text: ”Shhh”, she said. Cousin’s hands went where they weren’t supposed to. I know it’s wrong but I can’t seem to open my mouth. I can not move. Suddenly, I am imagining myself elsewhere. Anywhere else. It‘s nap time and we all are supposed to be asleep. The favorite Auntie watching us closed the door and turned out the lights. Shhhh. All the kids shared the same bed for nap time. I tried to position myself away from her hands, away from her breath. The five of us laid out like sardines and she always, always seemed to wind up near me, grasping at my pants, moving my underwear aside. For a long time, it felt like my fault. Surely I must have done something to make her think I wanted this. I was certain that Favorite Auntie would come in. I was hoping that she would come back in. I closed my eyes and prayed for her to hear something or feel something and come rushing back in. Months and months and months went by and still we all napped together. Summer came. I remember there was one hot, hot day. Perhaps it was the heat and she was checking to make sure the fan was on but, for some reason, Favorite Auntie comes in. Like Jesus. She looked toward the bed and saw that I was not asleep but everybody else was. She motioned for me to come out quietly. I follow her out into the after noon sun of the living room and watched “stories” until the others woke up. She soon realized that I never slept at naptime. So, she would put us all in the bed together, cover us all up, turn out the lights and go out of the room. Within 10 minutes, she would be back to come and get me. Still, lots can happen in 10 minutes. And it did Even our playtimes in the daytimes turned peculiar. I did not want to play any game with Cousin; not dolls, not cooking, not catch or racing or jump rope. Whether we were at our house or her house or anywhere else, I could not forget her fingers at nap time. My mom and the Aunties wondered what had happened. She and I used to be so close, they remarked. “Why are the girls fighting?” I remember being at her house one day and she asked if I wanted to go to her room and play. She stepped into my space. “Let’s go upstairs to my room”. I said, “No”. She reached out to touch me and I slapped her face. Hard. She cried and I apologized. I asked her not to say anything and that I’m so, so sorry. I. Apologized. To HER. Another time, she was at our house. We were upstairs playing in our bedroom and she wanted to play doctor. Ohhhh, noooo. I know I didn’t want to play this with her and I didn’t want my younger sisters to play either. I ended up screaming for my mom who came running in and broke up the game. There was one time when Cousin was discovered with her hands on me. Down there. I just knew that things would change. It was explained away by her mother, ”Kids will be kids! They‘re curious!” and the whole event forgotten - but not forgotten. This went on for years. In little kid time, it felt like forever. As we grew older and grew out of naps, I spent less and less time with Cousin. I went away to college. She moved to another coast. Her mother would always say to me, “Your cousin asked about you! Y’all used to be like sisters! Why don’t you call her?” Shhhhhhhhhh. I never called her. Ever. Even when her mother rang her up while visiting us, I found a way to be NOT there when they talked. I still have a visceral reaction to her name. I still hate her and I don’t hate anybody. If she were in front of me today, I would try to rip her throat out and take from her the decades of peace she stole from me. We both have children now. I worry about hers. I think about the kids her children bring home. I wonder if she puts them down to nap. About eight years ago, I was at my mother’s house with my sisters and she mentioned Cousin. I said I never want to talk to her again and commenced to, haltingly, give an account of what happened at Auntie’s house. I’m not sure why I chose that moment but, once I started I couldn’t stop. I was shocked and mortified: both my sisters had experienced the molestation as well. My heart broke. I had retained a morsel of pride in the fact that it hadn’t happened to my sisters. But, it had and I found out that it was possible to feel even worse. And my mother. (((Sigh))). My mother was so angry and so hurt that we hadn’t told her. We were so little. We didn’t have the words for what Cousin was doing. We KNEW it was wrong but this was so far outside our realm of language and understanding that it sat there festering in all of us. I know, now that I am a mother, the wounds our children receive are ours, too. I saw the pain this caused my mother and I wanted to take it all back, to unsay it. Her hurt was tripled since it happened to all three of us. I was in therapy for years, uncovering, healing and allowing the child in me to have a voice. Still, I haven’t taken a nap since I was 6 years old. I‘m telling you now because I want you to know why I don’t sleep well. It’s not you. I’m telling you because I desperately want to trust you enough to close my eyes and know that you will protect me and not hurt me. This is my secret. Will you hold it for me? Shhhhh. Don’t tell.