gemini://di.cities.yesterweb.org/entry/220817.gmi

I would love to write about happier and lighter things right now, like how my life is always full of strange coincidences. Right now, though, the coincidence is more sad than anything. When I sat down to write, I noticed the clock read 11:11am.

It’s hard to remember coherently what happened the other night. Instead, I remember vignettes. One of them is when my rapist said to me, “It’s 11:11. Close your eyes and make a wish.”

In my stupor, I drowsily blinked in and out, never facing away from him, his ginger hair and beard, his blue eyes. His face was grave.

You’re not supposed to tell people what you wish for. Then again, you’re not supposed to roofie people either, so I’ll tell anyway. When I closed my eyes, and I wished he would choose to be a good man.

After he had assaulted me, my instinct, especially in my dazed state, was to comfort him. I remember telling him something along the lines of, “I know that life is hard. Hurting people like this is an addiction. Someday you’ll be out of here, and all of this will be behind you. There is good in you deep down. You can still be a good man if you choose to be.”

(My friend said, “I both love and hate that that was such a you thing to do.”)

Someday all of this will be behind me, too. Unfortunately, I happen to be in the thick of it, just two weeks before school starts up again.

A detective invited me to the police station yesterday to give a statement. I made it clear that I have no evidence, so I don’t expect anything to happen, but he said he wanted to see what he can do. Having to tell my story from the top, again, was awkward and disheartening. It all just served as a reminder that justice will not be served in my case. Aside from a photo of the rose he drew on me, I have only words.

All I can say, in my defense, is that I have no reason to want to bring this guy down. I considered him a friend, looked forward to our frequent shifts together, thought about surprising him with a new VHS tape for his collection, brought him a cookie to eat on his break. We chatted a lot. I still remember a lot of facts about him. His favorite song is “Twin Size Mattress” by the Front Bottoms. His birthday is June 8, 1999. His parents live in Wisconsin, leaving him in New Jersey by himself. His mother rarely talks to him, but he tries to talk to her. They have a beagle named Tobert.

I am not a vengeful person, but there are three vengeful things I fantasize about. I don’t want him to do anything like this ever again; I want to protect people from him; I wish this would remain on his permanent record, so that he never works around children in an elementary school.

But aside from all this, life is okay. Life is actually pretty joyful. I’ve spent a lot of time with my friends.

The other day, my friend and I went out for ice cream – I had the jelly donut flavor – then we ended up shopping. She bought floral sneakers, and I bought a dress to wear to the wedding that Mr. Spock invited me to next month.

Some handsome guy my age – he specifically told me his age, too, for some reason – came in and ordered a frozen hot chocolate. He flirted with me a bit, which was a bit weird and unexpected, but I wasn’t creeped out or anything. I put extra chocolate chips and chocolate drizzle in his drink for making me smile and asking how I am. He stood up and told me that my drink was so delicious, and that he was a barista for several years, so he should know. I had some of the leftover drink, and I honestly didn’t think it was all that good.

This entry was depressing, so I thought I’d add onto it just to say that today was a nice day.

As I was wiping the counter, I remembered the creepy text I got from my rapist the afternoon after the drugging and assault. It sounded desperate, apologetic, and considering his behavior, it makes no sense to me. In it, he said “You were my favorite part of work, and I ruined it. I’m so sorry.” I did genuinely like working with him, and I looked forward to our shifts together, but he was not my favorite part of work.

My favorite part of work is the regulars, and I spotted all of them today. The guy who buys several peanut butter pies, two bottles of iced tea, and a green tea latte at kiddie temp every single day. The two men who sit and discuss their story ideas. (How I wish I knew what they were working on!) The stiletto-wearing lady and her three-legged dog. The old man who stares out the window while drinking his choccy milk.

The coworker who I was on shift with has been there a long time. He has more or less acted as my mentor these past few months. He is quiet (towards me). He has extraordinarily long, thick, wavy ginger hair (#NotAllGingers) and wears it in a bun with a bandana during work. He is always playing interesting music during the shift. Folk music, indie rock, techno, one time he threw on Chet Baker for me. It sure helps the time go by a lot quicker. This is a weird thing to say, but he’s got older brother vibes.

(This morning, I had a vivid dream about a person I was barely able to get to know, but who showed me kindness this past June. In it, he asked to kiss me. I said yes. His lips were softly pressed against mine for such a long time. It felt like he was protecting me from all of this. He was so beautiful, so gentle, so tender and kind. His crooked smile...)

My 8th grade math teacher called them “coinkydinks”

Content warning: drugging, rape