Part I:
The sun is beating on my face. I’m surrounded by Spring cheer. We can smell summer just around the corner.
“90…92…95…” I holler as they run past.
The weekend is near. My girlfriends and I have plans to meet up with a few cute boys.
“115…119…123…”
I have to say, junior year has been one for the books. 17 may be my best year yet.
“Hey, let me borrow your cell phone.” I hear his voice interrupting my thoughts.
Distracted, I reach around to my back pocket to grab it, but almost instantaneously realize that seems like a weird thing to do.
“Three minutes! 3:02…3:05… Why?”
“I need to call my coaches….” he stumbles over the oddness of it as it comes off his tongue. “Tell them the game is still on.” he continues.
“Why can’t you just call them after class?”
“You’re not supposed to have your phone in class anyways. Give it to me.” he orders… with a subtle chuckle. I can’t decide if it’s a power-chuckle or an I-know-I’m-being-ridiculous-chuckle.
“Fine.” I surrender as I toss my phone to him. “3:23…3:26…3:30”
When I look back at him, 20 feet from me, I realize he’s pointing my cell phone right at me.
“Are you taking a picture of me?” I demand.
“No, I’m dialing.” he rolls his eyes.
“Last lap! 4:46…4:51…4:52… it looks a lot like you’re taking a picture of me.” I push. I look to my friend, the only other girl in the class, to confirm she’s seeing what I see… Yep, she sees it too.
I look back at him. Now seemingly speaking to someone on my phone.
I stare at him waiting for him to hang up. Finally he does.
“Alright, give it back.”
“No. You aren’t supposed to have it during class. I’ll give it to you when class is over.” he says as we head in towards the weight room.
“Why do you need to be on it if you’re done calling your coaches?”
“One of them should be calling me back.” he shrugs.
“On my phone!? You told them to call you back on my phone? Why would you do that?”
“It’s not a big deal, he should be calling any minute.”
“Whatever.”
I keep my eye on him for the rest of the period. Watch him as he keeps looking through my phone. What could he possibly be looking at? Is he reading my text messages? Looking through my pictures? I hope I don’t have anything on there that could get me in trouble… or anyone else. Could I really get in trouble for this? This is bullshit.
I reach for it, “Give it back to me!”
He pulls it away just as my hand brushes his, “Nope. I’ll bring it to you in the hallway. You’re on duty outside the locker rooms. Make sure no one leaves early.”
Then he… and my phone… get up and walk into the boys locker room.
“Great…” I whisper to myself.
After waiting for what seems like a day… Finally! He comes out and hands me my phone.
My friend and I immediately look through it to see what he could have read or seen. Nothing glaring from what I can tell.
At first.
But, then, my mind flashes back to him pointing my phone at me.
I look in my photo album.
“I knew it!” I say to my friend as I turn my phone towards her.
“There are four pictures of me! All standing 20 feet away from him on the track. One of which is me pointing at him when I asked if he was taking pictures of me! What the fuck?” my gut turns.
Then, I get the distinct feeling I should look through my photo trash…
“Oh. My. God.” I show her.
A picture of just my chest… from below my chin to just above my belly button. Zoomed in. A picture taken from 20 feet away, but looks as if the photographer was standing within a couple feet of me.
I get another inclination… my sent messages trash.
Yep… of course. Right there. In front of my face. Five photos of me… sent to his personal email… then deleted… but not “emptied”.
I immediately go to the first person I can think of…
to be continued… Part II
When I was 17 years old, my teacher “confiscated” my cell phone and proceeded to take pictures of my chest and send them to his personal email.
He later claimed he just wanted pictures of me for his office cork board…. *collective eye roll, shall we?*… but that’s a different story for a different day.
This teacher was my coach at one point. He gained knowledge, insight, and trust over the years. He used my naivety against me. And, now, looking back, I believe he sensed whatever it is predators leave on their victim for other predators to sniff out. I was quickly identified as prey and thoroughly groomed from that point on.
This teacher is still employed. As a matter of fact, they’ve been promoted, multiple times, with far more power and opportunity for one-on-one meetings with teenaged children now.
This teacher has also had multiple claims against him of similar nature… even worse offenses actually.
I know what you’re thinking. “She must not have told the proper authorities.”
Oh, but I did.
I, a seventeen year old girl, with lots of friends, aspirations, good grades, athletic achievements, a supportive family, a good Homelife… put my neck on the line to tell teachers, administration, my parents, the police, the superintendent, the school counselor… and anyone else who asked. I risked my privacy, my dignity, my reputation and any kind of backlash that comes from blowing a whistle that no one wants to hear.
I spoke up, because I recognized this was bigger than me.
And, at times, I regretted it. Because nothing happened. No justice was served. All I got out of the deal was a whole lot of rumors, a whole lot of bullying (by authority figures, not by my peers), questions and being made to feel like I was the one who did something wrong.
I graduated early because of it. The entire incident ruined the rest of my junior year and completely removed my willingness to be a senior in high school.
Today, I choose, again, to speak up. Nothing will happen, but that’s not my fault and I refuse to feel responsible for his victims since, his current victims, nor his future victims.
I’ve done my part.
For all of you who have been victimized by a predator who oh so conveniently sits at the throne of some sort of authority. Who’s continually given a “pass”, because he “seems like a nice guy” or “would help anyone out” or “is always there supporting our community” or whatever other bullshit that makes other people feel better. I am sorry for whatever it is you’ve suffered because of ever knowing such a disgusting excuse for a human being. I’m also sorry that you, most likely, were not their first victim, and most definitely won’t be their last.
And to all of you with all the bullshit excuses… God forbid you, or your child, have to learn this lesson the hard way.
If you are keeping a secret of this nature due to fear of backlash or humiliation or fear of people not believing you… I encourage you to be brave. To use your voice, fiercely. Don’t back down. Whatever was done to you is bigger than you. We, survivors, have an obligation to help each other, to empower each other, to protect each other and those who come after us. You’re stronger than you think. Tell your story. Your selfless courage could save a life.