My Driver’s Backseat

TRIGGER WARNING: This content contains explicit contents and graphic descriptions of abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

It’s never going away. 
Even if the whole farm- every tree and grass blade of it dies. 
The picture is still there 
and what’s more, 
if you go there- you who never was there-
if you go there and stand in the place where it was, 
it will happen again.

– Beloved, Toni Morrison 

It will happen again.

In my driver’s backseat.

Wait.

I pull my sisters to the side.

I pull my friends to the side.

Do not sit in the backseat.

It will happen to you too.

The man is there.

He will pin you against the backseats.

He will tear your pants to pieces.

Oh no.

There is something sharp in my anus.

Like an iron rod.

I don’t know what it is. 

But it hurts.

It moves back and forth.

I hear heavy breaths and panting behind me.

I beg him to stop.

But it’s like his voice has vanished to the sky.

I do not feel myself.

I beg my body not to think, not to feel, not to be alive.

At least for these ten minutes it will last.

Suddenly, I feel thick water down my legs.

He is done.

His voice resurrects and comes back to life.

“No be man you be.” He says to me.

I try to speak.

But my voice vanishes.

Just like his did earlier.

I cannot look at him.

The man whose rod pierced me like a sword.

My mother’s brother.

He is only supposed to pick me up from school today.

But he drives around town, looking for a quiet place.

A place to steal the one identity I have left.

My masculinity.

“No be man you be.” His voice echoes and echoes in my head all over again.

I fight against those words every day.

Fighting like a deer on the loose.

I be man.

Uncle Taiwo,

I be man.

Na me, Benjamin. 

Just because say you strong pass me no mean say I no get power.

I will show you.

That a man is born at 15.

In the corridors of school, I fight.

In the football field, I fight.

In the bedroom, I fight.

But in my driver’s backseat, I never fight.

In anybody’s backseat, I never fight.

I let the ghost sit there.

I sit in the passenger seat.

I never look back.

If I do, it might happen all over again.

Let me walk for 100 miles. 

I will be okay.

But I will never return to the backseat.

Because I fear it will happen again.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, organizations and incidents appearing in this blog are fictitious.

Follow my Instagram page @hjthestoryteller for more updates on my blog.

Do not forget to leave a RATING⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ and share this story on your Instagram story.