October Ghosts. Jenny Plumb

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      Two days later on Monday, Olivia scanned the faces of the women sitting in a circle with her as she said, "Hi, I'm Olivia, and I'm a survivor,"

      "Hello, Olivia," the group murmured in unison.

      "Thank you all for coming tonight," she said. "I see some new faces in the circle, so I'm going to quickly go over a couple of things before we start. This group is for people identifying as female who have had some kind of sexual assault in their past. If that doesn't apply to you, I would respectfully ask that you leave before we start. There is an all-gender inclusive meeting on campus on Sundays, and I'm happy to give you that information if you'd rather go to that one."

      She paused to see if anyone wanted to leave and then nodded. "This group is also confidential. Nothing said here leaves the room. We will go around the circle left to right, and everyone can say hello and give us your name or the name you'd like to use. Then after that, anyone who wants to share can get my attention, and I'll call on you to share as much or as little as you want. We do not comment or judge what people share; we simply say thank you and move on to the next person. We only have the conference room for two hours, so try to keep your initial story to ten minutes or less so that everyone has a chance to talk, and then when it's over, we can mingle and visit. Any questions before we start?"

      When no one raised a hand, Olivia began. "Okay, let's introduce ourselves first." She looked to the woman on her left and nodded.

      "Hi, I'm Emily, and I'm a survivor."

      "Hello, Emily," the group answered.

      Once all thirteen women had introduced themselves, Olivia said, "To start the ball rolling, I'll share my story. I was molested by my aunt's neighbor when I was eight. I used to get dropped off for the weekends a lot because my mom was dating. I'm an only child, and my aunt had six boys, five older than I am, and one younger. They lived on a farm with a lot of land. Her oldest was just about to start college, and he was friends with the neighbor's son who was a year older. I don't remember his name, but he had black wavy hair, blue eyes, and he always smiled at me. Most of my cousins couldn't stand me, because I was a girl and a nuisance to have around. But not him. He was incredibly friendly and made me feel worthy of attention when not many other people in my life did. He never yelled at me when I wanted to hang out and watch him fix cars, even though my oldest cousin hated it when I tagged along."

      Her gaze focused on the library's well-worn carpet as she continued. "The afternoon it happened, I think my cousin might have forgotten I was there watching them work on the car. Or maybe he was just so annoyed that I was there that he didn't care. He accidentally whacked his thumb with a hammer and went home to ice it. I stayed. The neighbor was quiet for several minutes, and I didn't dare say anything, because I was afraid he'd send me home if he realized I was there. Then without looking my way, he gently asked me if I wanted to help him work on the car."

      A bitter chuckle escaped her throat. "Of course, I said yes, and he got out this rolling floor mat that he used to lie on to look under cars. He told me I'd have to lie on top of him while we fixed the car because there was only room for one person on the mat. I jumped at the chance. I was so fucking desperate to be of use and to be wanted that I would have done anything he asked. After I lay on top of him, it gets a bit choppy. I remember the smell of him, the way his chest vibrated under my back when he spoke, the bottom of the car an inch from my face, his hand snaking into my panties, and feeling so very afraid that he'd hate me if I told him I wanted him to stop. I'm not sure how long we were there. I don't remember leaving or how I got home. I just remember feeling guilty and ashamed that I'd ruined our friendship without knowing what I'd done wrong. I remember hoping he would still like me. But I didn't get the chance to see him again, because my mom decided to marry one of the jerks she was dating, and we moved."

      Smiling ruefully, Olivia said, "Ten years later, my best friend was fangirling over Joseph Gordon-Levitt and made me watch a ton of his stuff. One night, we watched the movie Mysterious Skin, about a couple of kids who get molested and how they each handle it differently. I hadn't thought about that neighbor for years, but after watching the movie, I couldn't stop shaking and I felt nauseous. I had to go home and take a shower until the water ran cold, and then I just sat there crying, shivering, and thinking he wasn't my friend; he was my abuser."

      She shrugged. "That was two years ago, and since then I've thought a lot about that day and about him. I'd like to say that if I saw him again I'd kill him, or at the very least confront him, but that would be a lie. I'd probably just keep silent, the way I did back then, and feel ill while hating myself."

      She looked around at the faces in the circle and said with a smile, "That's it for me tonight."

      "Thank you for sharing," some of the regulars said, and the new members echoed them.

      "Who else would like to share?" she asked.

      Emily raised her hand, and Olivia said, "Go ahead, Em."

      Emily said, "Three and a half months ago, I was drugged and raped during a party at Sigma Alpha Kappa."

      Olivia gave each of the women her full attention as they went around the room sharing their stories. She'd been running these meetings for a year now, and as always, by the end of the two hours, she felt a kinship with each of the attendees even though she didn't know most of them outside the group. But that was the point. Solidarity, and a safe space to say what they were feeling without judgment, unwanted advice, or pity.