Epilogue
Kara
The longer I read the paper in my hand, the more the tears fell from my eyes—without my permission, I might add. One person’s pain was another’s strength, and hopefully that meant these young adults would hold onto that strength.
I should add that my tears were happy tears. This time.
The assignment I’d given my students was to write about an experience in their lives that no one knew about. Something good, bad, or indifferent; it didn’t matter. Big or small. An accomplishment, a worry—there were no rules.
I wanted to get to know them before we truly dove into our lessons for this semester.
This assignment came after a student had asked me if I was “the woman on the news.” It’s been six months since I was attacked at the fair and yet, I kept finding new people who would say “I just found out what happened to you,” “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” “He seemed like such a nice man. I can’t believe he did that to you.” Even, “I’m glad you had someone there to step in. Some women don’t have that.”
That last one, a comment from an older woman who’d stopped me in the grocery store only a week after the attack, had brought me to tears. She’d hugged me right there in the middle of the aisle. Her small frame was strong, but the pain I saw in her eyes told a story all its own. She’d been through something just as bad and had had no one to help her through it.
That broke my heart. No one should ever be in such a place, though I knew it happened daily.
Then there were those who said I’d made a spectacle of myself. Or the best response was, and I’m paraphrasing, “She must have been into that real-life role play. Some girls like to be attacked. She’s just mad she got caught.”
There was initial hate from his family. They’d not wanted to believe their son, brother, cousin, could do such a thing. That all changed when they saw the video of the attack outside the bathrooms. You could clearly see him, attacking and taunting me as I fought to get free.
Watching that replay, knowing what was coming next was traumatic. When I closed my eyes, I still saw the hundred shadows of him, that gun in hand, pointed directly at me.
I was working with a therapist to get my thoughts and fears under control. It was going to take time though. And a lot of sleepless nights.
People were going to think and feel however they wanted, and that was fine. To each their own. Articles would be printed. Facebook posts made. It was what it was, and all I could do was move forward, leaving the bad shit behind me which meant I no longer read online articles or their comments.
I’d made my social media accounts private, friends and family only. If I didn’t personally know you, you were not invading my safe place. Period.
I no longer felt the need to justify what had happened. Why I did what I did.
How anyone could say I’d wanted that …that I’d been going along with it? The man was going to kill me. He’d been here, watching me, following me for months. Years even. Stalking me.
My life, at the time, had been in serious danger and yet, people who knew nothing of me, or this situation, questioned my account of things? They had the nerve to say things like that? He had a gun, and if not for Cal, I’d probably not be here right now.
It disgusted me that people could think that way. It’s not like I was planning on being attacked at the fair and then making the news.
The hurt I felt was real, and the facts needed validation to move past it. Speaking about it, giving awareness, that was how I’d move forward.
So with the cat out of the bag, I’d opened up and told the world my story. The news woman I’d spoken with had been kind, asking questions that had been approved beforehand, allowing me an opportunity to maybe help someone else in a similar spot know it was okay to speak up and out.
I wasn’t sure about telling my story here, in the classroom, but after talking with Cal, who’d sat through those classes with me to answer questions from his side, I did just that. These were college kids, after all. Young adults that themselves needed to look out for predators.
You just never knew what someone around you was going to be holding on to. You had to be able to recognize trouble before it escalated. And get free if you were already in a bad spot.
When I’d started with my story, I didn’t leave out much of anything. I’d covered how I felt about being stalked. What it was like to look over my shoulder all the time. That talk had inspired the pieces I was reading now. I’d given them the chance to tell me anything. Some kept it short and to the point. For a unique example, I now know Jami Loveless almost got arrested for having sex with her boss in the stockroom of the restaurant she worked in.
One of the new students, George, crashed his brother’s bike into a tree as a pre-teen. His mom found out and as a way to make reparations, he’d had to work at the car wash until he could replace it. He’d stayed working there and has now found himself wanting to open his own car wash one day.
It was those small life lessons that sometimes led you to a new path. The attack had changed my course. I now taught at a local community college for one. Secondly, after a few weeks of talking it over, I’d moved in with Cal. He sold his apartment in New York City and moved up here.
The small farmhouse we came across, just a town over, was big enough for us, and if we chose to one day have kids—well, there’s still room to expand.
My brother, Dan, was still working at the college, though I didn’t see him lasting much longer. He’d already put in an application for a job at the same school I was at. He, like me, just wanted to teach and not be reminded daily of what had happened.
Moving forward was the best thing we could all do.
With that in mind, I wrote a quick note on the bottom of the paper in my hand.
Thank you for sharing such a sweet story. One piece of advice, remember that you can do anything you set your mind to. No one can take that from you.
3 Ms. McGee
A knock on my door had me looking up. I knew the smile on my face was huge at the sight of Cal standing there. I glanced at the clock on my wall. My planning period was almost over. I still had my afternoon classes to go.
I got to my feet as he came in. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked, hugging him tight. The soft kiss he planted on me had my heart thundering in my chest.
“I wanted to stop by for a minute; you forgot your lunch bag, so it was the perfect excuse.”
I chuckled. “Damn, I didn’t even realize it wasn’t in my bag.” I took it from him, still smiling.
“I figured as much.” He stepped back a little. “I’ve got to head down to Pennsylvania for a couple of days. I promise to be safe,” he offered before I could say it. “I should be home by Friday evening. Do you want to go pick apples this weekend?”
“Heck yes. I need to get Grammy to share her apple pie recipe so…”
“If you take the apples over and ask for help, you can get your eyes on it.”
“Yes!”
He chuckled, leaned down, and kissed me again. A minute later the bell rang, and it seemed like only seconds passed before my classroom door was pushed open and students filed in. Every pair of eyes locked onto Cal. The boys sizing him up, and the girls taking in his gorgeousness. The tight polo and khakis, which made up most of his wardrobe, sure wrapped him up nicely.
“That is my cue to go. I’ll call you when I get there.” He stole a quick kiss. “I love you.”
The classroom erupted into a cacophony of hoots and whistles.
“I love you too. Now go before they start asking questions.” We’d already been through that, in the beginning. These kids had no filters and as amusing as it could be, today was not the day for that.
His booming laughter followed him out the door.
I shook my head and moved back to my desk.
“Okay, okay, settle down, class. Everyone pull out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. It’s pop quiz time.”
The noise in the room went from cheering to a sea of groans.
I loved my job, I really did. Did I miss being called Professor…not one damn bit. I loved being here where I knew that what I was doing was making a difference.
There was no better feeling than that.