My Cousin

I always dreaded when they came to visit

My father’s oldest sister,

My uncle and their youngest son, Michael

Everyone thought he was the golden boy

High school baseball star and crack shot hunter

He was everything an East Texas redneck boy was raised to be

They would drive from Beaumont to Southern New Mexico

For their yearly vacations and stay for a week

I was ten when my cousin started touching me

He was 12.

My aunt and uncle stayed in my bedroom

And my cousin and I were put together in the guest room

Twin beds, but that did not stop him

Every night when the grownups were clearly asleep

He would sneak over to my bed and push me over

Brazenly crawling into my bed

Wrapping his arms around me

Grinding himself into my back

I did not know what he was doing

Putting his hands on my tiny breasts

And sliding his hands into my pajama bottoms

Kissing my neck, flipping me over and kissing my mouth,

Putting his tongue down my throat

I was ten

I knew it was wrong.

I knew it was very wrong.

I knew it was so very wrong.

And when I would pull away and say no

He’d lay on top of me and put his hand over my mouth

Keeping me from making any noise or moving

As he touched me everywhere he was not supposed to

He terrified me.

I cried.

This went on for three years.

He never penetrated me.

But the molestation was very real

And traumatizing

When my parents would send me

To visit my grandparents in the summer

In the town he lived in,

He’d always ask to stay the night

So he could "visit" with me

No one thought that was strange

They thought it was "precious" and "sweet"

While he was supposedly sleeping in the living room

On the nasty old brown pull out sofa

My Grandparents never replaced

He'd once again wait for the adults to fall asleep

And then he’d sneak into the room where I was

Trying to sleep

And touch me just like he did it at my house

One time, I crawled under the bed hoping he wouldn’t find me

He just pulled me out by my foot

My grandmother caught him once

Laying on me and kissing me

And I asked her to make him stop

She just giggled and told me she thought it was

Cute that he and I were such good friends.

Cute...

Precious...

Sweet...

Not the words one associates with molestation

I told my mother and she turned the blame on me and said

I just wanted to cause trouble and wanted attention

And to not say anything

One afternoon when my soul was completely shattered,

By not only this betrayal, but so many other betrayals,

I felt I had nowhere to turn

I went to my grandmother’s drug cabinet

Grabbed a bottle of the closest pills

I had no idea what they were

I took a handful and swallowed them

With a bottle of Dr Pepper I had pilfered from the garage

Thinking I would end it all

That God would welcome me back home

Thinking my being with these people was a big mistake

And I was sure he would let me start over with another family

But God let me down

And nothing happened

I survived

Waking up the next morning still living in the nightmare

Feeling even more abandoned and shattered

Not just by my family

But by the Divinity that was supposed to love me

I found comfort and self-medicated with food

Shoving down the trauma and feelings

With donuts, cookies, candy and soda.

Becoming overweight and unhealthy

Not wanting attention from any boys

My weight and standoffishness kept them away

When I was 19, Michael was discharged by the Air Force

And moved to the city where I had gotten my first apartment

I had worked so hard to get away from all of them

But my father gave Michael a key to my home

Telling him he could stay there until

He got on his feet

He was the Golden Boy after all

My apartment!

My home!

I was forced to let him live with me

Because I was raised that you did what your father told you to do

And that family came first no matter what they did

There were no boundaries or respect or concern for me

Even if it meant letting your molester move into your home

He did not touch me during this time

I was 19 and too old

He liked young stuff

He ended up marrying a 16 year old girl

He died when I was 27 and he was 29

They claim it was liver failure

He was a heavy drinker,

But I am certain it was HIV

His lifestyle was consistent with that diagnosis

But that was the "gay" disease, and no one would ever

No one in my arrogant and ignorant family would ever

Allow that word to be used in conjunction with the Golden boy

It was 1987

I worked in a hospital in Boston at the time,

I knew what Kaposi's looked like

He was covered in sores, he withered away,

Coughing up blood at the end, attached to machines

That allowed him to breathe, eat and semi-function

He left behind a very young wife and two small children

His shame for what he did to me, and I am sure others,

Was never made public

I just had to deal with it every day I looked in the mirror

The family gathered around wallowing in the

Tragedy of his so-called untimely death

Asking me to donate money to support his widow

I did not feel bad when he died

I did not grieve

I felt relief for his young daughter thinking

His death might have prevented and protected her from his molestation

And I felt vindicated

Karma had done her work.

- Julie O'Hara

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