I thought you might be Hungarian, but your friend looksrather different from you -- I wondered if he was Azeri or maybe Chechen.
I will start with what I know: I met Tory in art history class in the second semester of my freshman year of college. In February of my sophomore year, I went to Tory’s apartment for a party with my roommate and close friend Max. We’d all had class together the year before, and Jake creeped out all the girls because he hit on anyone in his vicinity. The following day, torn between telling myself I was overreacting and feeling overwhelming disgust at what Jake had done, I called 911.
After that, I tried to go back to normal but felt like I was constantly teetering on an edge, attempting desperately to keep the fragments of my life together. We didn’t speak for nearly two years, until I ran into her at a figure-drawing session in our old hangout. In the retelling, she knew that even this lame excuse wouldn’t justify his touching me without my consent.
There will never be an OK reason for abandoning a friend after they have been raped, just as there will never be a legitimate reason for violating someone’s body and humanity. As you can see I have all kind of ancestries, eastern eu, southern eu, northern eu, Jewish. How do you really capture the beginning of a friendship—and not just any friendship, but the kind in which that person feels like home to you? I was sitting on the floor against Tory’s bed, a red plastic cup in my hand, surrounded by a forest of legs. I had no idea why Tory was friends with him, but he knew I didn’t like him, yet always tried to make a move and trap me in long conversations. A gruff policewoman arrived and asked barking questions: “Why did you wait a day to report?” I nervously thought about it, feeling stupid.


In class, in the middle of the day, completing a painting or essay, I would burst into tears.
Caitlin discovered me crying in a stairway one afternoon at school, and when she asked what was wrong, everything poured out of me. We started a tradition of weekly dinners with our friends and invited Tory, but she always seemed busy, off at an art opening or out with other people in our extended group of friends. At first, she pretended to not see me, in the same way that Jake pretended to not be awake, in the way that we all pretend that everything is OK when it is not. I'm Hungarian with Ashkenazi Jewish and Sephardic ancestry which is visible in my results, however one of my great grandfathers was German from Moravia. Eventually, Max and I wound up deciding to spend the night at Tory’s rather than walking home drunk and freezing through her seemingly sketchy neighborhood at 2 a.m. One was groping my breast under my shirt, tracing my nipple, and the other was fingering me.
I told her that when I had told my mom that I had been raped, my mother said, “That will teach you not to go to parties.” Caitlin invited me to dinner that night.
She was telling a funny story about one of Tory’s many funny escapades: Tory’s apartment had become a makeshift hostel, ha ha. I told her how betrayed I felt, how shocked that she would do this to me, let alone allow Jake to stay in the same place with all these other women. I had fantasized about being able to have a conversation like this with Tory since our friendship had disastrously fallen apart, but when it happened, it fell flat. The truth was that none of the answers was good enough.
As a Hungarian I was surprised to see that I have huge Balkan, but my Jewish ancestry which were Sefardic came from the Balkan.
We had long conversations over huge cups of coffee, talking about art, philosophy, and drawing.
I saw a small guy moving toward me through the crowd—ugh, it was Jake, a friend of Tory’s who I didn’t like and had no interest in talking to.


A month before, standing in an Einstein Bagels in Salt Lake City, my father told me that my aunt Kate had been raped and murdered in a Salt Lake City park. I went back to the room and approached the bed, where he was still pretending to be asleep. Luckily, I didn’t have to face running into Jake because, unbeknownst to me, he had joined the Navy in Japan.
My best friend no longer said my rapist’s name, no longer mentioned him, and I assumed that this meant she had cleanly cut him from her life. We had sleepovers in my crammed studio apartment, sharing the deepest and scariest parts of ourselves with each other, letting ourselves be vulnerable and discover trust.
I had no idea where I was, how long this person had been touching me, or what else they’d done to my body. A couple days later, she asked if we could get together, saying she wanted to talk about something important.
After she confronted Jake about raping me, he told her that I was actually his girlfriend, that we had been having sex for months. Hearing this, I felt shock—I’d blocked him on Facebook and had no idea he was back at school. His hands were folded neatly on his stomach, his head tilted to the side, too still to be believable. It was incomprehensible that Tory would remain friends with Jake after he raped me, and so I chose not to see it until it was flung in my face. Her reaction was all, “Oh, my God!” and “I can’t believe he fucking did that!” and “I’m so sorry.” I felt deep relief, thinking she believed me.



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Comments to «Guess who my best friend is quiz»

  1. aci_hayat writes:
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  2. Aylin_05 writes:
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  3. snayper_lubvi writes:
    He might be the guy walking past you in the grocery.