About a year after my family moved from Loves Park, Illinois to Massillon, Ohio, a longtime friend of our family, Jackie Epperson, had moved to a trailer park in nearby Minerva, Ohio.
When we lived in Illinois we’d spend just about every Sunday afternoon with her at her home.
I have such fond memories of exploring her property, building forts, swimming in makeshift trough pools and general doing whatever I wanted.
So it was a great surprise that she had moved to live near us to continue our Sunday tradition. She was like a grandmother or a “fun aunt” to us. She was a little spicy at times–she and my parents would get in “fights” that resulted in gaps of time when we did not visit each other–but was overall kind and spoiled us kids with toys and snacks and treats.
Not long after she purchased her trailer home, her son Rick moved in with her. There wasn’t any furniture yet in the living room when I was spending the night there, helping her unpack.
Jackie’s face held worry as I situated a pile of blankets and pillows on the living room floor to camp out and despite having a bed in his own room, Rick announced he’d sleep in the living room to “keep me company”.
Any hesitancy she had gave way to some other rationale as she looked at me, looked at him, and bid us a good night before shuffling down the hallway to her bedroom to retire for the evening.
There was a television in the corner and I was watching Ren and Stimpy on Nick at Nite.
I hadn’t had much interaction with Rick previous to that first evening. He had always been “away” when Jackie lived in Illinois, save for a handful of occasions in the last year we all lived there.
He had a motorcycle that all of us kids thought was pretty cool. He took me for a ride once, urging me to hold him around his midsection that felt awkward but to my then-8 or 9 year old brain didn’t register as anything untoward.
That he wanted to spend the night with me on the floor there that night only gave me pause because of Jackie’s reluctance. I shrugged it off. Jackie had. She wouldn’t put me in harm’s way.
That night, he told me about how he had spent time in prison and had even tried to escape.
He also said that he was a gifted artist.
I also really enjoyed drawing and artwork and had been accepted to a gifted and talented school for the arts before moving to Ohio and we chatted a little while about that.
He then shared that he had taken up poetry while in prison and even had a notebook that he dug out of a box of things that was still unpacked in the corner of the room.
The poetry had a distinct “adult” feel that I sensed went way over my head.
I flipped through a few pages before complimenting him on his work.
“Can I brush your hair?”, he asked.
My hair has always been a tangled mess.
I didn’t see anything wrong with this inquiry. I went to the bathroom to fetch a hair brush, brushed through it quickly to remove any tangles and brought it back to him.
I sat down on the floor in front of him and he started brushing.
It was obvious he had no experience brushing hair. He fumbled through brushing and pulling and I made no faces or expressed discomfort.
After awhile I was tired of the pulling sensation on my scalp, said I was tired and that I wanted to go to sleep. I took the brush from him and put it back in the bathroom, brushed my teeth and went back to the living room.
He had moved his blanket and pillow closer to mine and was just laying there.
I turned out the light and laid down in my spot, inching a little bit further away without being too obvious. I pulled the blankets up to my chin and lay there, arms by my side.
A few minutes later I felt his hand on mine.
Down the hall I could hear Jackie snoring.
I felt awkward. I didn’t know what to think – if it was an accident I didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.
I pretend sleep-sighed and rolled over, so as to appear though I had fallen asleep and was rolling over naturally.
I doubt I have ever been a very good actress.
A few moments later, I felt him inching closer to me.
This is Where I Do Not Go.
Later, he asked, “When you get older, do you think you would want to be my girlfriend?”
I felt wrong, but I had no words in my nearly 11-year-old brain to express them.
I thought about being his girlfriend.
Having an older boyfriend is supposed to be cool, I thought.
“Sure”, I said, pretending to be sleepy.
“You’ll be my girlfriend. But we can’t tell anyone about this. They won’t understand. I could get in to big trouble and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Get in to trouble? No, of course. There is nothing to tell.”
Connecting with myself at that time, this was an honest answer. Absolutely no wrongdoing had entered my mind. I was legitimately confused at why he could even be in trouble. What for?
I drifted off to sleep.
Over the next five years I grew more and more reluctant to go to Jackie’s house.
I’d fake being sick, having too much homework, anything to not have to go there.
My parents and Jackie had taken up “crafting” and our Sunday-only trip often turned in to entire weekend extravaganzas of flea markets and craft fairs.
I did whatever I could to not be left alone with him but my parents grew tired of having a wandering pre-teen and then teenager at the flea markets and craft fairs.
We’d drive out to Minerva and I would be left there.
Alone.
With an ex-con.
It all came to an end on my 15th birthday.
I was going to have some friends over to celebrate.
That being the case, Jackie and Rick came to our house instead of us to theirs.
I was in the backyard cleaning up (for some reason I do not recall my party was restricted to the back deck) when he caught me by surprise with his presence.
He made these weird baby noises and held his two hands forward in a pinching motion. He made a move for my nipples in broad daylight in my back yard.
I didn’t have to be an athlete to be quicker than him; he was old as fuck and arthritic and most of the time he walked with a cane.
For whatever reason, on my own turf, and now 15, I had gained confidence.
I Barry Sanders-ed my way away from his geriatric, child-molesting ass and turned and looked him straight in the eye and growled, “If you ever fucking come near me again I will end you! Do you hear me? I will end you.“
I never saw him again.
After that, he moved in to his own trailer down the street from Jackie’s (that she paid for). Left alone there at Jackie’s place I locked the door and feared he would stop by while everybody was gone, but he never did.
We only lived in Ohio for another year after that, but I never saw him again.
the Anderson Children 