I looked at her, amazed. I bit back every sarcastic comment that came to mind. I calmly thanked her for the warning, promised I'd be careful, then said, "But just so you know, I'm stronger than that. If someone happens to rape me in the future, I'm sure I'll be fine."
I went upstairs to my room, unsure whether this was something I should laugh about. My mother was concerned that someone might attack and rape me--when that had happened to me repeatedly in her own home. She was afraid I would go through some mental anguish...when I was cutting, anorexic, and completely emotionally detached about life. She was afraid I would be lost...when I had spent hours contemplating suicide, and even chosen my place to end life. She was five years too late. There was no way a little thing like a passing rape could even phase me. I'd lived the nightmare, and continued to live it each day. I'd promised her I'd be careful, but there was no need. It was too late--her dream was not prophetic in the least.