I did something today I probably should not have done and learned something I wished I hadn't learned.

I wanted some start to a safe resolution (if that's possible) to the status of my perp. I knew he was about 70 when he got me in 1986 and had fully assumed he had to be dead by now.

So I called my old elementary school and gave them a fake last name (my vmail message has just my first name) and a fake story. I introduced myself by saying my story would sound very strange but asked the woman in the office to hear me out. Said I was a former student and in 1986 I had stolen some property from one of their substitute teachers, a Mister _____. Said that was far from the worst thing I'd ever done and that I was now in a recovery program and as part of the steps I had to make amends with people I'd hurt over the years. I still had the guy's satchel and umbrella in my parents basement and wanted to give it back - did anyone know how to reach him?

She said she'd work on it and call me back. I had expected to feel disgusting at the idea of ME being the criminal against HIM but much to my surprise I enjoyed the mental image and the way I could convincingly play the part of the nervous embarrassed victim. Heh. Maybe not entirely playing, maybe just remembering / exaggerating.

To my immense surprise she called me back with the man's full name, former town, and that he had stopped working at the school in the '90s, when he was in his 80s.

But his name....

I've always known his last name. You call your teachers Mister so-and-so. Feels very wrong to call him mister anything, but getting his first name didn't help. I'm telling you I never knew his first name. Since all this resurfaced and I've been thinking about it more, I just made up a first name for him, one that I was somehow sure was right. But I made it up. Didn't I?

Because it turns out my made-up name for him is almost exactly right. He's actually the more regional / ethnic equivalent of the name I made up. Like - if I'd picked "Paul," and his name turned out to be "Paolo." The way a kid would hear a nearly familiar name and remember it "wrong" into the more common version.

All I remember are the physical elements of what he did to me and the very little he said to me during that time (mostly orders for physical movements which I obeyed). Nothing from before or after. No intro, smalltalk, grooming, backstory to get me alone, whatever.

So how the fuck do I know what would have sounded to a kid like his name? Did he tell me, and if so when and as part of what kind of talk? Chills.

Between the name and former town, about 5 minutes on Google got me his current town (he's moved out of state), year of birth and precise age..... and his phone number.

He was 66. When he did it to me. Born 1920, was 66 in '86, is STILL ALIVE at 92. Worked in that district at least 5 years after my incident, no idea how long in total or how many others there may have been. When he sodomized me he was 66 - one year older than my father is now. A very unfortunate comparison that sent my mind reeling - especially since my nephew is 8 and i now have all too clear reference models for body sizes and the sort of mechanics that would have to be involved.

Have been hyper and irritable the rest of the day and got no work done at all.

Sitting here looking at that phone number.

God dammit why couldn't he be dead???


Edited by SoccerStar (11/26/12 04:03 PM)
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My story

"Don't think it hasn't been a little slice of heaven just because it hasn't!" --Bugs Bunny