The Power of Testimony

RUINED
At some point the leader kicked my feet and said “You” in that
creepy, rough voice. I was instantly alert. I got to my feet and followed
the prodding of the gun—​up the stairs and into the large
front bedroom that Karen and Lisa shared. He asked me which bed
was mine. When he finally understood that my room was downstairs,
he sprawled out on one of the beds as if he were going to
take a break.
“What’s your horoscope sign?” he asked.
“What?” I’d understood him, but I couldn’t believe what he was
asking.
He asked again, more forcefully this time.
I told him: Sagittarius.
His mask was still on, but I could see his lips protruding through
the mouth hole. Then he pointed his gun at me and spit out one
word: “Strip.”
I pulled my flannel nightgown over my head and shivered.
“The rest,” he said.
I peeled off my underpants.
He made me turn around. Then he told me to put my clothes
back on and marched me back downstairs.
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This is hard to admit. When he made me pirouette for him naked,
I was overwhelmed with shame at the immodesty and utter violation
of the situation. Still, I sucked in my stomach. That’s right. I
held in my stomach so I could look more attractive to the man who
might rape me. That’s how thoroughly I had internalized the fact
that a woman should make herself attractive to the eyes of a man.
This single fact haunted me for years, which is why I tell it. It’s
a snapshot of the forces of submissiveness and shame and never-​
being-​good-​enough that shaped me, as they do so many women.
It seems especially ironic that the pressure to look pleasing to
a man was so deeply instilled in us, given that we girls were also
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