Hey, he says, I hope you’re well. It was nice to see you in your car and wave hello even if it was nothing more, he says. Except, I know it was so much more than hello. It was hell, you know? To see my memory flash before my eyes with his smile and my grimace and his wave a slap to my face. Except, it was nice to see him in the sense that I hope he’s well too because not every rapist is, in fact, a monster. They just did a monstrous thing because they were raised to believe that taking is their right and our honor is to give, and they often don’t realize the damage that they did. They often don’t realize- no, don’t want to accept that what they did was take without asking and mistake- no, choose to believe that silence, and the lack of constant no’s, somehow meant yes. And so they leave us with their dissent, overlooking the lack of consent. What I did was wrong, he said, but how dare you call me that- that awful word. Rapist. How dare you- But, really, I do hope his hello and my hell can translate somewhere down the line to: Once upon a time we knew each other well and then we grew. And he will be a changed man and I will feel new... I hope I can believe in fairy tales and dreams coming true instead of reliving these nightmares, dark memories, and the bitter truth: he won’t change. But I will.