I Wish I Had Known: Knowing Might Not Have Mattered

I Wish I’d Known: Knowing Might Not Have Mattered

Submitted by Brooke Palmer

I wish I’d known that knowing might not have mattered.

I knew, for instance, that when I met him I was not interested in his kind of attention.

I knew that I wanted to follow the rules at school and go to class on time.

I knew that I didn’t want to skip class with him, much less make out in the dark stairwell.

I knew that to do these things would lead to negative consequences for me.

But I did do these things.

Without intent.

Without desire.

Without comfort, I did them.

Knowing that I did not want to do these things,

Knowing that doing these things was not my idea,

Knowing that doing these things was against my moral code,

Knowing that doing these things would lead to my getting into trouble,

Knowing that doing these things would lead to a negative perception of me,

Knowing was not enough to prevent the misuse of me.

I did resist, emotionally.

I did resist, vocally.

But saying “no, I don’t want to” was not enough

to prevent myself from ending up in that stairwell

when I should have been in class,

wilting into his fetid embrace.

I wish I’d known that knowing was not enough to prevent the abuse of me.

I might have blamed myself less.

I might have felt less weak, less pitiful in my failure to resist.

I might have been less protective of these secrets had I known that

Giving into pressure is not a moral failing.

I wish I’d known that doing bad things does not equal being a bad girl.

“My 14-year-old daughter would never do something like this!”

My principal scolded me after a teacher busted us in the stairwell

Making out when we should have been in class.

I stood, silent, face to the floor, lips on fire,

Desperately wanting but unable to contradict her assessment of me.

Bad girl.

How can I tell Ms. B– that I did not want to be in the stairwell?

That skipping class was not my idea,

That I’d tried to say no so many times that finally the bell had rung and

there I was, alone in the stairwell, with him?

How can I tell her that I’d kissed boys by then,

That I’d been kissing boys since 7^th grade,

But that I didn’t want to make out with him in the stairwell

When I should have been in Science class?

I wish I’d known that preventing the abuse of me was not my sole responsibility.

That my internal rationalizations would lead to false notions of love, of normalcy,

of what’s expected in a romantic relationship—even one that

I did not want initially, that I resisted before, during, and after, that

I continue to resist to this day.

Even knowing that failure to resist his pressure is not a moral failing,

That doing bad things—despite my desire not to do them—does not mean I am a bad girl,

Even if I’d known these things then, would I have escaped this outcome?