Jump Around

I will jumping out of a plane on April 28!

It's a fundraiser for SOAR (Speaking Out Against Rape ) . If you care to support my jump, please visit my fundraising page at http://www.firstgiving.com/ginaweaver.

Hubby is most dissatisfied with this plan, as are a number of my friends who fear for my safety. In terms of jumping, it's pretty safe--a good skydiving center, a tandem jump with an experienced jumper. And honestly, it doesn't feel scary to me (though I'm sure when I'm in the plane I will be freaking out!).

Scary is being raped. Jumping out of a plane (assuming you have a parachute!) is cake.

I have been inspired by Cole's bravery in her post today, so here goes.

the summer I was 14

M is my first real boyfriend. He persistently pursued me in that 8th grade way that spring by sending me messy, rambling notes on legal paper. I should have listened to my friend Susan's snarky suggestion to correct the grammar and send the notes back--but that wasn't, still isn't, who I am. So even though I had no interest in him, I felt sorry for him and met him at the library for that first "date."

Somehow this turns into a "relationship." We don't actually go anywhere, of course, but we do a lot of experimenting with sex and drugs and cutting school. He has a "fort" over his dad's garage, which is our private den.

One day he wants to try anal sex. It has no appeal to me but I'm pretty open to trying anything. My concern is that it will hurt. So he says, we can try it, if it does hurt, we'll just stop.

So we try it. It hurts like hell. I say stop.

He says no.

I am face down, stomach flat on the floor, feeling like I am being ripped in half and knowing I can't get up. I am pounding my fists on the floor and crying. I am being betrayed by this person I trusted. I am stupid. I am nasty. I got what I deserved.

When it's over I get dressed and take the bus to Audrey's house. I can smell the semen on my skin while I look out the window onto Roland Avenue. I don't tell Audrey what happened. Most of my friends don't even know I'm having sex. If anyone would figure it out, it would be Audrey, but I don't think she puts it together for another year or so. I don't even break up with M for a few more months, though I do get progressively more depressed and try to kill myself--landing in the hospital for several days---over the summer. I don't tell the doctors in the hospital, even the cute young resident who I really do trust. I don't speak about this day for years, and then very vaguely. The first time I actually describe exactly what happened, I am in my mid-twenties, almost 10 years later, telling my then-husband with my head covered by a pillow, ashamed even then.

So no, jumping out of a plane does not scare me all that much. Like I said, it's cake.