The boardwalk is my favorite place. If I think hard enough I can feel the sand under my feet and the sound of the ocean. I can hear the soft roar of the families sitting around me, the rays on my skin, and the melted ice cream dripping on my cheeks. The boardwalk means more than just summer. It means innocence. It holds the promise of salty air and hugs and family. It holds no responsibility. It holds adventure.
I wanted a different kind of adventure when I found you. I didn't know what that meant. I didn't want a boyfriend or a connection or a link. I wanted to try something new in a place I knew so well.
My dad went for a walk on the boardwalk that morning. It was our last day. It was early. He put on his red, tattered philly's cap and walked out the door.
You were getting off work down the street. I texted you. You came over.
You looked at me as if I was a new conquest. A new toy to play with. You had this smirk that burns in my mind like the cigarettes in the ash trays on the porch. I can still smell it even when I try and put it out.
We moved quickly. You moved quickly. "My dad will be back soon," I said. "We better go fast then," you replied.
We were on my bed. The twin bed with the turquoise sheets and the dolphin pillow. On the soft covers under which I had played hide and seek. In the room where my aunt read me to sleep.
I couldn't respond before you were in me. All over me. Taking me.
I never said no. I never even cried. I just stared. I stared over your back at the wall. At the family photos. Photos of me and the boardwalk with my smile as wide as the sea.
You finished and left me there. The light was streaming through the windows but this time it didn't feel so familiar. You stained the sheets that I had slept in as a little girl. You left your mark.
You took a part of me that day. You made me a prisoner of my own body. My own sick memories. My own trauma.
The boardwalk was my favorite place. I haven't gone back there since. I don't know if I can feel the sun without feeling your sweaty body on top of me. I don't know if I can sit in that room without feeling the shame wash over me like the Atlantic. The shame of being so silent.