to join me in the session, for emotional support. They didn’t realize that Mitzi had also been raped by hairy Harry Findley, the perp.

I’m Allison, another survivor. I first met Mitzi in my living room, when she attended a small women’s consciousness raising group composed of women survivors of sexual assault who were slowly learning not to think of themselves as victims, but as survivors.

We waited for Hairy in the prison psychologist’s office at Newcom State Prison. The phone had been pulled to avoid interruption, and Mitzi and I had to wait ten minutes, alone, in the office. An effort had been made to bring a little cheer into the office: a cacti arrangement and a large Vermeer print. A one-way mirror across the room offered reassurance of safety. I remember wondering at the time who the reassurance was for; him or me, since although my rage had cooled during the last year, I knew it was capable of swift re-ignition. For all my moxie, I was conscious of a dry mouth and banging heartbeat.

Mitzi and I both wore loose shirts, loose jeans, and tennies, presenting as asexual as possible for the session. The stated purpose of Restorative Justice was to heal, not dissuade reoffending, but my purpose was the latter. I’ll admit, however, that the motivation for the meeting was (I thought “confrontation” was a tad murky–I wanted to look my attacker in the eye.

We heard a small click, the doornob turned and a corrections officer ushered Harry in, handcuffed, and sat him in a chair opposite us, across a table. He was anything but appealing as he sat slouched in his bright orange prison suit that revealed long black hairs that covered his arms and the back of his hands. A five o’clock shadow had apparently sprouted in the past hour or two, but his head was shaved. The officer left us alone, hopefully behind the one-way mirror.

Although I assumed his presence was due to the hope of making an impression on the parole board someday, I said, “Thanks for coming.”

He dropped his head in acknowledgement, without making eye contact. My ears started ringing and I had to briefly shut my eyes and get centered. I said, “Why are you here?”

“Here? Do you mean in prison or in this room?”

I silently gritted my teeth. “I know why you’re in prison, believe me. But why are you in this room with me?”

He paused. “Curiosity.”

“What do you want to know?”

He was silent.

“Do you regret the sexual attack?”

“I regret prison.”

“But not causing the physical and psychologcal harm you did to me?”

He did not answer.

“Have you ever been raped? I hear that sometimes happens in prison.”

He rolled his shoulders and snarled, “Not likely.”

“Were you mad at me? Did you want to hurt me?”

“Yes. Yes, I wanted to hurt you and all women that play so hard to get. I belong to Intel, and women won’t have anything to do with us. We can’t get any!”

“Any–love? Tenderness? Friendship?”

“Pussy!”

I had read about this group of men who clustered on an internet blog, and that their activities have been referred to as “weaponized misogyny.” Mitzi, beside me, was squirming uncomfortably as he ranted.

“It’s true,” I said in an aside to MItzi. “Evolution scripts females to be attracted to males with the most regular features.”

Hairy’s face turned red and he emitted a subdued roar when he heard me speaking to Mitzi. “It isn’t fair.”

“Nor is it fair to rape and destroy a woman’s healthy sense of self for a life structure she’s a victim of herself!” I frowned. regretting have used the victim word myself.

Hairy didn’t respond immediately, but began fingering his fly, whereupon I rapped sharply on the one way mirror. I was glad ro note that Hairy wore a puzzled expression on his face as he was led out to rejoin the prison population. Mitzi sighed. I squeezed her hand and sighed, myself.

By Nan

___________________

HORIZON

The train doesn’t stop here anymore,

but tonight it did, and the conductor

was impatient for me to board.

The ride was free but the destination

unknown. Goodbye, my dears.