People might think that living at an Assisted Living at the age of twenty-four would be miserable, but I was living in one of the Independent Living apartments, and it was like having my very own apartment. It was a huge improvement on the nursing home I’d been in for the six months prior. I had made friends with a man named Jeff, who was so cute and attractive and I was completely in love with him (but too scared to say anything), and I’d also made friends with a man named John. I had Lesley, a really kind and caring private aide, taking care of me every day, I was finishing my last few projects for school and then I would be graduating summa cum laude with a GPA of 3.98 from Elms College with a BA in writing.
John and Jeff would come over to my house in the evenings and the three of us would hang out while Lesley got me ready for bed. John and Jeff had the internet fixed by the second day, but then we got all into speeding things up, finding movies and cartoons, playing games, and just talking and hanging out. One night we played Checkers and John again brought up that he and Debbie (a 60-something-year-old resident that John liked to hang out with) loved playing Strip Checkers, but Jeff and I just laughed it off not paying much mind to it.
I was beyond happy to have my two new best friends.
My nurse came twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Her name was Jen and she was a petite but energetic redhead who would change my port needle in the hair salon (located in the basement of the main building) in the reclining chair until I got PCA care where they would be able to carry me into the house so she could change it in my bed during the day. I had a meeting set up with my new primary care doctor Karen, the nurse practitioner the following week, things were falling right into place.
Then on Sunday, I asked Lesley if she could come a little later so that I could sleep in a little.
I had been tired. I was getting up every morning around 8 AM and I was up in my wheelchair until 8 PM, which was hard on my body that had been used to frequent rests and naps in the nursing home. It made sense to both Lesley and myself to allow me to sleep in an extra two hours on Sunday morning.
So Saturday night as Lesley, John, and Jeff were preparing to leave, I said goodnight to everyone, and then spoke to Lesley separately.
“See you at 10 AM tomorrow,” I said to her.
“10 AM?” John asked me. “Aren’t you usually down at the main building working on your writing stuff by then?”
“I’m sleeping in tomorrow,” I explained. “I needed some extra time to recharge.”
I didn’t really think twice about John asking me why I wasn’t going to be waking up until 10 AM. I thought he was just genuinely curious and nothing more. When I heard knocking at my door around 8 AM I never in a million years would have thought it was John.
The knocking woke me up out of a deep sleep, and at first, I was really confused, then I thought maybe it was Lesley and she just forgot her keys, but then I remembered that she wasn’t coming in until 10 AM and it was only 8 AM, so I was baffled. My walker was next to my bed and my wheelchair not far away. I was wearing a unicorn nightgown and unicorn PJ bottoms that totally covered me, so I got up out of bed, with the walker, transferred myself into my wheelchair, and wheeled down the hall to get to the door.
When I saw John was at the door, it still never occurred to me to be wary or scared or anything like that. This was my friend John. He would never harm me. I didn’t register the way he was staring at me braless chest or anything like that of course.
“What in the world are you doing here?” I asked him.
“Just wanted to make sure your internet is still working,” he explained. “I was on my computer that maps out the internet for all of Side By Side and it looked like the internet was down over here, so I thought I’d come over here and check.”
“Oh, well I was just sleeping, we can check later,” I said.
“Well, I’m here now…” his voice trailed off.
“Okay, you can check,” I agreed hesitantly, and let him follow me down the hall.
I had never been to high school or gone to college that you live at. No one had ever really warned me about not letting men into your living quarters when you’re alone, besides, I thought I could trust him. I was so naïve.
When we got into my bedroom I handed him my laptop and he sat down on a chair next to me. Very close to me. I was starting to feel a little uneasy.
“You have some nice lotions,” he said to me, leaning in even closer to look over my shoulder at my shelf with lotions on it.
“Yeah, there was this one nurse at the nursing home I was at, Mary-Kate, she used to get me the most awesome lotions. My feet are always so dry and painful from the neuropathy so she would use the lotions to massage into my feet and it would always feel so good.”
“I could massage your feet with one of these lotions,” John said. “How about this Fresh Apple one?”
“That’s ok,” I told him. Now I was starting to feel uneasy. This was awkward.
“Why not?” he asked. “It’s nothing sexual, just to make your feet hurt less while I fix your internet.”
“No it’s ok,” I told him again.
“Come on,” he said, “it will make you feel better, if it doesn’t feel good I’ll stop.”
“I can do it myself or have Lesley do it,” I told him.
“What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do it?” He asked. “I thought we were friends.”
“Well we are friends, but…” I trailed off, something was wrong here.
“If we’re friends then what’s the problem?”
“It’s just…”
“Come on, I’m your friend and I want to help your feet feel better, now I feel bad that you won’t let me help you.” he insisted.
“Well you’re helping me with the internet, that’s helping me,” I explained.
“But I want to make your feet feel better too, I am your friend, right?”
I was worried that he wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore if I didn’t let him rub the lotion on my feet. In my head I rationalized that there wasn’t anything wrong with just letting someone rub lotion on your feet, that in itself wasn’t a sexual act, it was just lotion and a foot. In the hospital and nursing home, the male CNAs put lotion on me and it was fine. Maybe if I just let him put the lotion on my feet and fix my supposedly broken internet then he would leave and I could go back to sleep and then Lesley would get here and my day would start and this early morning interlude would just be all a part of a bad dream. Later this evening things would be back to normal with both Jeff and John coming back over together while Lesley was here and we’d watch cartoons and play non-strip checkers and just have a good time.
“Okay,” I told him. “You can massage my feet.”
John scooped up one of my feet off the leg rest of my wheelchair and put some lotions on his hands and began massaging my foot in a very slow rhythmic and very sexual manner, he began talking to me in a low tone of voice telling me how sex is a beautiful thing and how someone my age needed to learn what a beautiful gift sex was and how he could present me with that gift.
My skin was crawling, I felt dirty all over, my breathing was getting rapid, I felt panicky.
“I’m not interested John,” I told him, my voice coming out all squeaky and breathless and scared. I tried to pull my foot back, but he was holding it tight as he massaged it. Terror coursed through my veins. What had I gotten myself into?
“Let go of me,” I shouted,
“I want to teach you love,” he told me.
“I don’t want that from you,” I told him, “You’re old enough to be my grandfather, and I’m not ready for sex.” I pulled at my leg again. Memories of being held at gunpoint and knifepoint and being raped ran through my head as I was returned to my childhood sexual abuse at the hands of a family friend. It had gone on for five years and started when I was five. Five years of attempted rape and sodomy at gunpoint and knifepoint. Now here I was twenty years later come full circle. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid that I was going to have a heart attack or stroke.
“You are a beautiful girl, I want you to feel beautiful inside and out, I can make beautiful love with you.” he continued.
“I don’t want that!’ I yelled at him, continuing to try to pull my foot back, but I wasn’t strong enough and he just grabbed on harder and continued rhythmically massaging it.
“I will give you a gift that you will treasure forever,” Panic coarsed through me like a bullet shot at close range.
“Stop!” I yelled again, but still couldn’t get my weak foot free from his too powerful grip.
John pulled my wheelchair in closer to him. He pulled up my pajama shirt and planted a big wet kiss on my stomach. I started screaming the words “No”, “Stop”, and “Help” at the top of my lungs.
Just then we both heard movement upstairs, it must have been my roommate Jim, I had never been so happy to hear Jim moving around in my life.
Finally, John let go of me and my leg and my wheelchair picked up his serpent-headed cane and rushed out the door.
I was left panting in my wheelchair with one leg askew and the foot covered in Fresh Apple lotion, my shirt partially up and covered in disgusting, vile, John cooties, and my mind trying to race and shut down both at the same time.
For a good fifteen minutes, I just stayed there frozen in space with my mind reeling trying to process what had just happened. I had just been molested by a man who I thought was a friend of mine. A man I thought I could trust. My body had just been taken control of and violated and I had been helpless because of my disability. I felt so dirty and grimy and disgusting. I wanted to be dipped into a giant vat of sanitizer and scrubbed clean. My foot was all slimy, my stomach felt contaminated. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know what my next step was supposed to be.
Chrissy had said if I ever ran into any trouble to call over to the main building and talk to one of the aides there. So I picked up my cellphone, scrolled through it, found the number for the kitchen at the main building, and dialed.
“Hello, Side By Side Assisted Living how can I help you?” Marina, the overnight staff’s voice picked up on the first ring. I was surprised she was still there but relieved. So relieved that I just burst into tears.
“Who is this?” Marina asked.
“It’s Becca Pava,” I spit out through my tears.
“What’s going on Becca?” Marina asked me sounding concerned.
“Can you come over to my apartment?” I asked her.
“Sure, I’ll be right there,” she told me.
I hung up the phone, wheeled myself into the bathroom to get a towel to wipe all of that disgusting Fresh Apple lotion off my foot, threw out the rest of the bottle of Fresh Apple lotion, pulled down my pajama shirt, straightened myself up in the wheelchair and struggled unsuccessfully to compose myself before Marina got there.