My Twelfth Summer By Sarah Gervais - 1525 Words

My Thirteenth Summer Sarah Gervais Reflecting on this event many times in my past, I have called it an innapropriate romance, I have called it â€Å"an unprofessional relationship†. However, most frequently, I have called it â€Å"the thing that happened that summer.† As in — remember the thing that happened that summer? What I never called it, for reasons similar to that of why I never made a fuss about it when it happened, was sexual abuse. To me, it was because it felt like an overly dramatic Dr.Phil-ization of what happened. The word â€Å"abuse† seems to imply that a victim was involved, and I have never considered myself much of one. Until now, I have been far too socially-conscious to confess the main reason I have never called it sexual abuse in spite of the fact that it was, in every sense of the word and from every clinical and psychological perspective. The real reason, is because I believed I might have asked for it. The summer camp season I turned 13, I went to a stay over camp for religious Jewish adolescents. I shaved my legs and wore a bra for the first time, still used tangle-free L oreal green apple spray in my hair, and shopped at the nearest La senza. I had my first summer romance a few weeks prior — a disheveled, freckly, brutish boy a year younger who took me for two kayak rides and then broke up with me, calling me a tease and, I was sure, ruining my romantic prospects until eternity. I turned from real life to fantasy life, and decided to brush off the