I recently watched a CGI family movie with my kids (they are all teens) called The Queen's Corgi (2019). My 17 year-old who has autism picked it out because it had corgis (we own a corgi) and it showed the Queen of England on the cover and his current interests include the royal family and the Queen's Guards (the guys that wear the big black fur hats and red coats). Parts of it were very cute, especially the beginning few minutes that had no dialog. There was enough of Queen Elizabeth, Prince Philip and the Queen's Guards to make my son happy. However, I cannot recommend the movie based a couple of very disturbing sequences.

There was a story-line involving a girl corgi who was determined to have a boy corgi as her mate and to mate with him, even though he said "no" and was trying to get away from her. My husband, children and I were all very disturbed by it (and no, they know nothing about this story that I am writing), with my husband commenting, "That is not okay. That isn't funny. If that was happening to a girl dog, they would have never put a scene like that in a kids' movie." The movie concluded with the evil boy corgi being matched up with the girl corgi and unable to get away from her basically as his punishment. Curious as to how my children would respond, I said, "I think the girl dog was trying to rape the boy dog." My kids agreed and we discussed how "no means no." They brought up that no matter what the other dog did, that it wasn't right to punish him that way. I already had a draft of this chapter before I saw the movie, but it matches up well with why Darcy was confused about what happened to him.

I have removed the "complete" label from this story, as I plan to continue past this chapter, but as this stuff is hard to write, I have a lot of other stories in progress, I am very bogged down at work and having to manage my children's hybrid schedule time when they are home and generally feeling completely overwhelmed, expect posting on this to be slow.

By the way, this chapter contains a spoiler to a movie which is more than fifty-years-old which starred Charlton Heston, Planet of the Apes. If for some reason you haven't seen it, you really should. The 1968 Planet of the Apes has a lot of interesting things to say about race-relations, fear of nuclear war, the quest for knowledge, evolution, animal experimentation etc. from the perspectives of the time, but is also a basic story that children can enjoy. Roddy McDowell and Kim Hunter are excellent as well in this and in Escape from the Planet of the Apes. The other movies in that original series are of varying quality and there is a fascinating 1998 documentary about the series, Behind the Planet of the Apes. You at least need to know the first Planet of the Apes movie for cultural-reference reasons as it is spoofed repeatedly. Another good Heston movie with a memorable ending is the 1973 Soylent Green, which is also a classic cautionary tale about the future which was set in 2022.

3.

Have you ever had the experience when your eyes become open to a truth that perhaps should have been obvious before but wasn't? It is kind of looking at one of those optical illusion pictures we were shown in school that show two things, two ladies and a vase (two shown in black, another in white), or the young or old lady.

I had not thought of those pictures of two things in sometime, but recently online I saw a photo that was described as a baby goat, but down below they they explained it was a Kookaburra bird's face as seen from the side. From the angle of the photo, you could see the goat's head facing right, the bird's eye and markings combining to define the goat's face including a nose and mouth, with the beak serving as its ear, but then when you know it is a bird's head, it is plain to recast that eye with the beak to see the bird facing to the left. It recalled to me those other optical illusions and illustrates my own situation perfectly in that once you see the previously unseen thing, you can't unsee it.

That's how I feel sometimes about what Rick told me about what happened with Caroline. I never call it the "r" word to myself, but it is still clear to me that it wasn't something I chose. I thought I did, because guys are usually in control, but I didn't choose it, would have never chosen that, not with her. I am not the sort of guy who has ever had a one night stand, it is not in me to want to be intimate with someone I don't care about (and I turned down Ava, a woman that I cared deeply about, when the situation seemed wrong). No, I didn't want that. It is really obvious when I think about it objectively, substitute me for a woman and make Caroline a man.

What Caroline did to me was wrong, no matter what I call it, no matter how she tried to justify her actions afterwards by saying she loved me. To think that I felt sorry for hurting her feelings when she was the one who made it happen, who forced it! It just shows how deluded I was, how manipulative she was.

It has taken me a while to get there, but I want to talk to Bingley about the whole thing. I have been avoiding speaking to him, which wouldn't really make sense if it was just about not wanting to see Caroline. Before he left the city I could have had him over to my place, or met for lunch or had any other number of interactions. I tried to justify avoiding him because I was embarrassed about what I did with his sister, but upon further reflection in thinking about what Rick said, I realized that I am also angry with him and this was what caused me to pulled away from him even before we returned to the city.

Bingley was the one who brought Caroline into my life. I would not have had any interaction with her whatsoever after the first time we met had he not been my friend. Given that he has known his sister all of his life, shouldn't he know the lengths she would go to have me? Why did he let her take me home? Oh, that's right, he wanted to stay and chat up Jane Bennet. Why did he not check on me or her after he got home? It was probably too late then, but still . . . . Why was he so oblivious to Caroline's later attempts to get me alone? Could he not see that something was wrong?

I know there is no malice in Bingley, but why or how could he be so willfully blind? But then again, I was blind also, wasn't I? I couldn't conceive of a woman taking advantage of me in such a way. It must be the same for her brother. At least that's how I feel when I am in a generous mood, at other times I cannot imagine how he did not know.

I hope that Caroline has done nothing like this before, and never would again. But shouldn't my friend be told? What if he has another friend over that she decides she's in love with? I've always thought that Caroline wanted to catch herself a rich husband and I am not the only wealthy, single man among his friends.

Bingley and I have been close friends for many years and that is not something that I want to give up. I would be giving that up if I never talk to him about what happened. I would be putting forward a fake version of me. I have been doing that ever since it happened, have done that every time we exchange texts and I act as if nothing besides the situation with G.G. is bothering me, but I cannot continue acting that way in perpetuity.

I want to tell him. I need to tell him. But I am also terrified about telling him, so I keep putting it off. Again and again I question what Bingley's reaction would be.

Would Bingley really believe me when I have trouble believing it myself? It seems impossible, like a science-fiction movie of an upside-down future, everything we thought we knew turned sideways, backwards and inside-out, like an astronaut arriving at a world ruled by super intelligent apes who subjugate nonverbal humans and then learning that the planet was actually a ruined Earth as shown by the half buried Statue of Liberty. Isn't Bingley more likely to think that it was I who harmed her than the other way around? She is younger after all, a woman, what used to be called the gentler sex before we all got so politically correct. Who knows what she has told him and her sister. But if we are so P.C., why can't a man be taken advantage of, too?

Rick has done his best to support me. Really he has been amazing, probably a lot better than I would be toward him if the situation were reversed. I know I would be worse, based on how I was toward Ava when she confided in me. Rick regularly calls or texts, invites me to do things and occasionally just drops by if we haven't gotten together recently.

Rick and I started taking runs together a couple of early mornings each week. It was Rick's idea. As I don't sleep well, it is a relief to have plans, to have something to do early in the morning. The air is still crisp at that time of day and usually we can see our breath. We were both out of practice so we took it easy at first, but now we are running three miles.

It is companionable to run beside someone, to have someone there, but to be doing something that doesn't require thinking or talking. The last little bit, for perhaps ten minutes or so, we slow to a jog and then a walk. Those ten minutes are the most perilous, so I do my best to get him talking, so I don't have to. When he asks me, "How are you doing?" I always say "okay" or "not bad" or "hanging in there."

If he pushes and asks, "No really, how are you really doing?" I tend to respond regarding how I feel after the run, bring up some detail about what is going on at work. I may mention that I am worried about G.G., but I never really talk about anything personal about how I am feeling. It isn't lying really, as he knows what is going on with me.

We haven't talked about what happened to me again, although I get the feeling he wants to. He repeatedly gives me little openings, but I don't want to open the door and step through it. It was bad enough to talk about it once. Even though he is my cousin, I can't help but feel embarrassed, ashamed. I don't like to feel that way.

At the beginning of February, I finally heard from G.G. She still wouldn't let me call, but she had sent me a short letter. She wrote:

Hi Bill,

School is not so bad. I regularly ride a white horse named Snowflake and another white horse named Popcorn. If you let me come back for the summer, I hope I can keep riding. I have decided that white horses are the best.

Sometimes it feels like I'm in a cult, everyone trying to get me to "see the light" about George. This girl in group cried about her abuse and everyone was really nice to her afterwards. Then Ms. Annesley tried to get me to share. I won't do it; I don't have to; no one can make me. I might have to wait to be 18, but then I will be free.

G.G.

I don't understand how G.G. can be so willfully stubborn, but I also know that willful stubbornness is a Darcy trait. Sometimes it serves us well and sometimes it serves us ill, but I choose to believe that one day she will understand just what it is that has happened to her and that it has nothing to do with love.

Love does not justify rape. Love is the opposite of rape. Look up how it is defined in the Bible and you will see what I mean.

The situations with Caroline and me, and G.G. and George have more similarities than I would have thought. What was done to both of us is wrong, even if neither of us realized it at the time. Sometimes you have to tell someone strong truths to help them, even if they don't want to hear it. I wonder when G.G. will be ready to hear the truth.

Coincidentally, Rick stopped by that evening, so I showed him G.G.'s letter. He mentioned, "You did so much to try to help G.G., getting her counseling before she left for school and picking a school where counseling is an integral part of the program. You obviously believe that counseling can help. Have you considered that perhaps counseling can help you, too?"

"I don't want to talk about it with anyone," I replied, a tenseness overtaking my chest, all the muscles in my body feeling stiff, my teeth clenched. This was the closest we had gotten to talking about it since I told him what happened and he provided a word to define it.

"I understand if you aren't ready for that," Rick told me, compassion most evident in his warm brown eyes. "These things take time, but perhaps even if you were just able to talk about your feelings regarding George and G.G., it might help."

I shrugged, doing my best to signal that this part of the conversation was over. We watched another dumb movie, something with Will Ferrell and race car driving. It was silly, quite ridiculous at times, but it mostly kept my attention.

That night, I had trouble sleeping (as I often do). While trying to get in a comfortable position to drift off, I pondered Rick's advice. I had been the one to push for counseling for G.G., even when she didn't want to do it. I drove her to every session, waited the whole hour in the waiting room. Rick was right that I thought counseling could work. So why was I so opposed to trying it for me?

I had a particularly bad night. I had insomnia and then restless dreams which woke me up, but my recollection of them was very vague, but for remembering a short sequence in which Ava, my ex-girlfriend from high school, was looking at me pensively. It was one of those dreams when upon waking you know just what memory has generated it. She was trying her best to be strong but seemingly choking back tears. I tried to reach her to hug her, but some invisible barrier kept me from ever getting closer to her.

When Ava had looked at me that way before in real life, a few years earlier, I couldn't deal with it and took the coward's way out, telling her "I have to go," rather than talking things through. That image had been etched in my mind by all the accompanying emotions, but I hadn't thought about her in quite some time. I knew, of course, why my dreaming mind had brought her to the forefront, but I didn't really want to think about that memory.

Instead I focused my mind back on first meeting Ava and our early days together, ignoring the more recent memories of her when they would intrude. Those early memories were sweet, precious. I could have nostalgia about our innocence, when the worst we worried about what the world would dish out to us was saying hurtful things.

We met at a Valentine's Day party thrown by one of my parents' rich friends and hit it off right away, which was likely as much because of circumstance as anything else. It was a boring affair as all the parents were in one part of the house with the alcohol, the young kids were in the basement with nannies, and all the middle-schoolers and everyone else that wasn't twenty-one was supposed to be out in the yard and pool house, with a couple of staff there to make sure things didn't get out of hand. It turned out that besides Ava (who was there when I arrived), the next oldest person was a girl who was fourteen and was content to chase the eleven and twelve-year-old boys around the bare yard until it turned dark. Apparently anyone else close to our age was smart enough to get out of attending or perhaps had managed to find a way to remain in the main house. It might have been more fun if it was a summer party, but the pool was covered and it was chilly even when it was still daylight.

Ava and I were both seniors. I went to a private all boys prep school and she went to a coed school. I was bound for an ivy league college, Columbia University, because I wanted the experience of living in New York City while she was going to study at the Sorbonne. I was impressed by her sense of adventure in studying so far away, but she explained "It is not such a brave thing as you think. My mother is French, I am fluent myself and I have visited France many times over the years." Growing up as affluent as my parents and their circle of friends were, I saw nothing unusual in the privilege we both had.

I found Ava quite pretty even though she did not fit the conventional beauty mold and was certainly not what the boys at my school all talked about (ginormous heaving breasts, hands that wanted to wander, a willing mouth and bare below). Ava had dark hair, light skin and freckles. She was short (and I had guessed her younger than she was, before she told me she was a senior and seventeen) and only wore an A cup (of course I didn't know that then, but I did know that her breasts formed only small mounds under her jacket, just enough to hint at femininity). When she smiled (and she smiled easily and frequently) her cheeks became round and her small mouth formed an open heart.

Of all things, when the younger kids began pouring into the pool house when the chill of the evening set in, she proposed, "Let's go into the attic, shall we? Grab us some chips and drinks." I obediently complied, hoping she liked bottled water and Doritos.

Ava led me to the bathroom (it felt a little odd to be in there with a girl) and showed me the entrance to the tiny staircase which was hidden behind what appeared to be a cupboard door. She explained, as she ducked inside, "I've been here before and this is the perfect place to get away from all those kids."

The staircase was a tight fit and I had to hunch my shoulders quite a bit so as not to hit my head. Ten steps up we reached the attic space. It felt like we were ascending into total darkness until she switched on a light, which was only a single, dangling bulb which illuminated the many dust motes we had disturbed with our ingress. It was not an attic so much as a storage cubby. It was half filled with dusty pool furniture, haphazardly stacked. I pulled down two chairs for us and we sat, the chips and water forgotten on the floor as we talked. We had one of those talks in which you freely share because you never expect to see the other person again.

It took me a while to see in that setting that there was something different about Ava. She wore a jacket over her jeans and that obscured her right arm. Also, she held her body turned at an angle, with her left side more forward than the right. But I noticed that as she gestured, it was only her left hand and arm that I saw move. Then I looked toward her right sleeve which seemed oddly empty and noted no hand at the end.

I must have screwed up my brow, or had some other sort of expression that communicated my confusion, as she narrowed her lips for a moment before saying, "I see you noticed. I suppose your parents didn't tell you about baby-arm Ava?"

I was only more confused. "What?" We had been talking so pleasantly and freely before, I did not understand her sudden hostility, was perplexed by it even as I tried to understand her words.

"I have one tiny arm." Ava stood up and with her left hand, she picked up her right sleeve and pulled it up at an odd angle that showed that whatever was in it ended midway up a typical upper arm. She dropped the sleeve and posed with her left hand on her waist, the elbow out, glaring at me. "What do you say to that?"

"I didn't know." I was confused, but grasped one possible solution, "Are you putting me on? Like hiding your other arm behind your back or something?"

"Nope." Ava pulled off her jacket, first tugging the right sleeve loose, then tilting to the left, so her jacket pooled near her left shoulder, then lifting her left wrist to her mouth and tugging at the sleeve with her teeth, while she pulled her arm back, causing the whole thing to slither off when she opened her mouth again. Her jacket fell down to the floor which was just large squares of the wood that goes under an actual floor, I think what they call a subfloor.

"See?" Ava swiveled, turning her right shoulder toward me. She was wearing a thin short sleeved blouse and I could see what looked like a couple of tiny fingers emerging from the bottom of her right sleeve. My first thought was that it was like something out of a sci-fi movie. With her left hand Ava pulled up her right sleeve and showed me what was indeed a tiny appendage, with what looked like very soft, pale skin.

I struggled to recall if I had ever seen someone with a similar deformity before, but could only recall seeing veterans who were missing limbs, rather than someone born with a different arm. Rather brusquely I asked, "Why is your arm like that?"

Ava told me, "I have a birth defect. I was born this way and no one really knows why. I have a congenital limb deficiency in the upper extremity, not true phocomelia but instead as I learned recently, I have a severe ulnar deficiency, my ulna is short and my radius is fused to my humerus (radioulnar synostosis) and I also have just three fingers, two of which are conjoined (mine is a partial, simple syndactyly)."

I considered myself a smart guy, but I really didn't understand the scientific words she was throwing at me. My only response was to say, "Oh." Then I thought a little further and asked, "Has it been hard growing up that way?"

"Yes and no." Ava explained, visibly relaxing, "When I was a little girl I just lived and did like anyone else. Sure, I couldn't use that little arm much, but I was used to it. The hard thing was when other people noticed. My mother wanted me to wear a prosthesis, but who really wants to have a fake arm that can't do much either, that has to be strapped onto your shoulder and cuts you off from doing anything, feeling anything with the limb you do have underneath it all? If it had been up to her, they would have amputated this arm. We compromised and normally I just wear long sleeves made of a stiff enough fabric that it is not so obvious and 99 people out of a 100 don't notice when I am just normally walking around, but of course everyone at school knows."

We talked a bit more about this, but then we moved onto other subjects. I didn't forget about her tiny arm, but it took its proper place as just one detail in who she was, rather than being the most important thing.

As the evening was drawing to a close, I knew I wanted to know her better, in a romantic way. Even knowing our potential time was limited because of our future plans, I asked, "Ava, would you go on a date with me?"

Ava said, "Sure, I'll go, as long as it is not because you have some freak curiosity."

"Of course not," I reassured.

"I didn't think so, but I like to get things like that out there. Going on a date seems like it would be fun, but let's keep things casual. I don't need any heartache before I leave for college."

This began a whirlwind romance that can only happen when you are young and do not have the commitment of jobs. We lived an hour away from each other, and at first only saw each other on weekends, but after we graduated we began to see each other almost every day. If we were going on a date we would generally meet half-way, but if we wanted to be more intimate, I always went to her house. Her parents didn't mind us disappearing into her bedroom for hours; they were very open-minded I guess. My parents wouldn't have been nearly as accepting.

Both of us were fairly innocent. I had only kissed two other girls and only felt one girl's boobs. Ava told me that she had kissed three boys and had touched one of them through his pants but didn't let him touch her. We began to learn things together and all of it was sweet. We had no real expectations of what things should be like. Ava was clear on her limits; one of us always had to be wearing pants so as to keep either of us from getting carried away. I enjoyed learning what she liked, kissing her everywhere, even on her little arm. In that short span of time, although it seems like a cliche, she became very precious to me.

When we had just a few days left before Ava left for France, she asked me, "Do you think we should take that last step together? The way I feel about you, I don't know that it is quite the 'L' word, but it kind of seems like it could be."

I was very tempted but reminded her, "You never wanted things to get out of hand and I have a feeling that if we do that, it will be even harder to let each other go as we knew we had to do from the outset. We have to break up when you leave, that's what we always planned to do."

"What if I don't want to break up?" Ava asked me, making her lips pouty.

"I don't want to hold you back from having that immersive experience that you want. Probably you'll meet some hot French guy, fall in love and live happily ever after and never see me again."

"So, you really think I'll find someone hot?" I could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, which had taken such a serious turn.

"Of course, what hot guy could resist you?"

"Plenty before you," Ava said a little more somberly. "How about we agree to think about this more before tomorrow."

"Okay," I answered, and then we made out and I did my best to make her feel good, even while I was throbbing in my jeans.

The next day when I saw Ava, it was half on the tip of my tongue to say, "Let's do it." But she was the one who spoke first.

Ava hugged me, released me and then told me, "You were right. It will be easier to leave without ever taking that step. But everything has been so wonderful, it seems like having sex with you would have been as well."

"I don't know," I told her. My rational side won out and I recited all the reasons we shouldn't. "From what my cousin Rick says, the first few times guys are so over eager that it is over before it has really begun and I know it can hurt girls and it takes a few days to heal after that. If we had more time, if we were a bit older, maybe it would be right, but right now when I look at it objectively, it seems all wrong." I nuzzled her then, kissed her mouth and ran my hands under her blouse. "Of course I want you. How could I not, but you deserve it all, not just a quick tumble so that we've had that experience."

"I am tempted, but I guess you are right," Ava said, but then she gave me such a loving look that almost all of my control crumbled. If she had said, "To hell with it," I would have given in and been glad to do it, but she didn't so we didn't. Instead she said, "I had my turn yesterday, so I think it is high time you get out of those pants." I happily complied.

When she left for France we dutifully broke up, but still exchanged occasional emails. After about a year, her emails dwindled off. What she did send seemed perfunctory, forced, so I wrote less and finally we stopped writing altogether. I had started dating someone else and Ava was just a sweet memory to me.

It was a surprise then to get an email from Ava the summer just after we had finished college. She asked for my number and told me she hoped we could meet up. Then after I emailed her my number, she called me up and we made plans to meet at her parents' house and then go for coffee.

When I arrived, I noticed that Ava seemed older, less exuberant. My arms, which had been extended to hug her, dropped down when she made no move to echo the gesture. I told myself that it had been a long time, that it wasn't so unexpected, but it made me feel sad, that the feelings of warmth I still had for her weren't reciprocated. I felt confused then. She had seemed so warm on the phone and had been so eager for me to visit, so why were things so stiff in person?

Ava asked, "Do you mind if we just stay here and go out to the garden. I'd like to talk and a coffee place isn't exactly private." I recall it was a lovely summer day with a bright blue sky but enough of a breeze to not be too hot. We sat on a sturdy stone bench in front of a fountain to which dye had been added to make the water blue. I sat first and she sat a polite distance from me.

Ava told me, "I need to tell you something. Something happened to me my second year of college. Something bad. I keep thinking that if we had made a different decision before we broke up, that maybe it wouldn't have been as bad. I keep thinking that maybe you can help me get over it."

I had an inkling about what she was going to reveal and wanted to flee right then, but I forced myself to stay sitting, to ask, "What happened?"

"This guy I was dating, well we had gone on two dates, invited me back to his flat to watch T.V. I hadn't really dated much in France, my arm was an issue for some people as it always is, but it seemed worse there. It was the middle of the afternoon. I really thought he just wanted to watch T.V. but he had something different in mind. We made out a little and it was nice, but then he started unbuttoning my shirt. That wasn't something we had done before, but he had felt me up at the end of our last date, so really it wasn't that different, but it felt rushed as there hadn't been anything but kissing before then. I will tell you what we said in French giving the English translation, because I know that you don't speak French."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"I asked him, 'What are you doing?' He told me, as his hands worked the buttons, 'This is our third date. It is time.' I was confused and I pushed away at him with my hand. I thought he would stop, but his face got angry and he slapped me and told me 'Hold still. Everyone knows American girls are easy and this is the third date. You should be happy I will date a freak like you.' I am used to being called a freak and stuff, but I had thought he cared about me, it was a blow to me to hear that from him. I didn't just let him, but I also didn't try as hard as I could have to get away as he got rough with me every time I tried and I knew I didn't stand a chance to get away when he was determined that I would stay. In the end, I just lay there and let him do what he wanted. I pretended it was happening to someone else. I cried, I couldn't help myself; they were angry tears. Afterward he asked me, 'Why are you crying? You have no cause. You wanted this Frenchman's big prick in you. I know you did. Otherwise why would you come here today?' I didn't say anything. I got dressed and left."

"That's awful," I told Ava, putting my arm around her. She stiffened for a second and I almost pulled my arm away before she snuggled into my side although she still felt half rigid.

Ava said in a soft voice that I had to strain to hear even though her mouth was only inches from my near ear, "I was thinking, maybe if we had . . . had sex, that it would help block what he did from my mind."

I was shocked and jumped up. I told her while staring at the fountain instead of her. "I can't. I'm sorry. He was a jerk, but I just can't." I struggled for an excuse. "I am dating someone."

I could hear the confusion in her voice, "But you told me you weren't dating anyone when we talked on the phone last week."

I lied again, "I just started dating her after that." I knew Ava knew it was a lie and added once again, "I just can't. I just can't. I've got to go, I have an appointment." Of course that was another lie.

I ran out of the garden like a coward and around the house to get to my car. My heart was thudding away and I felt close to panic. I sat in my car for a long time, trying to calm down. After a few minutes, I tried to find the courage within myself to go back and talk to her. I knew that was the right thing to do, but I didn't do it. As I sat, I also tried to will Ava to come seek me out. I convinced myself that if she appeared I would stay and talk things out. As the minutes ticked by I wondered, Hasn't she noticed that I haven't left yet? There were plenty of windows in that big house from which she could see the car. I justified my leaving then to myself, She doesn't want to talk more to me, either. As I drove away I felt like a failure.

In the weeks that followed, I tried to justify my reaction by telling myself that she had gone about the whole thing wrong. I told myself that if she had confided in me and then made her request months later I would have done better.

I have been told before, by my mother, that no one ever regrets waiting, that waiting is always the smarter thing to do when in doubt, and undoubtedly that is sound advice in most circumstances. But given what I now knew about what happened to Ava in France, maybe it would have been better if we had both given in and just had sex before we both went off to college. If it had been her choice then to give that experience to the both of us, perhaps what happened to her later in France wouldn't have been as bad. Maybe. But there is no changing the past.

I had thought about Ava's request after the fact, had turned it over in my mind, tried to view it from all angles and thought about what I should have done, how I should have acted, even though the end result would have still be the same, a resounding "No!" I was still working up my courage to call or text Ava, to talk things through, to be the supportive friend that she needed, when my parents died and I was so overwhelmed that I could not handle anything else.

Ava sent me a sympathy card a few months later, which was very decent of her, but I did not respond just as I had not responded to any of the other cards that Georgiana and I received. My mother had been a stickler for etiquette, and I knew the general rule was that I should respond to all personal written correspondence, but she had never told me the rule for responding to sympathy cards after your parents die. And she certainly wasn't around to tell me that by doing nothing I was doing something wrong.

A few months ago I was sure I was completely in the right to refuse Ava's request, but now, now, I feel less certain based upon how my recent experience has changed me. I understand now that Ava was seeking control in the only way she knew how, that she must have really trusted me, to ask it of me.

I cannot imagine that sex with me would have gone well. I am not sure I could even get excited with her, if she stayed so stiff and uncomfortable with me, with the memory of that monster between us. It would have been awkward, forced.

It certainly couldn't have happened right away. Maybe if we had dated for a while we could have gotten back to feeling toward each other as we had before, to feeling that desire. But when Ava asked me, it felt like she wanted me to get to it right then. We had, after all, done plenty in her childhood bedroom before and she had asked to meet at her parents' house. But maybe that was not what she meant. If I could have given Ava what she wanted, I am still not sure that it would have helped her.

At about four in the morning after dreaming of Ava and thinking about everything that had transpired between us, I gave up even trying to go back to sleep. I read for a while, ate an early breakfast and then went for a run by myself in the dark. I ran and ran, even when my body felt like it could not run anymore (all individual parts protesting each stride and my throat burning from the cold air). Finally, I turned around and walked back. I had no "run" left in me.

As I walked back, I thought about when Rick told me that what happened to me with Caroline was rape. I thought about the fact that he gave it to me straight. I knew he had my back, he had had my back since we were little boys. Then I thought about Rick's advice again. I knew he wanted what was best for me. Shouldn't I at least try counseling? I couldn't run like this every morning; no matter how far I ran, my problems would still be waiting for me.

That morning, a Friday, I called up Ms. Berry's office. She was the counselor who had seen G.G., the one who specialized in sexual trauma. She saw both children and adults. I left a message, asking for an appointment.

Ms. Berry called me back at noon; it must have been her lunchtime. She said, "Hi Mr. Darcy, I am returning your call about scheduling an appointment. Is G.G. back from England?"

"No," I explained, "I need an appointment for me. There are things I need to talk to someone about and I thought it would be easier with someone who knows something about the situation with G.G. because a lot of what I am stressed out about has to do with her."

I explained that it wasn't urgent, that I didn't need a special appointment time, but could wait until she had availability, ideally late enough in the day that I could just start my workday early and then come in to see her. I thought Ms. Berry would say she was booked solid for the next month and I was half-hoping she wouldn't have any availability past that which would make any sense with my work schedule.

Instead, Ms. Berry told me, "You are in luck. I just got word today that one of my patients moved out of state; I have an opening every week on Monday at 4 p.m. Do you want to grab that spot before it's gone?"

I said "Okay." Then I got off the phone and wondered what I had just done. I was committed now, to appearing in her office in three days.