My Rapist Teaches Third Grade
When I think about it, it still hurts
The world tells us that predators lie in wait, comfortably camouflaged by bushes, but he was not behind the bushes. The news leads us to believe that steering clear of dark alleyways is steering clear of our assailants, but he was not shrouded in the darkness of an alleyway.
All my life, I was taught to fear monsters who looked and sounded and acted the part. The kind of monsters that starred in my childhood nightmares; the kind of monsters that occupy closets and under-bed storage bins.
But my monster was not under the bed.
I wish my rapist looked like a serial killer, but he doesn’t. He has the form of an ordinary man, más o menos, more or less. Strong and tall with a kind face and a mane of curly hair that most women would kill for. Rizos. Better than mine.
He is an excellent teacher, tending to his flock of students con paciencia y con calma. When it comes to the kids, he has the patience of a saint. I cannot help but be jealous of the gifts he seems to have been born with. Sometimes, the genetic lottery just doesn’t feel fair.
He is a professional musician. Of course — why not? Se habla y canta en español con sus estudiantes. Why simply speak Spanish when you could sing and play the guitar in…
