Roberto Tumini
"If you tell anyone about any of this, they won't believe you. I did the same thing to another girl last year. When she went to the principal, he didn't believe her either. She was nasty like you, and that guy knows I can do much better."
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Aela Labbe
I just turned 40. Everyone said this is the year I would feel liberated and alive. I was recently divorced from a physically abusive man and was starting a new and exciting life for myself…until I got knocked up by a much younger man.
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Aela Labbe
LB 3251 [PLAYGROUNDS (SCHOOL)]: Lower lip, two white lines. The first time, I fell off a slide. The second time, a boy named Anthony pushed me off a preschool jungle gym because he said I was in his way. For the record, Anthony, I wasn’t. Both times, I went to the hospital for stitches and my mother held me down.
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I’m saying this loudly. I’m saying this loudly because it needs to be said. When I was in college, I was raped. I wasn’t even 21 yet. As if being raped—and finally realizing I had actually been raped—I also realized something else in that month. I was pregnant. I became pregnant. My body was not my own. A man had claimed it, and now, there was a baby.
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I had an abortion some 16 ½ years ago. The climate was very different then: the anti-abortion movement was more fringe and radical, with less mainstream proselytizing, even here in Indiana. The protesters at the clinic numbered in the single digits, and they were confined to an area behind a chain-link fence that stood the entire building’s length from the patient parking lot and entrance. Their chant was audible, but not enough for me to make out the words.
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