Nico

by: Nico Lang

I’ve always understood what the words “rape” and “abuse” meant—or the definitions at least.  My elementary and middle school (nestled in the suburbs outside of Cincinnati) were oddly good on sexual education for a small Ohio town and, as early as 3rd grade, I can remember sitting in class and learning about sexual abuse.    We watched videos that told us what inappropriate behavior was and where an adult was not allowed to touch you.  However, I never really thought about that as applying to myself or anyone I knew.  I always secretly believed that sexual assault only happened to other people, like the kids in those videos or on after-school specials or on 90210.

Outside of class, my family didn’t talk about those things, and my grandparents (who basically raised me) were adamant about protecting me from the evils of the outside world.  They didn’t want me to ever have to know what things like that were—or who they affected.

For my entire childhood, I knew that my mother avoided crowds, but I was young and thought it was just because they were noisy and sweaty.  But when I was twelve, my mother took me to a Jewel concert with her, because she didn’t want to go alone and had no one else to go with, and I remember the way she clung to me so fiercely and protectively, her nails nearly digging into my skin.  At the time, I thought she was just ...