The Barn off of Colfax Lane: After Thoughts Addition
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:
Get on the Waitlist for my next book: https://thewesternhippie.myflodesk.com/mc5b9wv2ps
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
The Barn off of Colfax Lane: After Thoughts Addition
Chapter 9: Todd's Big Secret
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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:
Get on the Waitlist for my next book: https://thewesternhippie.myflodesk.com/mc5b9wv2ps
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
CHAPTER nine Todd's Big Secret twelve year old Michaela I look out the window as we drive home from the Snake River. I enjoyed my week at our annual family vacation, but now I have to go into planning mode because I promised my cousin I would get out of Todd's barn within the week. During vacation I told my sixteen year old cousin Shane about the incidents happening with Todd. He wasn't going to let me go back at all, but I started crying when I told him about Pepper. My dad hadn't paid her off yet, and I needed to get her out of there before I left, so I knew she and I were both safe. A part of me didn't think Todd would do anything to Pepper, but I didn't know for sure, and I had watched enough Law and Order or Special Victims Unit episodes that I knew I didn't want to find out. If something happened to her, well then, I don't know if I would have a reason to go on after all of this. To my surprise, my cousin understood when I explained it to him, and he made me promise two things. One, Todd is not allowed to touch me again. Two, my horse and I must leave there within a week. If I didn't do both of those things, my cousin said he would come up and take care of him, and the last thing I want is for my cousin to go to jail. And oddly, the thought of him going to jail helps give me enough confidence to execute the escape plan that Shane and I came up with. Normally we wouldn't leave my dad's for another two weeks after returning from the Snake River, but since my cousin is a few years older than me, he has already gone through middle school and told me what to tell my dad so that he would let us leave Central Oregon sooner than planned. One, it would take longer for me to adjust to seventh grade because I will now have to change classes every period. Two, the school just reintroduced middle school sports and I needed to get ready to play volleyball for the middle school this year. It gave me another reason to return early. I must get ready for school and for school volleyball. The Columbia River glides out the window as we drive down the gorge. Water helps me think, so I keep staring out the car window at the river, hoping it will give me more answers. And the question that's plaguing me most, how do I stop him from touching me again? I think about the events that took place before I went camping. The truth is he had already started to touch me less because quite honestly, I'm just over it. And the thing that happened before camping was the last straw for me. Something in me started to shift after I returned home from my trip to see my cousins and attend the Toby Keith concert. I'm not sure what changed when I went back to Central Oregon, but when I went back to the barn after meeting my cousin and attending the concert, I wore more t-shirts than I did tank tops, specifically my new and favorite Toby Keith concert tea, and I tried to close myself off as much as possible. You know I like it when Toby's head bobbles, but I like it better when you wear tank tops, Todd said to me one day after my lesson from his yellow throne. Well, I like this shirt, I replied back to him. I like it too, he said, but I like it when you wear tank tops better. It took everything in me not to shout back at him. You stare at my boobs while I'm riding, you dirty son of a bitch. Realizing he stares at my boobs while giving me riding lessons pissed me off on a level I didn't know I could reach. I'm well aware that I inherited my father's temper, but I had never gotten mad at Todd until that moment. It even surprised me how mad I got at him. I felt like we were in an unspoken contract, and at that moment I realized he violated the terms of our agreement. Not just for that day, but since we entered this unspoken contract. If he touched me, whatever, I would deal with it and continue to blame it on the dementia, which becomes less and less convincing each day. But lessons were for learning and were meant to be off limits for any and all things sexual. I'm tired of getting fondled, and I thought maybe, just maybe, changing shirts would slow things down. His comment about the shirt pissed me off the most, but it wasn't even the worst thing that happened before I went camping. Certain hay has to be bailed at certain times of the day because of the moisture, and my dad had to bail a field early one morning. That meant the only way I would make it to my lesson was if I got dropped off at Todd's house early. Six in the morning, kind of early. The night before I planned to go in and sit on his couch or chair and quote unquote fall asleep so he wouldn't touch me. The plan had worked in the past and I decided to try it again. One day when my dad had to work on the tractor all day, I stayed at Todd I stayed with Todd while my dad worked. After morning chores, Todd and I had gone to his house for lunch. Afterward, I sat in a chair pretending I had fallen asleep, and he left me alone the whole time and never tried to touch me while I quote unquote slept. I figured if it worked once, then it might work again. Well, I thought wrong. I did as planned. I sat on the chair by his pellet stove and pretended to fall asleep. As I did so, I felt moisture from my shower wet hair sleep through the shoulders of my fleece jacket, and I regretted my choice of outfit even more. I tried to wear a t-shirt that morning, but all of my t-shirts were too dirty to wear. So I settled with a tank, top, and the fleece jacket that I hoped would be enough to hide my boobs from him. From the chair I heard rummaging around in the kitchen, and not long after I felt him walk over and hover over me. I'm asleep. Please don't touch me. I'm asleep. Please don't t he starts rubbing my thigh under my dark blue jeans, grabs my arm, pulls me from my feet, and starts kissing me. I feel the wetness of his lips, and then I disappear into the place where all is fuzzy and I am safe. Once I disappear, I normally can't feel anything, but I feel him pull me to another part of the house because I trip over the step going up into the room where he keeps all of his nice tack. The three voices start to alert me. Michaela. Michaela Michaela, you have to go back. Am I hearing something? Wait, what? Michaela, you have to go back. What do you mean? Michaela, go back. But he's not d Mikayla, go back now. I slowly reappear into my body. Are his hands down my pants? Yep. Are my pants unbuttoned and unzipped? Yep. Is he Oh God, please no. He's thrusting up and down my leg and breathing unnaturally heavy. Somehow it feels like he encompasses every square foot of the room. It feels like he is it feels like he is the room. His arms smother me. His energy is so big, it suffocates me from all angles. I feel so small. He feels so big. I don't understand. As I sink deeper into my body, I try to grasp everything I'm feeling. His wet lips against my neck, his hand sliding down the back of my pants, his hand sliding down the front of my pants, his hand sliding up my shirt. And lastly, I feel a knob in his jeans thrusting up and down my right leg. I feel him hump my legs, and it gives me the courage to open my eyes. My right eye zooms in on his bedroom door the second my pupil touches the light. Preschool Michaela. You know what happens if you go through that door. Twelve-year-old Michaela. I'm still not fully convinced that the images I've seen from the babysitter's house are real yet, and yet I know she's right. I look at the bedroom door again. In reality, I'm still feet away from the bedroom door, but in my mind, I know I'm millimeters away from the point of no return. I still don't know what to do. Surely he's not going to Oh no. The worst thought of them all enters my mind. He cannot see me naked. I don't really want to see him naked either, but the thought of him seeing me naked from that angle not happening. The thought and nearing reality brings me fully back into my body. I shake my head, turn around, and refasten my pants. Before I can look at his face, I turn away from him to exit the house and go feed the horses. The screen door squeak reminds me I'm no longer near him and lets me know that he did not follow me out. I never thought I never thought I would be so thankful for the squeak on that damn door. That incident happened a few days before we left for the Snake River, and he didn't touch me again before I left for vacation, so I know I can do this. I know I can keep him away. I'm unsure how, but maybe, just maybe, walking away like I did before will be enough. I use my cousin's plan to convince my dad that I must return to the valley a week early for school. It doesn't take much convincing because he believes I'd never skip out on a week of extra lessons, but what he doesn't know doesn't hurt him. My plan has started to fall into place, and now I just have to get through the next week without Todd laying a hand on me. Maybe I'll threaten him with my cousin. Yeah, that's a good idea. And for some reason the thought of my cousin being in Todd's mind makes me feel better. Maybe I'll even show him a picture so he can see how much bigger my cousin is than him. The image in my mind of my cousin towering over him makes me feel better. I lay in bed and I brace myself for tomorrow. While staring at the ceiling, I take a deep breath and the three voices and I talk about our plan for the morning. Come on, Michaela, you got this. One week. It's one week. You can do anything for one week. Yeah, you're right. I can do this, but how? You do whatever you need to do. Do you have everything ready? Extra t shirts, a check. A threat involving my cousin, a check. Do I need anything else? A big brass pair of balls.