Those Four Letter Words

Rape, a four letter word. It may be one of the only four letter words with such a heavy stone attached to it. Love, a four letter word with an equally heavy stone attached to it. Isn’t it funny how both words are of the same size, with the same depth yet both lead to such different chemical reactions in the brain. Trust, a five-letter word. Related to both, yet in such different ways. Makes you wonder what is true, why it is false and how.

“I was raped last night”, said the girl. The others stared at her with disbelief etched on their faces. “Raped?” one spoke up. She stared into space with a vacant look in her eyes. “Yes”, she whispered, not daring to speak any louder. They gathered around her, advising her, comforting her, some even insulting her. She stared on, trying to imagine yet failing in every step. When he told his parents that he was raped, his mother cried for her son’s manhood was now lost, his father stood up, slapped him on the face and the walked away. The same deed, two genders, two different reactions.

Six months ago, she had told them that she was in love. He was older than her, intelligent and the funniest person she had ever met. The first time he hit her, she just sat in the corner and cried as he profusely apologized. It was the first time but not the last. He told her that she was his one and only, he gave her illusions of the perfect dream. They went out last night, he promised her he would take care of her and she trusted him. The first drink of her lifetime considered of a vodka shot, taken with hesitancy but with the knowledge that she was with someone she could depend upon. They laughed together for the first time in months and for that minute or so, she was the happiest she could be. She woke up with the last thought she had had the previous night, “everything is going to be alright.” Her body ached with a pain she had not felt before, red and purple mountains covered her skin. She felt herself, her clothes were missing, the joint between her legs were paining, and he was beside her. She had no recollection of getting there. His eyes were open, distorted and scared. He began to yell at her, telling her that she had asked for it. Slowly, his fists began to talk more than his tongue and by the time he left, she could not move. Getting up slowly, she walked to the shower. The hot water scalded her, the cold water burned. She cried silently, not knowing what to do and so she went to her friends who cared for her until she said who had hurt her. They backed away immediately.

“You must have consented! He just isn’t the type to do this sort of thing”, one cried. “I was the one in the relationship with him” she smiled to herself. “I know but you did say that you love him so it’s okay isn’t it?” came the reply. She stared at the owner of the voice, disbelief written on her face.  She walked away; her steps were measured yet steady.

Love and rape, two words so distinctly different from each other that people tend to forget about the fact that there can be a connection between the two. They loved each other, she a little more. He forgot for a minute, for an unforgivable minute. That changed it all, yet nothing changed.

A different part of the city, the same circumstance yet a different story was being told. The age was the same, the species the same yet the only difference between the two was the sex organ and gender. He was laughed at, ridiculed and told that his manhood has been stripped away because only wimps can be raped. Men love sex, men want sex, and sex is an animal instinct. A man cannot be raped. The first time she touched him, he was writing his mid term paper. Her hand brushed against his shoulder as she walked past him, checking on the students to see if they were cheating. He ignored it, thinking it was a mistake. The second time, she groped him while passing by. He knew it wasn’t a mistake this time. He tried to tell his mother, she told him to ignore it, that these things happen. When he went to his father, his father told him to “deal with it like a man.” He knew that something was wrong in the drink the moment he drunk it. It was children’s day and the teachers were treating the students. He staggered home, holding on to electricity poles. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten into the car but she was his teacher and he knew he wouldn’t have been able to reach home any other way. He saw her through a haze; she took off his shirt, reached into his pants. The next thing he remembered, he was lying on the front steps of his house. He staggered in; the realization of what happened to him came later.

His mother cried the entire night. He could hear her from his bedroom. His father stormed in to his room at three in the morning. “You will forget about it. You will move on! Nothing happened. You will never repeat what you have said today to anybody under any circumstances.” He nodded numbly. The next day he went to school. She stood there teaching, not looking at him in his eye. He wept in the shower that day, silently shaking but when he came out, his eyes were dry. “I am a man”, he told himself.

Trust, the basis of any relationship. Trust, the cause of any hurt. The relationship of trust to those two four letter words is unlike each other yet each bond manages to come together into the most horrifying manner. The distinctiveness of each relationship is lost, only an ugly and terrifying connection is left.

I saw her the other day, her head was high on her shoulder, and there was a swing in her step. She smiled when she saw people, she seemed confident in her own way. She overcame it and became herself. “A better version of myself”, she says when asked about her self. Situations either makes you better or worse, she became better. No one knows what would have happened to the boy if he had not jumped in front of that train. Life, a four letter word. What a funny word, life.