On Monday, Matthew rode his bicycle to school as usual. He had a terrible day, unable to concentrate on anything. Monday was usually his favorite day because he had art last period, but on this day he couldn’t paint anything that didn’t resemble a dark, amorphous blob. His teacher asked him about it, but he was unable to put his dark feelings into words, so he said little.
At home in his room after school, he heard the doorbell ring. A moment later his mother called to him, saying there was a friend at the door. A friend, he wondered, thinking that he didn’t have any friends. Reluctantly he went downstairs and saw Stephan at the door. “We need to talk,” said the older boy. “Is there some place more private?” Matthew shrugged and motioned to follow him upstairs. In Matthew’s bedroom, Stephan sat on the bed and Matthew sat apart from him in his chair. Stephan said, “We need to talk about what happened on the trip.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” replied Matthew.
“I think there is, but I think you’re too scared or too embarrassed or maybe both to talk.”
“Stephan, I really did appreciate it when you talked with me at my fire in the mornings. It helped me realize I wasn’t as alone as I thought at first, but I just can’t talk about it.”
After a pause, Stephan said, “Well, let’s try this. I’ll ask you some questions. If the answer’s yes, you don’t need to say anything. If the answer is no, then you need to tell me. OK?”
Matthew shrugged.
“First, did Uncle Bob touch you inappropriately on either or both nights?” Silence. “Did he jerk you off?” More silence. “Did he do anything else to you?” Silence. “Did he suck your dick?” Stephan asked in surprise. More silence, but this time Matthew got bright red. “My God! Did he make you suck him?” Continued silence. “Jesus, Matthew, no wonder you can’t talk about it. Did you try to resist?” Silence. “Did he threaten you?” Matthew looked down and gave a slight nod. “Shit! Damn him to hell! OK, Matthew, I get the picture. He never sucked or threatened either me or Billy, but then, we never tried to resist. Billy and I think he needs to be stopped — Now! Do you agree?”
This time Matthew said, “Yes.”
“OK. We’re going to the police tonight, and we need you to go with us. Can you do that?”
Matthew shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because you were right. I’m embarrassed and I’m scared shitless. If he found out I went to the police, he’d do terrible things to me, and I have no idea what my parents would do. I know you’re trying to help me, but I just can’t do it.”
“Fuck. He’s got you terrified. OK. Billy and I will go for now, but the police may want to talk to you.”
“I can’t. Can’t you just not tell them about me?”
“I don’t know. I think at some point it’s going to have to come out.” With that, Stephan went over to Matthew and tried to give him a little hug before he departed.
“Don’t touch me!” exclaimed Matthew, pulling back.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want anybody to touch me.”
“Shit. He really got into your head, didn’t he? All right. I promise I won’t touch you until you say it’s OK. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.” At the bottom of the stairs, Matthew’s mother asked Stephan if anything had happened on the trip. “Yes,” replied Stephan. “I’m trying to get Matthew to talk about it, but so far I haven’t had much luck. I think eventually you’ll find out, but right now he’s just very afraid.”
“Of what?” asked Mrs. Long, astonished.
“I’m sorry, but I think he has to tell you that. If I said anything he would see it as betrayal, and he doesn’t need any more betrayal right now.” With that, Stephan left.
Matthew’s mother went up to his room but she couldn’t get him to say anything at all. That night at dinner he was silent, and he spent the evening crying softly on his bed.
On Tuesday, Matthew returned to another unproductive school day. He did see Stephan, but not when they could talk. From the time he got home, he lay on his bed until dinner. Once again at dinner, although his parents tried to draw him out, he said nothing.
As they were finishing dinner, the doorbell rang. Matthew’s father answered the door and Matthew heard him ask, “What’s the problem, officer?”
Matthew heard a voice reply, “We need to talk with your son.”
Oh, Crap! thought Matthew.
“Why? Is he in trouble?”
“Not at all. We just need to talk with him. This is Janice Harding, from Children’s Protective Services. She wants to ask Matthew some questions.”
Damn! What do I say to them? Matthew wondered.
His father called him and his mother and everybody went into the living room where the officer introduced himself and Mrs. Harding to Matthew and his mother. The adults all sat while Matthew curled up in a chair with his head down.
“Matthew,” began Mrs. Harding, “can you tell us what happened to you on the camping trip?”
Matthew said nothing, but a tear trickled down his scarlet cheek.
“Did somebody touch you in a bad way?”
At that, Mrs. Long gasped. “Matthew, dear, tell us what happened.”
Matthew simply stared at his knees.
“Matthew,” Mrs. Harding continued, “we know you didn’t do anything wrong, but we need to know what happened. Who touched you?” Matthew did not respond. “Would you feel more comfortable talking with a man you could trust instead of a woman?” After a moment, Matthew nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I can arrange that, but not until tomorrow morning. Again the little nod. “All right. Mrs. Long, if I could have your phone number I can call you in the morning and tell you who will see Matthew at the CPS building.”
As she gave Mrs. Harding the phone number Mrs. Long begged, “Isn’t there anything you can tell us?”
“At this point, no. I have some privileged information which I can’t yet share. Meanwhile, I think you should simply try to comfort Matthew and make him feel secure without asking him any questions.”
“If that’s what we have to do, then we will, for now.”
After the visitors left, the three family members sat without speaking for a long time. Finally, Mr. Long said, “Matthew, I’m not going to ask you any questions, but I want to remind you that your mother and I both love you very much, and, no matter what has happened, it will not affect our love. Do you understand that?”
Matthew looked up, tears in his eyes, and nodded. “I just can’t talk about it, Dad. I’m really embarrassed and scared,” and he began sobbing. The three of them sat in silence until finally, when his sobs had subsided, Matthew went to his room. In time they all went to bed, but nobody slept very well.
Wednesday morning, as they were having breakfast, the phone rang. Mrs. Long answered, listened, and then said, “I’ll have him there at 9:00.” Hanging up, she turned to Matthew saying, “We have an appointment at CPS.”
“Should I come too?” Mr. Long asked.
“I don’t think so. If they need you, I’m sure they’ll call.”
He nodded and went to work. At 8:30 Matthew and his mother departed for the CPS building in town. When they arrived, they were shown into a small but comfortable waiting room. After a short wait a door opened and a pleasant looking young man stepped out. Introducing himself as Warren Johnson, a child psychologist, he invited Matthew into his office. When Mrs. Long rose to go with them, he politely but firmly said he needed to talk with Matthew alone.
Mr. Johnson and Matthew went into the office, Mr. Johnson seating himself in a comfortable chair and motioning Matthew to the sofa. “Matthew, I understand you’re having a very difficult time. I’m here to help you, not to hurt you in any way. Whatever you say in this office does not go beyond that door unless you give your permission. That’s the law, Matthew, and you can trust it one hundred percent. Do you understand?” Matthew nodded, but kept his head down.
“Now, let me tell you what I already know and then I want to ask you some questions. OK?” Matthew nodded. “I know that two of your friends went to the police but you did not. Can you tell me why?” Matthew shook his head. “OK. I also know that you were on a scout camping trip and that you slept in a tent with the Scout Master. I know that he touched you in inappropriate ways in that tent. I believe that he threatened you, but I don’t know how. I want to ask you some questions to just take you through the two nights. It’ll be painful for you, but if you can talk about it, that will, in the long run, help the pain.” Matthew stared at the floor without responding.
“All right, on that first night in the tent, did Uncle Bob say anything wrong to you or touch you before you went to sleep?”
For the first time, Matthew looked up, saying angrily, “Don’t call him ‘Uncle Bob!’ He’s not my uncle and I hate him!”
“OK. How about calling him ‘Mr. Sinclair?’ Is that better?” Matthew nodded. “Now can you answer my question?”
“He didn’t say or do anything wrong before I went to sleep.”
“OK. Did you wake up the middle of the night?” Matthew looked down and nodded. “And what woke you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t.”
Mr. Johnson waited a moment before asking, “Are you afraid?” Matthew nodded. “Of me?” After a pause, Matthew shook his head. “Of Mr. Sinclair?” Again he nodded. “Are you afraid of anything else?” Once again, Matthew nodded. “Are you afraid you’ll be punished for what happened?” A tear formed in Matthew’s eye as he nodded. “Matthew, I know you haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Certainly, I won’t punish you, and, remember, I can’t say anything to anybody else, even your parents, without your permission. I think you need to trust me and tell me what woke you up.”
“I can’t.”
They sat in the office virtually silent for nearly half an hour, Mr. Johnson hoping that Matthew would begin to talk and Matthew hoping that he could leave. Occasionally the doctor asked a question but got no response. Finally he said, “Matthew, I know that talking about all this is very hard for you, but I want you to think about it before you come back. Mr. Sinclair’s a pedophile; he’s sick. He has to be stopped and that won’t happen unless you tell me what occurred in the tent. But even more important for you is that you have all this shame and fear and lack of trust built up inside you, and if you don’t let it out it will burst. Please, please think about this before you come back tomorrow.” Slowly Matthew nodded.
With that, they went out together and the doctor told Mrs. Long that he needed to see Matthew again in the morning. On the way home Matthew’s mother tried to talk with him, but he was totally unresponsive. She asked him if he wanted to go to school. He said no. When they arrived home, Matthew went to his room and lay on his bed, thoughts once again tumbling through his mind. He was exhausted, and at some point he fell asleep, not awakening until his mother brought him some supper, which he picked at only to please her before he fell back on the bed. He did think about what Mr. Johnson had said; he thought a lot. He remembered the psychologist had said if he didn’t talk about it he would burst with his bottled up feelings. He remembered the man had told him that whatever happened wasn’t his fault. But he couldn’t bring himself to the point of talking about what had happened and he no longer had any idea who he could trust.
In the morning, Matthew and his mother returned to the CPS building. In his office, the doctor asked Matthew if he had thought about what he had said the day before. Matthew nodded. “Can you tell me now what happened in the tent?”
“No. I can’t.”
“Are you still scared?” Matthew nodded. “Are you ashamed?” Again the boy nodded. “Do you trust me?” Matthew shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”
“Do you remember what I told you about things not going out of this office and that the law makes that very clear?”
Matthew nodded.
Mr. Johnson said, “Matthew, I promise you that you can trust me. I work with a lot of kids who have been abused. I have never betrayed their trust and I never will.” Matthew sat in silence as Mr. Johnson thought and studied him for a time before going to a shelf and returning with a naked male doll. He held it out to Matthew, who took it. Then he asked, “Can you show me what happened?”
“No.”
“Too scary?” Matthew nodded. A pause. “Too embarrassing?” Again the nod.
They sat in silence for several minutes before Mr. Johnson said, “Matthew, I know that you were sexually abused. I know that it’s very hard to talk about. I have other patients who are dealing with the same problem and it’s a real struggle for them too. Honestly, the ones who can talk about it begin to feel better, but the ones who can’t continue to have all the feelings you have now. I know that it wasn’t your fault. But for your own sake you need to talk about it. If you don’t, it will affect you for your whole life.”
After more silence, Matthew looked down at the doll. With tears in his eyes he began to rub the doll’s back. He looked up at Mr. Johnson, who nodded encouragingly. Then, as the tears poured down his face, he turned the doll over and rubbed its chest. Then he stopped.
“What happened then?” asked Mr. Johnson, gently.
Feeling overwhelmed, Matthew cried, “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” More tears welled in his eyes. He put down the doll, took some tissues which Mr. Johnson offered him and tried to dry his face.
“It’s OK, Matthew. We’ll rest for a minute.” They both sat, looking at the doll. Then, without saying anything, and with tears still flowing, Matthew reached down and began rubbing the doll’s penis.
“Thank you, Matthew. Believe me I do know how hard that was. Remember, you don’t have to be afraid of me or anything in this office. Now, let me be sure I have this right. Mr. Sinclair rubbed your back, and then your chest, and then your penis. Is that correct?” Matthew nodded. “Did you reach a climax?”
Matthew looked up. “What does that mean?”
“Do you know what it means to ‘come’?”
Matthew looked horrified but finally nodded.
“And did you?”
Still the horrified look before another nod.
“You’re doing fine Matthew. Now, did Mr. Sinclair tell you to do the same to him?” Matthew reluctantly nodded. “Did you do it?” A long pause before another hesitant nod. “And when you were done did he tell you that what happened was a secret between you?”
Surprised, Matthew asked, “How did you know that?”
“Because that’s typically what abusers say. Of course they don’t want anybody else to know. Now, did anything else happen that night?” Matthew shook his head. “Was the next night different?” Matthew nodded. “Can you tell me about it?” Matthew shook his head.
After waiting a few minutes, Mr. Johnson said, “OK, Matthew, I think we’ll leave that for another day. Can you be thinking about how to tell me about the second night?”
“Yes,” the boy said in a soft voice.
They went together out into the outer office, where Mr. Johnson said that Matthew had made some progress but he wanted to see him again the following Tuesday.
On the way home, Matthew’s mother tried to get him to talk, but he rode silently and went again to his bedroom when he got home.
That night he worried about talking about the rest of the abuse. He lay shivering, trying to decide if he would or could. He knew that Mr. Johnson had said he would feel better when he talked about it, but so far he didn’t. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Mr. Johnson, although he knew the man hadn’t told his mother anything he had learned. Could he trust the man? Could he bring himself to talk about the rest of what happened? He finally fell asleep still fearful and anxious.