Chapter 7: Clouds in the Sky

Welcome to Michaela Mae's Audiobook Experience for The Barn off of Colfax Lane: an unfiltered memoir about sexual assault and the mixed feelings that come with it. 

In this book Michaela tells her story of the childhood sexual abuse she experienced when she was 12-years-old while taking horse back riding lessons from a horse trainer in Oregon.

BOOK SUMMARY:

I was 12 years old the first time my horse trainer grabbed my left boob and asked me if I had ever had sex. I'm not sure what caught me off guard the most: his question or the fact a 79-year-old man had his hand firmly cusped around my boob while asking me, a 12-year-old, if I had ever had sex. I've blocked out a lot of that season from my mind, but that first day sticks out clearer than the rest. Is it because of the shock? Is it because I hadn't fully remembered my pro-dissociation skills yet?

I have no f*cking clue, but I do remember the green-striped tank top and the dark navy blue jeans I had on that day. I remember watching his lips ooze as the words, "Have you ever had sex?" spilled out of them. I remember the blank stare in his eyes, the black specks of chew stuck in his teeth, and the way his cheeks met his chin like a pillow shoved under fitted sheets.

My eyes left my left boob, flung around the barn, and up to his face. The light coming in from the barn door behind him lit his back, but darkened his face so his face looked as dark as the blank stare in his eyes. My brain raced for answers that made sense. Hell, it searched for a question that made sense too. "No, of course not. Wait, why is this happening? How do I answer? Do I answer? Am I dreaming?" I couldn't speak, so I looked up at him blankly then he turned and walked away.

LINKS + CONTACT:

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Grab a hard copy of The Barn Off of Colfax Lane here: https://amzn.to/3PvBiKN

For inquiries or to connect with Michaela directly, email michaela@michaelamae.com

© 2024 MP Media. All rights reserved.

Narrated by Author Michaela Mae.

Keywords: survivor memoir, childhood sexual abuse memoir, childhood sexual abuse, trauma memoir, healing memoir, horse trainer abuse, equestrian community, read by the author, audiobook, Oregon, Michaela Mae

Transcript

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Chapter seven Clouds in the Sky twelve year old Michaela A few weeks have passed and no more incidents have occurred. I have finally started to breathe normally at the barn again, and overall everything feels great. I'm progressing on feeling feel, and Todd has also added a few more fun maneuvers to our lesson pattern. He has also started to open up more, which I appreciate. Since he said something about how much my sister and I worked, it's given me space to vent about how I actually feel about hay farming. It's nice because I can't talk to anyone else around me without getting in trouble. He also notices how different my sister and I are. Because of my sister's high energy levels, she tends to get more attention than I do since I'm the quote unquote easy one. It's nice to get someone's full attention who can understand where I'm coming from without judgment. He also calls me his star pupil now, which speaks to the pleaser in me, but it also makes me uncomfortable. I thrive off being quiet and invisible, and I don't like being the center of attention or star of anything. Other than that, it feels odd to admit, but in many ways, Todd has become one of my best friends. I can't talk to anyone else like I can talk to him, and he actually listens to what I have to say. I appreciate it because no one around me seems to care what I have to say, or they make what I say incorrect, so I keep my mouth shut even when I need to speak up. Over the years I've adopted the what's the point philosophy, since my words always seem to land on deaf ears at home. I've always felt like the odd one out in every area of my life, at home, school, volleyball, and even a little bit of daycare. Less at daycare than anywhere else, but I feel like an oddball sometimes there too, and being at the barn around Todd is one place where I feel like I belong. I don't get fun of for being get made fun of for being slow, I can take my time and do things meticulously, and I don't have to hide how I feel for my disdain of hay season. It's nice not to feel wrong for being who I am and just to just what's the word be. I grab a manure fork to clean up the loose hay in the barn aisleway. We finished chores about ten minutes ago, but my dad hasn't arrived to get me yet, and cleaning up the loose hay will give me something slightly productive to do until my dad gets here. I look up and see Todd reenter the stall barn. He says he's going inside to make dinner and walks over to give me a hug. He breaks away from the hug, and I tense up as I catch the glimpse in his eyes. The blank stare has returned. I look down toward my chest and his hands reach up and grab both of my boobs. His hands massage my massage my boobs up and down once again. The image of the current situation fully registers in my mind, and I look up at him. The moment our eyes meet, he releases my boobs and leans in to kiss me. I don't know what to do other than to close my eyes. His wet lips feel awful against mine, and the three voices make their appearance. Is kissing supposed to be this wet? Why am I just standing here like an idiot? Do I kiss him back? No, I do not kiss him back. This is wrong. I can't just stand here like a statue. I feel stupid. Sure you can. No, I can't. No one wants to kiss a statue, and I don't want to be weird. What if dad pulls in to pick me up while he's kissing me? Before I can make up my mind on what to do, his tongue slips between my lips, and I feel his tongue touch mine. The three voices make their say. Gross, gross, gross. Do people enjoy this? This is disgusting. Well, it would probably be better if you didn't just stand there and you actually kissed him back. I'm not kissing him back. I don't even know how to kiss. It's just a suggestion to make this less terrible His face breaks away from mine, his hand no longer on my boob, squeezes my right butt cheek. Good night, dear, he says. Then he turns a wal then he turns to walk back toward his house. Present day Michaela. My memories from that moment until late July have become like clouds in the sky. I can see each cloud individually, but they have no order. I just know they're in the same sky together. The day after he grabbed both of my boobs and kissed me, the incidents became more and more frequent until they started happening every day. Later that September, when I was interviewed by the detective who took my case, he said it's common a common grooming technique for predators to do something once and then leave the gap of time until something happens again. They do something, then they wait a bit, shortening the window of time until they do something every day. And that's exactly what Todd did to me. He tested to see if I would say something after the first time. It created confusion within me, but in an odd way, it solidified the dementia theory that I had been telling myself about him, and it also gave him time to rebuild the trust with me before he acted again. It was no accident that he started connecting with me on a deeper emotional level. It was no accident he pushed me away at first to see how far I would go to get his approval. It was no accident that he grabbed my boobs one day, then he waited two weeks, then he grabbed my boobs and kissed me, and then he waited a couple more days, and once he was sure he had me where he wanted me, that's when the everyday incidents started taking place. He had his training program for me as solid as he did for his training program for horses. I found that the saying time heals all wounds is hardly ever true. Time doesn't heal a thing, especially when we bury or avoid it. Healing is what heals. Feeling is what heals. Facing the things that hurt us is what heals. Time goes on, but the wounds will continue to live until they're addressed properly. It's been nearly two decades since that summer, and I'm still facing the memories in my brain that are good side by side for Swiss cheese. I feel better about it now than I ever have, but sometimes I still get embarrassed when I talk about it. And even now I can feel a bit of that sh that shame creep in. The feeling of that summer the beginning of that summer sticks out clear as day to me, but the middle of that summer is where most of the holes in my memory live. All I know about that section of time is a twister came through my life, picked up my metaphorical home, and spun it into a blur. The ending of the summer isn't quite as clear to me as the beginning of the summer, but it's clearer to me than the days in the middle. The creative in me wanted to build up to this point, but my memory won't allow it, so we're going to pick up at the end of the summer when the events from that summer of 2008 are more cohesive in my mind.