Why Is It So Hard for People to Understand What Rape Is?

This is a story of rape as told to me by a friend. All names have been changed. Some background information will either be left out or changed to protect her.

Mary lived with her family; mother, father and three brothers in a housing project in Brooklyn. Her brothers; Mark, James, and Phillip were friends from infancy with Marcus. Marcus has been a big part of their family all of their lives. Mary got married and moved to the West Coast, but returned home after the divorce. With the support of her parents, she moved ahead quickly, not lingering on the situation. All of her brothers had successful careers, were married and raising their own families. When she spoke with her brother Phillip, he told her that Marcus had gotten divorced after just a few months of marriage and he was down in the dumps and suggested she give him a call to cheer him up. She called him a few days later at his job. He was glad to hear from her and told her that he was planning to come to Brooklyn to visit his mother the next evening, which was Tuesday, two days before Thanksgiving. He wanted to know if she wanted to go to a movie or dinner. She agreed on the movie. He came in, hugged her and her mom, shook hands with her dad. Marcus had become very successful working on Wall Street. He drove a luxury car, and his six-foot seven-inch frame filled the car, and she remembers teasing him about it. He told her that maybe she could go with him on the weekend and pick out a large car, perhaps a Mercedes, he said.

The movie line was rather long, so they opted to go to dinner instead. As they sat across from each other, Mary asked him what had happened to end his marriage so quickly, but he didn’t want to talk about that. She told him about her relationship and the plans she had for her life now. He listened, watching her carefully. After dinner, they walked along the pier and then he drove her home. He kissed her on the cheek before saying goodnight.

The next morning, he called and asked if she wanted to ride with him to his home in Saddle River, NJ to get some things so he could stay the rest of the week at his mother’s house. She wasn’t doing anything, so she agreed to go with him. After living in California for several years with the warm weather, she didn’t have a heavy jacket to wear, and her mother’s clothes were too large for her. So, she remembers dressing in layers. She put on tights and jeans. She wore a tank top, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweater. When she checked the weather for the day, it was going to be in the 40s. She put on a long, heavy pullover sweater on top of the other sweater, and put on one of her dad’s wool hats. They rode to NJ, laughing and talking about the memories they had of growing up. They sang to songs on the radio and had a good ride to his home. Once there, he pulled into the circular driveway and told her that he was just going to be a few minutes, and she could wait in the car if she wanted to, he would leave the engine running with the heat on. She thought it odd that he didn't invite her in, but she agreed to stay in the car.  He got out and walked up to the house, stopped at the door, turned and came back to the car. He tapped on her window. “What was I thinking? Come on in,” he said. She turned off the engine and handed him the keys to the ignition. He stepped to the side allowing her to enter the foyer of his home.

His home was massive, and he was having renovations done on it. He led her to the living room, and told her to have a seat, and asked if she wanted anything to drink. She asked if she could have some hot tea. He returned with a cup of tea, a spoon, and the sugar bowl. He went upstairs, and she sipped her tea.

After about thirty minutes of waiting, he came to the top of the stairs and called for her. She got up and went to the foyer, “Yes?” she answered. “Come here, I want to show you the work I’m having done up here,” he said. She went up the stairs, and he led her down the hallway to a room which was going to end up being his office. There was a large, thick plastic fabric at the window, and he explained that the window used to be a painted window, but he was having it replaced. He then led her to another room which he said was going to eventually be a guest bedroom. And then he led her to another room down the hall. The ceiling fan was on, and so was the fireplace. A large floor lamp cast an eery yellow glow in the room. The walls were orange, she remembered. A king size round bed was in the middle of the room, and his suitcase was on a bench at the foot of the bed. “This is my bedroom. You like it?” he asked. “It's huge! Why are you living in this big old house by yourself?” she asked. “I actually got it for my wife and I. We were going to have lots of kids to fill it up, but things didn’t work out,” he said.

“Come let me show you the bathroom. The guys just finished the remodeled on it last week,” he said. She followed him across the expansive room to the bathroom. The shower had four shower heads. There was a large soaker tub, and the stained glass window was still intact. There were two separate vanities. She admired it and turned to walk out when she walked into him. He didn’t move, and so she nervously laughed and attempted to go around him. He caught her hand, and pulled her back to him and began to kiss her.

She said it was like kissing her brother and she pulled away. “What are you doing?” she asked, shocked. Without answering her, he picked her up and carried her to the bed and threw her on it. Her dad’s hat fell off, and her plaits blocked her vision for a few seconds. In that time, he was on the bed, tugging at her clothes. She had no warning! “What are you doing?” she asked again. She could not believe that this was happening.

The memories of their childhood as friends played out in her mind, as she fought to get away from him. But this was not a childhood game of tug of war. This was a grown man, 230 lbs, 6 feet 7 inches, throwing around a woman that was 5 feet three, weighing 140 pounds soaking wet. “Please don’t! Stop!” she told me she begged. “Why do you have on all of these clothes?” he asked, as he pulled off one sweater after another.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked him. “Shut up!” he yelled at her, and grabbed her face in his large hand and squeezed it tightly.

He raped her. And when he was done, he got up from the bed, went to the bathroom and filled a tub with hot water and bubbles and told her to take a bath so they could get back to Brooklyn. Her mouth was bleeding, and there was a ringing in her ears from where he had slapped her. On wobbling legs, sore and aching she managed to get to the bathroom. He reached out his hand like a gentleman to help her into the tub, but she refused to touch him.

When she was done bathing, she dressed quickly and went down the stairs. He was waiting in the living room, his head bowed, wiping his face with a tissue. “Are you ready?” he asked.

They rode back to Brooklyn in silence. He didn’t even get out to walk her upstairs. She knew something was wrong with her body as she made it up the stairs and inside of the elevator. She noticed that there was blood between her legs. She let herself into her parent's apartment. Her mother was sitting in the kitchen eating dinner alone. “Marcus raped me!” she stuttered. Her mother dropped her fork loudly in the plate. “What?” she asked. “Marcus raped me!” she repeated. Her mother got up, the chair scraping across the floor loudly. “What are you talking about? You are so dramatic. That man didn’t rape you!” her mother shouted at her. “He did rape me. Look at me!” she said, showing the blood stained pants. “Stop it, Mary! Go take a shower and stop lying. Marcus is a good man!”her mom continued shouting.

Mary went to her bedroom, and got clean clothes, she showered and dressed. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw that she was torn. She was going to need stitches. When she went back to the kitchen to tell her mother she was going to the hospital, she was on the phone with her brother telling him. “She came in here all dramatic, lying talking about Marcus raped her! She makes me so damn sick!” her mother was telling him. Mary let herself out, took a taxi and went to the hospital.

She was asked what happened to her, but she refused to say that she had been raped because if her own mother didn’t believe her, why would anyone else believe her? “Rough sex,” she murmured. She received five stitches and an antibiotic. She rode home, barely able to sit in the seat.

When she walked inside two of her brothers were there. “Girl, what is this I hear about you talking about Marcus raped you?” Mark asked. Before she could answer her mother began to cuss at her, and her brother, Phillip followed her down the hallway. “You just ain't used to a real man!” he said, laughing. She closed her bedroom door, removed her pants, and shirt and went to bed, crying and hugging her pillow. That was over thirty years ago. And she still has nightmares about it.   If her own mother didn’t believe her, why would anyone else? She wrestled with the guilt. What had she done to lead him on? What did she say to lead him on? Why did he do this to her? Was it her fault? Marcus still associates with her brothers, and when he is in Brooklyn, he is welcome to her parent’s home.

She soon moved out and rented a studio apartment in a different section of Brooklyn. She limited her association with her family after that because they always wanted to bring it up. They made it a point to tell her when Marcus would come around, or if he had asked about her. They left her no choice but to cut them off entirely. She has seen them twice since that horrible night. The last time was in 2011 when her father passed away. 

Rape isn't about sex. It doesn't matter what a woman is wearing. It doesn't matter if she smiles at you, or doesn't smile. Rape is about power. It is a horrible experience. It can happen to anyone; a baby to a woman in her nineties. It doesn't matter to a rapist who he attacks. The way the public views rape is horrendous! That is why less than 20% of the victims never even report they've been raped. We have to change our way of thinking. We just have to!