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Alcohol + Boys Does Not = Rape
It takes a certain kind of person, not a certain amount of alcohol, to assault another human being
I knew a boy who was murdered. Late one night I was up nursing my daughter and Googling my past, like you do. I saw his name in the Saint Petersburg Times. Murdered. I marveled at the story the way I marvel at those spectacular, hard-to-believe photographs from the Hubble Telescope. A 15-year-old girl I knew long ago had gone into a room to flip a cassette tape during a party. He locked the door behind her and turned up the music. I can’t believe you just let me do that, he said, laughing. She hadn’t let him do anything, he’d held her wrists.
Murdered. I should feel bad. But I don’t.
That girl never told anyone, until she got married and told her husband. And then she watched President Trump ridicule Dr. Ford on television during a rally, and she watched the women in the stands behind him laugh. Those women, those Republican women, would they laugh at her, too? She’s grown now, and a mother like Dr. Ford.
What if the boy had not died. What if he’d gone on to become something of a Kavanaugh? Doubtful. He was born poor and would likely die poor, or close to it. Does this make you feel sorry for him? Don’t. This girl knew lots of other boys, poor too, who…
