Him Again
Dr. Eye was featured in Roseburg’s’ News Review; He had made a $95.000 contribution to the Umpqua Valley Arts. I wondered when I’d let it go that he frightened me. The cowards of our community for the price of endowments to keep hushed the voices of the abused. I wondered if I could comment on the letter to the Editor of the paper. Would they publish it? Would it be beneficial or invite more hurt into my own soul? What should be my response from myself who claims to love God most?
Judy, the stylist at our salon; Her sister had been abused by him, but she buried her hurt rather than facing it. But Judy said her sister heard him called a “Dirty Old Man” at least a dozen times. Maybe it wasn’t so buried after all.
How could I find God when my town’s newspaper declares the praises of a sexual predator who happened to give a lot of money? And the pain I would endure was brought up again when his money made the news.
What was it about being unprotected like my parents didn’t do? Was I to remain silent because I had no voice then and did I again? Was it something for me to speak about or was it too dangerous? Could it turn back on me and be more hurtful to me than my silence?
Lisa’s husband was an attorney who said that people get in a lot of trouble without seeking legal advice in cases like mine. The fact that Dr. Eye had gotten away with it all these years said something. He’s a snake, he's shrewd; his abusing me couldn’t be proven he made sure of that when there was no witness when he fondled me in that dark room. He said if the newspaper published my opinion Dr. Eye could sue me and the newspaper for defamation of character. Dr. Eye had plenty of money to hire a powerful attorney and I could be reported as a loose, vindictive woman.
He lived far up the hill from our house on Lane Street in his majestic house. But I saw him at the corner of Cass and Chadwick Streets where Dave and I lived. I was traumatized that he was so close. I drew a diagram of where he was x- marked the spot and the intersecting streets as if that would help.
Lisa and I went to the opening night of the artist’s new art show. I saw Dr. Eye across the hall through an interior window. Lisa said “Picture him behind bars.” It helped until he was featured in the newspaper again.
His picture was taken in front of the Umpqua Valley Art Center posing like a dapper gentleman. Seeing his picture made me literally sick.
Something about his picture reminded me of Dave’s dad; he’d grown a Fu Manchu moustache; it was like Dr. Eye’s. Soon afterwards Dave and I were at a restaurant with his parents. I couldn’t look at his dad’s face. Dave and I went to see a counselor to untangle the mess of my trauma. The next time Dave cut his dad’s hair, Dave said “Why don’t we cut off your moustache?” His dad agreed.
The paper featured a “Truth of Youth” question and answer column. I knew my granddaughter Maggie’s picture and rebuttal would be in Tuesday’s paper page 2. I was really looking forward to reading it. But when I turned the page there he was again. His picture featured another endowment of his to the arts that took up all the top half of that page.
I pictured a huge warrior angel standing his ground, his arms crossed like he was saying to Dr. Eye “I dare you to bother her again.” The angel’s assignment was to watch over my life while I battled the process of learning how to give no power to that evil man over my life and the cluster of events where I was conditioned to believe I had no voice.
The odd, wonderful thing is that the last two living of my sexual abusers my cousin and Dr. Eye died when I was in a manic episode at that cousin’s memorial held at the Grange Hall where I was raped.
I’ve heard you can’t erase memories but you can find grace.
Comments