Popcorn Was My Dinner
I was about to graduate 8th grade and was at a friend's house when I met the boy who was staying across the street for the summer. He lived in Alaska and was visiting his grandparents. My friend informed me the next day that he was interested in me. I told her she could give him my phone number. We talked on the phone once before going out a few days later. The plan was that my mom would drive us to the movies and his sister would pick us up. We were dropped off early because he told my mom he wanted to surprise me by taking me out to dinner. We got into the restaurant, he looked at the menu and said, "This is too expensive" and we walked out. Popcorn was my dinner.
We found our seats and started chatting, he seemed bored by what I was saying. He interrupted me and asked, "What do you like to do when you go to the movies?" I was confused, "What do you mean?" He responded in an accusatory tone, "I mean when you go to the movies do you actually WATCH the movie?" I could feel my face turn red and my stomach turn upside down. "I guess," I almost whispered.
The movie began and he was practically on top of me, completely unconcerned with the fact that I hadn't said I didn't want to watch the movie. I remember his lips forcefully on mine, his peach fuzz in my mouth. It wasn't exciting, I didn't feel grown up. It was scary and I felt trapped. I didn't say no, and I didn't push him away. It was 32 years ago and I still want to go back in time and push him away and say, "No! Stop! Get off of me!" He was in high school, a grade ahead of me, and this is what high school kids did, I was supposed to want to do this. He was the guy, it was up to him to make the first move and up to me to let him. Even though I had only met him 2 days before and didn't even really KNOW him, I was supposed to want this to happen. After all, I had flirted with him, I had sent the message that I wanted him to ask me out, hadn't I?
As Shelley Long and Tom Hanks watched their house come apart across the screen I only heard the dialogue. To this day when someone mentions "The Money Pit" I cringe and waves of nausea come over me. A few rows ahead of us were four kids I knew from middle school. Two of them were making out and the other two were watching the movie. Afterwards the boy I was with said to me, "Wow did you hear the noises they were making?" I barely heard him. "Huh?" I said. "Did you hear the noises your friend and her boyfriend were making? What the hell were they doing?" There was something about the way he said it that made me think he was turned on by it. I shrugged, anxious for the evening to be over.
His sister picked us up and we sat together in the back, his hands all over me. Didn't that bother her? Didn't she think I was a little young for this? She looked back briefly and then looked at the road. I was going to sleep over at my friend's house, but his sister took us back to his grandparents' house. He was all over me again in the dark living room. His hand started to creep up my shirt and finally I was feeling bold and moved his hand away. He didn't try again. I sat up and said I needed to leave, my friend was waiting for me. He walked me to the door.
My friend wanted to hear the details. All I could say to her was, "I don't think I like him anymore." Had I ever liked him? A few minutes later the doorbell rang and it was him. Why hadn't I told her not to let him in? He came in and hung out with us for a bit, his hands all over me again. I managed to say that I was tired and wanted to go to bed. He walked back across the street.
He called me after that, but I never saw him again. He stayed at his grandparents' until August and I managed to avoid him. That part is fuzzy. I have a vague memory of asking my friend if he was there when she invited me over throughout the summer. She may remember the events differently. I wouldn't be surprised if she said I looked like I wanted him to touch me. She wouldn't be wrong, I'm sure it appeared that way.
It was the one and only time I made out in a movie theater. Even now when I go to the movies with my husband and we hold hands I'm grateful to not be that scared 14 year old.
My daughter is 14 and a high school freshman. Recently I shared my story with her. I explained to her how I didn't say no and I didn't tell him to stop. I told her that didn't mean I wanted it to happen and it didn't mean he had the right to just start doing things. I explained how just because she was a teenager and some teenagers were ready to make out and do other things didn't mean she had to do any of those things when she didn't want to, especially when she wasn't sure how she felt about someone. "Most importantly," I said sternly, "You always have the right to say no and to tell someone to stop. No one has the right to touch you when you don't want to be touched. "
"Ok mom, I get it," She said seriously, "I'm sorry that happened to you." She's braver and stronger than I was. So far she's never been talked into anything she didn't want to do. She senses when something is "off" about a person or when a situation seems strange. She's that friend who says to her friends, "I don't think we should be here, let's go home." Usually her friends listen.
The other night my 12 year old son asked me to explain what sexual harassment and sexual assault were and also, "what does consent mean?" He'd taken a puberty class with his dad where they touched on consent. We laid in my bed talking, he asked all the right questions and hopefully I gave the right answers. When I told him my movie theater story he said, "Mommy, can I hold your hand?" Like his sister he then said, "I'm sorry that happened to you mommy."
We found our seats and started chatting, he seemed bored by what I was saying. He interrupted me and asked, "What do you like to do when you go to the movies?" I was confused, "What do you mean?" He responded in an accusatory tone, "I mean when you go to the movies do you actually WATCH the movie?" I could feel my face turn red and my stomach turn upside down. "I guess," I almost whispered.
The movie began and he was practically on top of me, completely unconcerned with the fact that I hadn't said I didn't want to watch the movie. I remember his lips forcefully on mine, his peach fuzz in my mouth. It wasn't exciting, I didn't feel grown up. It was scary and I felt trapped. I didn't say no, and I didn't push him away. It was 32 years ago and I still want to go back in time and push him away and say, "No! Stop! Get off of me!" He was in high school, a grade ahead of me, and this is what high school kids did, I was supposed to want to do this. He was the guy, it was up to him to make the first move and up to me to let him. Even though I had only met him 2 days before and didn't even really KNOW him, I was supposed to want this to happen. After all, I had flirted with him, I had sent the message that I wanted him to ask me out, hadn't I?
As Shelley Long and Tom Hanks watched their house come apart across the screen I only heard the dialogue. To this day when someone mentions "The Money Pit" I cringe and waves of nausea come over me. A few rows ahead of us were four kids I knew from middle school. Two of them were making out and the other two were watching the movie. Afterwards the boy I was with said to me, "Wow did you hear the noises they were making?" I barely heard him. "Huh?" I said. "Did you hear the noises your friend and her boyfriend were making? What the hell were they doing?" There was something about the way he said it that made me think he was turned on by it. I shrugged, anxious for the evening to be over.
His sister picked us up and we sat together in the back, his hands all over me. Didn't that bother her? Didn't she think I was a little young for this? She looked back briefly and then looked at the road. I was going to sleep over at my friend's house, but his sister took us back to his grandparents' house. He was all over me again in the dark living room. His hand started to creep up my shirt and finally I was feeling bold and moved his hand away. He didn't try again. I sat up and said I needed to leave, my friend was waiting for me. He walked me to the door.
My friend wanted to hear the details. All I could say to her was, "I don't think I like him anymore." Had I ever liked him? A few minutes later the doorbell rang and it was him. Why hadn't I told her not to let him in? He came in and hung out with us for a bit, his hands all over me again. I managed to say that I was tired and wanted to go to bed. He walked back across the street.
He called me after that, but I never saw him again. He stayed at his grandparents' until August and I managed to avoid him. That part is fuzzy. I have a vague memory of asking my friend if he was there when she invited me over throughout the summer. She may remember the events differently. I wouldn't be surprised if she said I looked like I wanted him to touch me. She wouldn't be wrong, I'm sure it appeared that way.
It was the one and only time I made out in a movie theater. Even now when I go to the movies with my husband and we hold hands I'm grateful to not be that scared 14 year old.
My daughter is 14 and a high school freshman. Recently I shared my story with her. I explained to her how I didn't say no and I didn't tell him to stop. I told her that didn't mean I wanted it to happen and it didn't mean he had the right to just start doing things. I explained how just because she was a teenager and some teenagers were ready to make out and do other things didn't mean she had to do any of those things when she didn't want to, especially when she wasn't sure how she felt about someone. "Most importantly," I said sternly, "You always have the right to say no and to tell someone to stop. No one has the right to touch you when you don't want to be touched. "
"Ok mom, I get it," She said seriously, "I'm sorry that happened to you." She's braver and stronger than I was. So far she's never been talked into anything she didn't want to do. She senses when something is "off" about a person or when a situation seems strange. She's that friend who says to her friends, "I don't think we should be here, let's go home." Usually her friends listen.
The other night my 12 year old son asked me to explain what sexual harassment and sexual assault were and also, "what does consent mean?" He'd taken a puberty class with his dad where they touched on consent. We laid in my bed talking, he asked all the right questions and hopefully I gave the right answers. When I told him my movie theater story he said, "Mommy, can I hold your hand?" Like his sister he then said, "I'm sorry that happened to you mommy."
Comments
Post a Comment