Spoiler
Warning this short story has the issue of sexual abuse. Hope you like my story telling, I'm trying to do different stuff, sorry if you don't like it. Comments would be much appreciated! If you like it would you press the "Like," button 
In life we go through many challenges and setbacks, everyone does. It doesn't matter who you are, whether you have loads of money or whether you have barely enough money to put food on the table. We will all face situations that attempt to ruin our daily lives. The first situation that affected me directly was when I was in 4th grade, this event didn't change my life in one moment it took time and understanding to get the full impact of what took place.
The first memory I have of this time in my life was when I first met Him. He was around the age of 70 with white stark hair gelled back on his head, blue eyes huge and bulging seemed to take up his entire face, he was a heavy man who needed the aid of a cane to walk. I knew that this man was my distant relative but I had never met Him before, this was our first camping trip together with Him, his wife and his son's family. We had fun that first camping trip, I was a little girl enjoying her summer to her fullest.
The evening was just growing late at the campgrounds and my aunt asked me if I would go get Him because it was time for dinner, I remember walking to his camper and knocking on the door telling Him that it was time for supper. He didn't come to the door of the camper but asked me to come inside to the back where he was laying. Once inside of the camper I saw Him lying on his bed, he was smiling when he asked me if I would like to cuddle with him.
Now many of you would assume that I knew what he was going to do but as a sheltered child who was always safe and around loved ones I knew nothing. I laid with my back to his chest while he molested me, the second he touched me and asked me if what he was doing felt good I knew that what he was doing was wrong. But how could your own family be able to do this, I thought it was just the concept of stranger danger. That was the first time it happened and once he was done I even walked with him to the picnic table and sat right beside him as we ate our dinner.
As disgusted as I was with how I acted after the first time I’ve learned that he was the one to blame, not myself. That same summer he molested me twice in the two weeks we were camping together, it wasn’t until after the second time that I found out that he was a retired Police Sheriff. Once I heard, “Retired Sheriff.” My mouth shut quicker and tighter than a newly oiled mouse trap, the pressure that he used on me was the strongest I’ve ever come to find in life so far, the power of authority and how one can abuse it so easily and so quickly by placing the slightest pressure on a situation.
The next summer we met up with Him and his family again for another camping trip where he molested me once and then towards the end of the summer I went down to his house and stayed two weeks there, unbelievably I was by myself. Yet again every night after dinner his wife would leave to visit a fading relative at the local retirement home and he would call me to him in order for us to cuddle. I was just coming out of 6th grade so I was maturing and entering that time in your life when deodorant is a much needed necessity of your daily life. Without Him giving me attention I guess I felt small and unimportant, but with his eyes on me I knew that with the information that I had about what he did granted me with an amazing amount of power.
The last time that he tried to touch me I jumped away from him and yelled, “No!” In a much louder voice than was needed, but hopefully I managed to get my point across even though I will never know if I did or not because the next day I left for home. I was shaken and scared but I did not want to remember anything of that summer, even though I did have fun at times I just willed away the memories that I had about Him and forced myself to move on with my life.
Four years later I finally was eaten by the guilt, I wrote my mother a letter about what took place between me and Him and handed it to her one late Saturday night. The rage and pain I saw in her eyes made me want to take the letter back but what was done was done. After that, things took place incredibly fast, first the counselor, then the abuse center where I was interviewed for hours going into the specifics of what he succeeded in doing, then more hours with my mother and counselor discussing how I was not the one to blame. By this time I was an emotional wreck, I was afraid of men and people I saw in a store, and I couldn’t let someone touch me or I would involuntarily jerk away. Yes I kept up an act, telling everyone I was fine and glad that I came out with the truth but I was scared beyond belief.
The last part in my story is when his family found out about what happened and he was interviewed and interrogated by the police. I can imagine that at first his family was shocked and at one point hated me but then slowly one by one more girls came out and said that the same thing happened to them. The granddaughters, neighborhood girls and family friends all totaling to be about 12 girls who were all molested by Him, at this point my mother feared he would kill himself to end the suffering he was going through now that his whole family knew about his secret. So she asked me if I would like to talk to him and ask him why, also if I would like to meet some of the other girls he did it to. I agreed so we drove the long drive to his town where I met many of the girls who were also victims, but I was not able to talk to Him. I couldn’t face him with his hands and his eyes that had seen my most private places, I could not let him see me again or wonder how it would be do it one last time.
After that adventure we found out he would be going to prison after the other girls were interviewed and a court date was set. How much I would have loved to see Him rot in prison with the other inmates who would have made his life a living hell, because not only was he a child molester but a retired sheriff. Only a week before his court date he got his hands on a gun and shot himself, I was told the weapon was a tiny .22 caliber handgun that he used to end his life. We were invited to his funeral but there was no way we could have gone, not many people showed up to it anyway, even some of his closest friends didn’t go.
Now today its 106 days since he died and at first I had nightmares that he would come and do me in one last time because I was the one that told everyone of who he truly was, but I have yet to meet his ghost. I will continue with my life, straining to heal and become new again. His mark that he placed on my life is no longer a thick ugly jagged scar but a clean almost invisible error on my skin that is only able to be seen in the sun. His actions affected my life greatly and caused much pain and heart ache throughout many families but through the challenges, I’ve learned more about life and how it runs than ever before.
