I could feel the sweat slowly coursing down the center of my back. It must have been a sweet draw for the mosquitoes who were not missing dinner like I was. The humid air was thick and filled with the sounds and smells of Florida in July. Then the dogs started to bark. Faint but hearty. I could easily tell they were of a large breed. As I sat in the lush green thicket watching nightfall approach I begin to worry they were hunting me. In my naive youthful state I actually thought they may have called the dogs to sniff me out. I could picture the police leading them through the surrounding neighborhoods ready to burst through my safe haven at any moment. I began to panic. I needed to move. I needed to find somewhere else to take refuge. But I was frozen in fear. Maybe I wanted them to find me? This had clearly gone in such a terrible direction and home sounded really good. But there I stayed for the next 3 hours.
Around midnight I decided to walk to the closest street and figure out my next move. Maybe I could find a phone. There were a few people I could think of to call. As I crossed the intersection to the adjoining neighborhood more large dogs began to bark. I had a personal fear of large dogs that stemmed from my childhood. As I bolted back in the direction I had come from I lost one of my sandals. I stood stock still. Not knowing if I should go back for the shoe or just move on with the one I had left. As I stood there contemplating and mustering the courage of what I knew was the right decision a car tuned onto the street. It slowed down and the passenger window rolled down. Two Boys around my age looked out.
“Are you okay?” Do I engage? Talk to strangers in the middle of the night on a dark street? “Can we give you a ride somewhere?”
I was exhausted, covered in sweat, and at a loss. “I actually don’t have anywhere to go. I ran away from home.”
The driver immediately said “Well, I got take my buddy home but then you can crash at my place if you want. Call someone in the morning?”
“Your parents won’t care?” I asked.
“You can come right in my window. They leave for work early.” he replied. Every single thing I had ever been taught evaporated with the thought of lying in a bed and sleeping. I quickly ran to grab my missing shoe and hopped in the backseat.
Just as promised, I was easily escorted through an open window to this boy’s bedroom. He snuck me down the hall to use the restroom and then back to his room. I remember lying as still as possible. Desperately ready for sleep but also awaiting some sort of expected payment for my rescue. Eventually, my exhaustion overpowered my concern. My eyes fluttered closed and I was out. My knight slept quietly beside me, not at any point trying to take advantage of his unexpected guest. When I woke in the morning, I was actually surprised. I hadn’t had much interaction with the opposite sex that had allowed me to walk away unscathed. When I met him in his living room he said “Good Morning” with a hint of a Southern accent. He asked if I wanted something to eat. I was then handed a cordless phone so that I could call for reinforcements. Calling the older boy who took me to prom was the first person I could think of. If only I had called anyone else...
I knew the way he had treated me for not sleeping with him after prom was crappy. But we had known each other for so long and we had had some really good times. I made excuses for his behavior. I tried to justify it as understandable. His Mom had just died so tragically and unexpectedly. He was older and more experienced than me. He was popular. I had originally agreed to the deal. And at the end of the day, he had a car, and not really anyone to answer to so I thought he was my best option for assistance. The phone rang, he answered. I explained my plight and he said he was on his way to pick me up. In that moment he redeemed himself. I needed help and he was on the way. I thanked the boy whose name to this day I can’t remember and hopped into that faded red car the moment it pulled into the driveway.
I felt optimistic. I was on the move, headed back to my neck of the woods and was going to figure it out! Older boy explained to me that another friend my age was home alone for the weekend. His parents had gone out of town so I could stay there until Sunday. He then told me about a party that night in Ponte Vedra that we would be going to. It all sounded heavenly after my last 24 hours. When we arrived at younger boy’s house I was immediately offered a shower and a change of clothes. His older sister wasn’t home so he raided her closet for me. As the hot soothing water rushed over my skin I began to think of my good fortune to have two good friends who wanted to help me. They were both being so nice and really making me feel taken care of. Relaxed, I relished washing away the stench and sweat from the night before. I think I stayed in the shower for over half an hour. I can still clearly remember drying off and putting on the clean clothes, feeling refreshed and renewed.
When I walked into the living room the boys were both at the wet bar having a drink. And would you believe they already had one waiting on me? How thoughtful. We stayed there drinking who knows what for the next couple of hours. I began to feel dizzy and could tell my words were slurring. Then older boy said it was “Time to Bolt.” I can still hear him saying it. It was the last time I would ever hear his voice that it wouldn’t make me want to crawl inside myself and die. I had to lay across the backseat. I didn’t have enough experience at 16 with drinking liquor. I was worried I might throw up and began taking deep heaving breaths. I assumed we were on the way to Ponte Vedra so when I began to feel the car going down a dirt road and saw all the flashes of green that were clearly the overhang of many trees I was confused. Were we going to the lakes? The parties here were always late at night. It was still daylight outside.
When the back door opened, I spoke in a thin voice that I couldn’t get up. Older boy willingly assisted me. He dragged me out by both of my arms. A recent summer thunderstorm had just passed through and had left its rain-soaked evidence all around. Then younger boy came to help and they carried me over to a wet, dirty, mattress that had been tossed on top of one of the fire pits for eventual burning. I knew the mattress. It was older boy’s dead Mother’s. He had told me weeks prior that he had dumped it there. I remember feeling so sorry and sad for him. Not anymore. As the cold wetness from the mattress began to soak thru my fresh clothes I thought “I was so clean. Now I’m going to need another shower.” I still don’t think what was about to happen had sunk in...until my shorts were removed.
When younger boy crawled on top of me clarity was a slap in the face. I was immediately blasted by his invading presence, alcohol infused breath and bumbling hands. I began to cry and chant “No, please don’t” but his mission continued. He wasn’t listening to me and older boy was cheering him on. For as long as I live I will never be able to expunge the image of opening my eyes and seeing older boy hovering over me. This 18 year old boy who I thought cared about me at least a little was standing proudly, holding his penis in his hand. He began hungrily stroking himself while instructing younger boy to “Hurry up, I’m want a turn. Hurry up man, I’m next!” I closed my eyes.
The shame, disillusionment, and humiliation while lying there wet, too drunk to defend myself, and in broad daylight was the perfect parallel of suffocation and numbness. I just existed there, quietly crying, while being used like a worthless rag doll. Hot tears were running into my ears. I felt myself disappearing into somewhere far away. Then, younger boy actually began to feel bad. He started saying “This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this. She’s crying.” In that moment right or wrong I knew that he had been talked into this by older boy. There was a small amount of relief knowing that he had felt remorse. Older boy felt nothing. He wanted his prom payment, no matter how he got it.
Then, the nightmare ended. Younger boy’s conscience took over. He wouldn’t allow older boy to “finish” and he demanded it end. It’s so bizarre that all these years later I have felt less anger and hurt towards younger boy than I do older boy. The majority of my disgust and loathing has always been for older boy. He was the ringleader to my pain and suffering. Older boy was the one who felt no remorse. He was the one whose betrayal was the most significant. I have always felt truly and throughly raped by him.
Once I was on my feet again I had to throw up. They allowed it before slinging me back into the backseat. The car started and bumped its way through the dirt path back out to the main road. We were headed to the beach, to the party in Ponte Vedra. I can’t remember anyone talking. I just closed my eyes and pretended to be peacefully asleep. Which immediately reminded me of the night before. I had gone home with a complete stranger, a person who in common circumstances might have been the one to have abused me so deeply. Instead, he turned out to be a lovely gentleman coming to the aid of a girl in distress. My new reality, it was a person close to me, someone I had known most of my life, an evil wolf in sheep’s clothing that was the true culprit of my debasement. In these past 26 years the irony has never been lost on me.
I was barely coherent by the time we arrived at our destination. I remember hearing older boy say “Just leave her in the car.” And that’s what they did. Time passed, it began to get dark. I laid there, half passed out, half in shock, and drowning in disgrace, degradation and discomfort. I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. Did I go inside? Should I just run? It never even occurred to me to call the police. I knew a crime had been committed. But the thought of my parents finding out was paralyzing. The shame of it was too much and I was a runaway. What if they thought I had brought it on myself? Somehow deserved it? The car door opened.
A girl who I had considered a friend and her boyfriend got into the car. They asked if I was okay. They had clearly been told I was drunk and passed out in the back of older boy’s car. They explained they were going to the store and were borrowing the car. I could just stay in the backseat they said. Only that’s not where we went. As we pulled into a local fish camp parking lot I saw my parents van. Another betrayal. I scrambled as fast as I could to get out of the car. I began to run. In my state I was no match for the boyfriend, my birkenstocks, and gravel made from crushed seashells. I could feel them cutting into me, slicing my knees when I was tackled to the ground. It was over. I was being dragged into the van by my angry parents desperate to take me home. All I could do was sob. Sob for all my mistakes. Sob for who everyone thought I was. Sob for all that I had endured. Sob because I was going home. Sob for the parents I needed that they didn’t know how to be. Sob for what I thought was surely my soul splitting in two.
I’ve decided to keep the details of what happened when I got home that night in our private family vault. But suffice it to say...I survived and Mom and Dad still loved me. They were glad I was home and I guess we were all happy that it was over. The brightish side for me; Mom and Dad were never great at follow through with grounding me. So in a short time I was back in my car and free to see my friends. I was still splitting time between my Art School friends and those from my past. I played the part of fun, carefree girl to those who didn’t know better. It became my greatest acting role to date. I was lucky that I had an alternate universe to escape from. It was my saving grace.
To my great chagrin, shortly after the night I was brought back home, I mentioned to two girlfriends from my old school about what older boy and younger boy had done. I needed to say it out loud to someone. They seemed shocked and angry. There was still no mention of calling the police. I’m not sure if I expected it or not. But I think I was hoping someone would feel indignant enough on my behalf to push me in any direction that empowered me to standup for myself. Soon what I found out was that they did decide to mention my painful experience to someone...other kids. I guess it was just too juicy a tidbit to tuck away.
A few weeks later I was out with some friends at another person’s house. It was a small gathering and I felt safe as none of my old tormenters were present. Until older boy walked inside. My skin began to crawl, my heart raced, and my breathing was labored. I immediately grabbed my purse and told my friends that I was going to go home. As I walked to my car, older boy came after me. “Hey, Becky hold up.” I stopped. He grabbed my arm and spun me around. The sound of his voice was immobilizing. “What’s this I hear about me and younger boy raping you?!” He said with a sardonic smile. I looked at the ground. “I really hope you aren’t telling people that, look at me.” I looked at him. “You should keep your mouth shut before you make yourself look even worse. No one is going to believe you anyway, “Backseat Becky.” He winked, gave a half smile and headed back to the house. I realized then that I could never talk about what they did to me again. He was right. No one would believe me. The people in the house had clearly heard what had happened. And worse, someone had told him I was there so he could come and confront me over my “lies.” There was no one left to trust or count on.
Something happened inside of me in that moment. My newfound comprehension of the web of ugliness, disloyalty, and calculated enjoyment being taken by these kids shattered what was left of my innocence. I understood everything and nothing. But I knew that this was the last time I would let them hurt me. I would leave broken and scarred but not destroyed. On unstable legs I walked to my car like a battered warrior. I was deeply wounded but my recent grasp of who these people were made my purpose resolute. They would never know the damage they had inflicted and they would never see me cry again. I wasn’t sure how I would get through it alone. But I was determined to forget them all and what they had done to me.
At only 16 years old, I could have never anticipated how tumultuous the journey ahead was going to be. Honestly gnarly at times. But I made it. It wasn’t easy, but I survived and I excelled. They didn’t win. I did. My life is full of wonderful family members, amazing friendships, a devoted and loving husband and a daughter I could have never imagined could exist. There are constant opportunities and experiences I never thought possible. Those years in my adolescence, as painfully tragic as they were, pale in comparison to the bright future that was waiting on me.
I thank God every day that “Backseat Becky” jumped in the front seat, took hold of the wheel, and drove off into the sunset.
And this is where I leave you...For Now.
Postscript:
When I started “They Called Me Backseat Becky” I truly thought it was a story for my blog. But as I began to write it I knew I would not be able to share the whole story here. At the advice of numerous friends and colleagues along with the loving encouragement of my husband, partner, and editor, I have decided to write a book. There is so much more to tell and I hope and pray for it to be an encouraging story that helps young people struggling with the abuse of bullying and sexual assault as well as adults who are survivors or parents who need to find a way to reach or understand their children.
Thank you to all of you who have given me such love and support through this difficult and unveiling process. You are all contributors to the evolution of “Backseat Becky”. I am grateful.
Stay Tuned...
As always...Thank you for reading!