The Power of Testimony

RUINED
couldn’t place. His skin was hot and smelled like sweat. It occurred
to me that the intruders were wearing much warmer clothes than
we women were.
He kissed my breasts. “Do you like it when I do that?”
I didn’t respond, so he repeated himself, more angrily.
I shrugged, but knowing he couldn’t see me, I made some disgruntled
noises.
“I got the gun right here,” he threatened. “And I can let the other
guy at you. I ast’ for you special.”
Finally I forced myself to speak. “I don’t like it,” I said.
“Why not? Don’t you like it when your boyfriend do this?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“How come a pretty girl like you ain’t got no boyfriend?”
w
Maybe I had a boyfriend. At least, I had a male friend who might be
something more. His name was Jim. He was a funny guy, a drama
geek. For the past year, he had spent huge amounts of time hanging
around with me and my housemates. One evening six months earlier,
right before our house disbanded for the summer, Jim and I had
spent time together, just the two of us—​an evening that included
some sweet kisses.
Then I went to Wyoming for the summer, to take a seasonal job
at Yellowstone. I worked in a kitchen and was part of a volunteer
team that conducted Sunday worship services at the Old Faithful
Inn. While I was gone that summer, Jim and I wrote to each other.
His letters confirmed that he was everything I hoped for in a husband:
kind, funny, adaptable. And he was a Christian, but not a
nut job about it. So if he wanted to take things between us slow,
I wouldn’t push. Mostly because I didn’t want to jeopardize the
relationship, but also because of my housemates. Everybody loved
Jim. Our group had wonderful camaraderie. If a dating relationship
went bad, that would botch things up for everyone.
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