Innocence Lost

Life never passed more slowly than it did when I cried behind the football stands. Like a movie, the crowds cheered while I bowed my head in defeat, the music roared while my smile was muted. Small towns are bubbles to be popped at the break of innocence. “Life is good if you believe in goodness.”

But when a short, acne scarred boy approached me with venom in his eyes -- there was nothing good about that day. When he told me rape was a woman’s fault -- there was nothing good about that day. When he told me women should know better and protect themselves 24/7, all hours of the day, with guns in their hands -- there was nothing good about that day.

Daddy’s girl had never cried tears of anger until the searing pain of being poked and prodded by ignorance, sexism, and ruthlessness. A victim is a victim and nothing else. I thought everyone knew this? I was not raped, have never met someone who was raped. But my cherry popped that day when I learned not everyone’s moral compass points on northward. My innocence was lost. And so a 16 year old girl was left alone behind the football stands crying for every woman that night. Those who had been hurt, those who would, those who would never understand. Every woman was hurt that day -- pushed back into the dust and left on an empty counter.

It’s that moment I realized not every moment is a series of progression to The Better. As that teen boy laughed, as my friends abandoned my side, and my family told me I took it too personally, I crusaded through my awakening. No woman has yet become free. The battle continues.