My timeline is a bit screwy after I told because my memories are all jumbled together and it is difficult for me to recall exactly when certain events took place around my child rape. So, bear with me as I recount what happened AFTER I told another adult years after I first told my father. Read about that in my post titled “C3#4 Should I tell him?”
I was in grade 7 (October 1986) when I told Big M about my abuse and father was yanked out of the bush to ‘deal’ with a past situation. When I tell you that he acted worried but unconcerned, I mean it. He also denied my ever having told him I had been abused back in 1981. In grade 7, I was 12 going on 13 years old and very timid. I did not have my own voice because I had been verbally and psychologically beaten into submission over several years of being told I was unimportant; that children should be seen and not heard; that I was a whore, I had no opinion, or none that anyone wanted to hear; and essentially just not good enough. For anything.
By this point, I had been getting a lot of attention from various adults: the Children’s Aid, the police, medical and legal professionals. This translated to Big M scorning me, acting hostile, looking at me with dirty looks, glaring at me, and being name called; told I was fat, all over again. Clearly, she was not the person I would be asking questions of, even though she gave me The Handmaid's Tale based on her best friend, Sonia's (a psychiatric nurse) recommendation.
Throughout my childhood, figuring out which one was my parent of the day and my best bet for a positive outcome was a crap-shoot. Dad was far less mercurial in his moods and I felt safe with him. I realize now the reason I felt safe is that he lacked compassion; but, for me that meant he was nonreactive and I saw that as being supportive…. You know……because he didn’t yell at me after or call me names…instead he told me how I and/or my feelings were something different than what I was currently experiencing, or that I was ”just confused” and that at the end of the day, what I was upset with was not that important and it would pass. He usually told me exactly how to fix all my problems – it always involved me being alone and talking to myself (what I call praying).
I remember at this age being given a set of books titled “Where do babies come from” and being told to read them. On one hand I had already been violated, penetrated, and knew what happened when “a man and a woman love each other.” I am unclear why I was given books on sex and how babies come in to this world. Big M then sat me down and told me I could ask any questions about puberty and sex, etc. I cannot adequately describe how confused I felt. On one hand, I was told sex only existed between a man and a woman who were married, loved each other, and wanted children. I knew full well that they expected me to forget I'd been abused. I was constantly told to just "don't think about it" or "that was in the past, try to move on". I had already had sex… non-consensual sex, and I was still not taught about consent.
I was always forced to hug and kiss people I did not even know "because he's so and so or a relative". I hated having to do that. Even with my 'new' family, not my aunt and uncle, my body was not my own. Big M ordered me around constantly, never a please or thank you.
At this age I had created a small workout space in the basement, a section that was not being used other than to store boxes (Jackass is a hoarder). I repurposed an area rug I found, a small side table, found my dad's old weights and workout bench, put some incense and a collection of books in the small nook along with scented candles beside several cushions where I planned to sit. I started working out so I would never ever be vulnerable again. Once Jack saw me using the space, he insisted I was too young to be working out and when I scurried to the basement later that week, my space was gone.
Big M also used me as a work horse. We had a piano that I moved around the living room by myself. She often had me moving full refrigerators to different areas of the kitchen by myself. I may be small, but I'm deceivingly strong.
After the abuse ‘came out’, I was watched like a hawk, they started searching my room without my knowledge. I was called all sorts of names like whore and slut; told the reason I was always so miserable is because when I went out, there were “no cute boys to look at, fuck, blow, or bat my lashes at to make a fool of myself.” I honestly had no idea where this was coming from. One day I overheard my father say, “Maeve, quiet, they told us she’d go one way or the other" [sex crazy or abstain]. I still had no idea what they meant. I was not interested in any of that, yet. I was super confused about my feelings and trying to ignore them since the message I heard was 'deal' with your sexuality when you do not live here anymore. I also suspect that I was constantly emotionally drained and had little time to ponder boys, until puberty set in.
My vault came in handy on a daily basis. It is because of my "expert level" grey rock mastery that Big M would accuse me of lacking compassion, empathy, or better yet, claimed I was a sociopath. My father knew better, I could see it all over his face. He once told me, after I asked him how he handled pretending to be a "Communist, acting like one, and doing very bad things to people to not be found out."
He responded with:
"I was in Moscow marching in a parade when a sweet little Babushka came up to me and started pounding her fists on my chest yelling at me in Russian saying we were all monsters, we didn't belong and we should leave the country.
In that moment, I knew I would do anything to prevent Communism from coming to Canada. When you're working undercover you have to make sure your face never betrays your emotions so you focus on your face remaining hard and cold as stone because the mission is what matters most. Your life depends on it."
My room was always a disaster after I found small things misplaced and suspected they were looking for something. I was not going to make their search easy… I had a clean clothes floor section, a dirty clothes floor section, a hair and make-up floor section, and my important crap hidden in the ceiling under a 4-tile section disguised by posters of Arnold Schwarzenegger – my hero (Commando). They never found it. Ever. I was yelled at for being a slob on top of a whore. In reality, they searched my room for a diary. I knew better than to write anything down. Big M read Roxanne’s diary on the regular and would then use her own thoughts against her. You were not allowed privacy in that house because, and I quote “we own everything under this roof and you don’t need privacy. What do you need privacy for?”
In August 1987, we received the court summons about a pre-trial hearing for the week of September 9, 1987. I’m not certain of the exact day but I remember it was the first week of grade 8. Big M told me to call my mother and ask her to come support me at the court hearing. She sat in the office while I dialed the number, my face felt red-hot with humiliation, I’m not quite certain why. I had not told my mother anything so I felt odd having to cold call her with Big M watching me.
Ring, ring, ring
Monique: Allô
Margeaux: Hi maman, I have to go to court in a couple weeks and I would like it if you came with me to support me
Monique: What? But, I can’t … I have to work.
Margeaux: OK. Talk to you later
I hung up the phone.
Big M: Jack, she said no. Can you believe it?
Jack: [laughingly says] She’s selfish
Big M (big smile on her face): Margeaux, your mother said no. Can you believe that? Don't worry sweetie, I'll be there to support you on your big day.
To add insult to injury, the night before court my dad knocked on my bedroom door to chat. I was already really nervous about court the next day. I knew it would be a closed courtroom meaning no press. I did not realize it meant I would literally be alone in the court with the judge, the accused, the accused’s attorney, the Crown attorney, the police detective, and one social worker. Did I mention the Crown Attorney was a severe alcoholic? Even at 13, I knew what that big bulbous red nose meant.
Jack: I wanted to tell you that last night, Bruno’s mining friends rented a hotel room and bought several cases of beer. They got him drunk and asked him if he abused you or any kids. He said no that it never happened. Are you sure it happened? Lying about it will ruin his life.
I legitimately do not recall my response. I remember how I felt though. It felt like my father had slapped me across the face, hard. My stomach was ice cold and I remember feeling disconnected from my body as if I was about to float away by or faint. I remember shutting my door after he left and locking it.
The next day, I lived thru one of the most humiliatingly worst days in my entire life. The day i was diagnosed with Lynch Syndrome was a close second. I will spare you most of the details of that court date, save to say it went like this:
Bruno’s attorney stood directly behind him when he questioned me:
What 3 days?
Are you sure?
Those were not the 3 days Anna was out of the house
Describe his penis
How long was it?
What about his penis made it memorable?
And so on. Not once did the Crown object to this line of questioning despite the looks on the detective’s face…which exactly mirrored those on the social worker’s face. In fact, my attorney never even looked up from whatever doodle he was creating.
It feels like I was on the stand for a full hour, but my testimony took nearly 2 hours because I became non-verbal several times and I needed several breaks to catch my breath and deal with the sobbing as I recounted memories for people who clearly felt I was lying.
We went out for lunch after I testified, Jack, Maeve and I. I remember ordering French onion soup and a half club sandwich. I do not remember eating though.. I remember just feeling like I wanted to vomit.
The pre-trial hearing was never mentioned again; I had to follow up with my father to ask what happened and when I would be going back to court FOR THE TRIAL. This bad ass bitch was fully prepared to do it all over again. FULLY PREPARED. I’m not clear on what or why, but Jack told me there would not be a trial because HE felt it was too hard on my emotional self. What? He did not like the fact my eyes were practically swollen shut when I walked out of the court room after having given my testimony. I don’t think that’s exactly what happened, but regardless, there were no further hearings and Bruno was convicted of indecent exposure and something else. His sentence was 18 months at Kingston Penitentiary; he was released 9 months later on good behaviour.
I only discovered last month that my mother never knew I had been sexually assaulted until I told her when I was a teenager. She probably could have asked more questions when I called to ask her to come support me in 1987, but my father used to call her all the time to regale her with my transgressions, so maybe she thought it was just a stunt.
My entire life was spent alone and unsupported by every single adult person in my life. I cannot believe I spent most of my life defending all of them. I was never defended.
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