Chapter 1
Unlock the Door
Deb Maybury
We weren’t supposed to be here. He stepped out of the car and headed towards his apartment door. I could hear my heart pound. He turned when he realized I was not following and sent me an encouraging wave to join him. I remained in my seat and shook my head indicating no. He smiled as I read his lips that said “Come on.” I repeated my gesture, as determined as a ten year old could be. I was not going in there: it was not a safe place. He began to walk back to the driver’s door and I sensed he was coming to get me. As quickly as possible I slid across the front seat and slammed the lock down as he grabbed the handle. With the door locked, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I forced myself to smile in an attempt to bring humour to a frightening situation — I hoped he would find humour also. I was immediately concerned, as I wondered what he would do next.
“Debbie, unlock the door,” he said firmly. That afternoon was in 1973 and I can still feel the sickness in my stomach when he smiled at me and repeated, “Debbie, unlock the door.” No way, no more, I thought. I smiled like I was playing a game, his game. He turned and I hoped he would continue walking toward his apartment, however, when he got to the front of the car, he quickly jumped to the right and headed toward the passenger side. Without hesitating, I slid back to my original position and pushed the lock down before he reached the side of the car. I was locked in with the keys safely in the ignition. I felt panic at not knowing what he would do next. Once again, I smiled – the look on his face indicated he was not pleased.
He did his best to encourage me to open the door and accompany him. I remember him saying something like, “Come in, just for a bit.” Like a bit would be okay with me. I knew what it meant and I was not giving any more bits of me to him! Not now, not ever.
He had tricked me into agreeing to go with him that day. Probably with a promise to buy me some toy — that was his style. A dollar for this or that, a reward I paid dearly for. He built trust and provided attention which was lacking for me at home. I regretfully asked myself why I had gotten into the car.
He created memories I wished I could forget.
I waited for his next move. I was afraid but I didn’t let on. I remember thinking I could open the door and run across the street, run all the way home, but it was a long way and I wasn’t sure I knew the directions. I was too shy to consider asking for help.
I didn’t care what he was thinking — I was not going to let him touch me again. He pleaded, “Debbie, unlock the door.” I smiled and shook my head no. He seemed to give up and turned and walked towards his apartment. My thoughts raced and I wondered what he was going to do when he returned. I waited for what seemed like a long time.
Finally, he appeared and approached the car. I looked forward as I was afraid to make eye contact. It made me feel sick to even look at him. When he reached the driver’s door he apologized and said he wasn’t going to do anything to me. “Unlock the door. I’m going to take you home.” Really? I thought. Could I trust him? He had not openly lied to me before. One last time he repeated, “Unlock the door.”
I opened the door and prayed he was telling the truth. It did not cross my mind that he would really hurt me since he wasn’t physically violent. He took me home. I remained silent, secretly hating him.
I never saw him again after that day. I did not ask my mother why her friend stopped coming around. I didn’t care since I was happy to be without him. I admit that I had wished him dead more than once.
A short time later that wish became reality. My mother told my brother and I that he had a massive heart attack and died even though his brother, who was a nurse, had heard him scream and tried to revive him. My brother looked as upset as I felt relieved. In my mind, I was jumping up and down in celebration though, outwardly, I remained still and silent.
I slept much better knowing that sounds at my bedroom window would not be him attempting to break into my room. I felt relieved that rides in the boat would not turn into unknown destinations and dirty experiences.
That was the end of it. No more sick games with older people wanting a piece of me. My innocence and trust was gone and moving forward I would have to be the one to take care of me.
Unlock the Door
Deb Maybury
We weren’t supposed to be here. He stepped out of the car and headed towards his apartment door. I could hear my heart pound. He turned when he realized I was not following and sent me an encouraging wave to join him. I remained in my seat and shook my head indicating no. He smiled as I read his lips that said “Come on.” I repeated my gesture, as determined as a ten year old could be. I was not going in there: it was not a safe place. He began to walk back to the driver’s door and I sensed he was coming to get me. As quickly as possible I slid across the front seat and slammed the lock down as he grabbed the handle. With the door locked, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I forced myself to smile in an attempt to bring humour to a frightening situation — I hoped he would find humour also. I was immediately concerned, as I wondered what he would do next.
“Debbie, unlock the door,” he said firmly. That afternoon was in 1973 and I can still feel the sickness in my stomach when he smiled at me and repeated, “Debbie, unlock the door.” No way, no more, I thought. I smiled like I was playing a game, his game. He turned and I hoped he would continue walking toward his apartment, however, when he got to the front of the car, he quickly jumped to the right and headed toward the passenger side. Without hesitating, I slid back to my original position and pushed the lock down before he reached the side of the car. I was locked in with the keys safely in the ignition. I felt panic at not knowing what he would do next. Once again, I smiled – the look on his face indicated he was not pleased.
He did his best to encourage me to open the door and accompany him. I remember him saying something like, “Come in, just for a bit.” Like a bit would be okay with me. I knew what it meant and I was not giving any more bits of me to him! Not now, not ever.
He had tricked me into agreeing to go with him that day. Probably with a promise to buy me some toy — that was his style. A dollar for this or that, a reward I paid dearly for. He built trust and provided attention which was lacking for me at home. I regretfully asked myself why I had gotten into the car.
He created memories I wished I could forget.
I waited for his next move. I was afraid but I didn’t let on. I remember thinking I could open the door and run across the street, run all the way home, but it was a long way and I wasn’t sure I knew the directions. I was too shy to consider asking for help.
I didn’t care what he was thinking — I was not going to let him touch me again. He pleaded, “Debbie, unlock the door.” I smiled and shook my head no. He seemed to give up and turned and walked towards his apartment. My thoughts raced and I wondered what he was going to do when he returned. I waited for what seemed like a long time.
Finally, he appeared and approached the car. I looked forward as I was afraid to make eye contact. It made me feel sick to even look at him. When he reached the driver’s door he apologized and said he wasn’t going to do anything to me. “Unlock the door. I’m going to take you home.” Really? I thought. Could I trust him? He had not openly lied to me before. One last time he repeated, “Unlock the door.”
I opened the door and prayed he was telling the truth. It did not cross my mind that he would really hurt me since he wasn’t physically violent. He took me home. I remained silent, secretly hating him.
I never saw him again after that day. I did not ask my mother why her friend stopped coming around. I didn’t care since I was happy to be without him. I admit that I had wished him dead more than once.
A short time later that wish became reality. My mother told my brother and I that he had a massive heart attack and died even though his brother, who was a nurse, had heard him scream and tried to revive him. My brother looked as upset as I felt relieved. In my mind, I was jumping up and down in celebration though, outwardly, I remained still and silent.
I slept much better knowing that sounds at my bedroom window would not be him attempting to break into my room. I felt relieved that rides in the boat would not turn into unknown destinations and dirty experiences.
That was the end of it. No more sick games with older people wanting a piece of me. My innocence and trust was gone and moving forward I would have to be the one to take care of me.