It’ll take 24 minutes.

It’s dark in the car and this darkness is hiding him.

Who does this man think he is doing this to me? I’m a child. I’m 13.

I should be saying something, speaking out for myself.  

But I can’t help but feel anything but shame. Ashamed for being too trusting. 

Maybe I’m just taking this out of context. I’m probably overthinking.

But then why do I feel like his hand is creating a burning hole in my thigh?

Why am I letting this happen?

It’ll still take 20 minutes.

He said that he misses his daughter. But I’m not his daughter. I don’t know this man. I’ve never seen this man. I’ve known him for all of a day and already this is what I receive. 

My parents invited him out of pity. Yet he gives his thanks to me.

I am engulfed in nothing but the scent of his cologne. In the way it reminds me of something my father would wear.

There is a discomfort, unlike anything I’ve experienced. Anything I’ve ever felt. I find it difficult to move.

He speaks but his words are all mumbles creating nothing but a never-ending echo. I do nothing except calmly smile because what else can I really do?

There are still 15 minutes left. 

I look to the person on my right, at the way they look out the window. Completely unaware of the degenerate seated next to me. I crane my head as far as I can to quietly get their attention, but it doesn’t work. 

I want them to witness what is happening. I want them to say something to him. To scream at him. To defend me. But I stay silent. I stay frozen. 

I look at my mother in the front seat, at the way her hair falls to her shoulders. I think of my mother’s comforting green eyes and how I want nothing more than to just hold her hand.  

13 minutes left.

I didn’t know what was happening. He managed to corner me in that dark car and that dark car became my prison. A cage with no manner of escaping. 

I vowed never to let this happen. Yet it still did. It had never occurred to me that something like this could happen to me. I had always been careful. 

I never went anywhere alone. 

I never put myself in the position of being left alone with a man.

But that wasn’t enough. I don’t think anything would’ve ever been enough. 

10 minutes.

This is what it is to be made uncomfortable by a man. This is what it is to be defiled. This is what it is to feel reduced to nothing. 

I’ve been silenced. 

I bounce my leg, in an attempt to get his hand off of me. But it doesn’t work. His hand still remains.

Why didn’t I just cross my legs? 

8 minutes left 

I’m sweating, I need air, I need to get out.

If I could jump out of this car I would.

If I could slap him in the face I would.

If I could take what he did to me and humiliate him, I would. 

But I can’t, because he’s a man and I’m not really anything right now.

5 minutes. 

I want his hand off of me. I want to feel liberated from this graying moment that will be engraved into the inner corners of my mind. 

I will forever be unable to escape this moment because this is the moment when everything changes. I am no longer a young girl eager with anticipation, but a woman forced to be aware of the men in the room. Hesitant to let any man embrace her for fear of being taken advantage of. 

Something so innocent becomes ruinous.

Only 2 more minutes.

Two more minutes. Only two more minutes.

We arrived, and just as quickly as he placed his hand on my thigh, he removed it. 

As if it was never there. As if I had made the whole thing up.

I get out of the car and am hit with the suffocating night air.

I’m free. I made it out.

But really I didn’t. I would still be forced to have a meal with not only this man but with my entire family. I would have to pretend. For them. 

I enter through the restaurant doors and am met with familiar faces. My cousins. My aunts and uncles. It’s New Year’s Eve and here I am replaying what led up to me being in that dark car. 

I take a few steps forward to take a seat next to my uncle. But this man is right in tow, trying to squeeze his way between us. 

I try to make no room. I try to make myself as big as possible to prevent him from being near me. 

Everyone tells him to go to the farthest side of the table and I take a breath of relief. 

I did it. 

I sit down ready to have a meal with my family. 

I glance at him once during the entire dinner and of course, he happens to be staring at me the exact time I take a look at him.  

I turn my head and begin to think about the 24 minutes it will take to get home.

And in an instant, my appetite dissipates. 

I would have to be in a car with this man again. 

I can’t let it happen again, I won’t let it happen again. 

This time I’ll make sure to sit in the front seat. This time no one will be able to touch me. No one will be able to ruin me. 

And that’s what I do. I make a quick dash to the front seat. 

He nudges my shoulder playfully with the palm of his hand, and I shrug him off. But all I want to tell him is to Get His Hand Off Me!

I bring my legs up to my chest and sit there for 24 minutes.