#I have no cats here so it cant be an equal exchange I fear. at one point I had 27 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ecotone99 · 5 years ago

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[SF] 24 hours

MEET ME AT THE AIRPORT AT 9. BE THERE!

I reread the text.

I read it again.

Lillian was an ex-lover of ours. It was mid week but the hassle might be worth it. My beautiful wife Nicole was working from home today. My mind was reeling with the possibilities. I looked at the clock, it was 4:06. I got up and sent a text to my supervisor that I was sick and wouldn’t be in today. I would get some serious shit tomorrow but I was really hoping it would be worth it. I looked at my beautiful wife and then rolled out of bed.

I quietly went through my morning routine. I let the dog out, started coffee fed the dog, blah blah blah. I poured her a cup when she came out. She was still wearing her pajamas as well, the benefits of being able to work from home.

“What’s the occasion? No work?” she asked.

“I called in sick. Lillian texted me. She wants to meet at the airport at 9.” I said. “Can you take off so we can both meet her?”

“Ha!” she said wrapping her arms around me, “And here I thought I was something special. She texted me too. Ya I have enough time off. I’ll take an hour or two.” We shared a brief kiss before I pulled away to flip the bacon. “Just in case she wants to play today, I’ll tell work that I’m not feeling well and may have to take the day off. I’m going to shower and log in for an hour though.”

“Ok. After I eat I will change the oil in my truck and shower then. Don’t take too long, your eggs are going in th pan in four minutes.” I said as I opened the fridge.

A half hour later we had eaten and I put on some work clothes. A half hour after that, I jumped in the shower. I got dressed and went to my computer.

“Woah! All dressed up I see. Hoping to get lucky?” My wife asked when I walked past her.

“Well ya!” I said with feigned sarcasm. If I can’t turn you on I’m hoping for a quickie with her anyway!”

She was smiling but her expression changed and I thought I had gone too far. “I’m thinking about her message. She said to meet her in all caps. She doesn’t always type like that.”

“Maybe she just really wants to see us?”

“Maybe.” She paused, “Maybe it’s more. I mean she works for the government.”

“I think you worry a lot.” I teased.

“Me worried!?! Mister super prepper!?! You are so funny.” She faked an exasperated tone.

We both laughed. “Hey if we leave now I can get us some Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.”I said.

“I can’t leave quite yet.” She returned her attention to her laptop.

“I’ll pick it up and then stop to get you. DD is in the other direction anyway.” I offered.

“Great. Text me.”

I collected my things and headed out for our Prius. I got three coffees and texted my wife. She was waiting in front of the house and we were off to the airport. We got another text from Lillian about where to meet her. We got there and only waited a minute or two before she showed up.

Normally she was a stunning petite blond with never a hair out of place so I immediately knew something was wrong, she was just … off. Her blond hair showed almost a quarter inch of auburn roots, her suit coat was slightly wrinkled, she looked really tired and her makeup was… old? Nicole and I looked at each other with equally surprised expressions so I know she noticed it too.

Lillian paused and quickly kissed us each on the cheek. She then walked away toward a bunch of open seats in a bar area. Since it was so early the bar was still closed. She opened her shoulder bag and removed another smaller bag and pointedly put her phone in it then motioned for us to do the same. After the phones were safely in the small bag she asked, “Do you have any other electronics? It’s really important, ipad, tablet, work phone, nothing?”

We looked at each other and said no.

She looked down at the Rolex on her wrist then back up at us. “I know that this is going to sound like I’m crazy but remember that conversation we had after you two met and before we all had sex the first time? Good. That promise of honesty stands during all of what I’m about to say. I love you both and treasure our friendship beyond anything.”

She spoke so fast I didn’t even have time to get truly fearful or scared.

“You know that virus in Asia? It has mutated. About ten percent of the people don’t die and become immune, about ten percent die outright. About fifty percent die and come back as zombies. The last thirty percent come back as powerful zombies. That’s the only way we can describe them. I put our phones in a bag that blocks all signals. I know they are monitoring me and if I say anything to anyone, the press, you, I mean anyone, they will arrest or just murder me as soon as they can get a goon with a gun to me. Their government and ours are doing their best to cover it up but by tomorrow it will get out. I am heading to D.C. to brief more people but I’m not supposed to even be here now. I was lucky and convinced the pilot to land here rather than Chicago for refueling, otherwise I would not have been able to warn you even this much.”

We sat in stunned silence for several seconds. “You know this for sure? How do you know we have until tomorrow?” I asked.

“I was at the consulate in a meeting with two major pharmaceutical companies and several military people not to mention all the government officials. I was basically in the wrong place at the wrong time. My boss insisted I needed to be there. It wasn’t my specialty but I’ve been in high end, high security meetings before.” She looked at her wrist again. “During the meeting one of the lower ranked military guys tried to leave. A General stood and blocked his way. After a brief exchange in their language the General drew his pistol and shot the man several times, then turned and shot the General that sat next to him at the table. He then put the gun away and explained. The colonel next to him was a known informant to several news agencies. He advised us all to use the same amount of fortitude to give us all as much time as possible to get ahead of this before none of us would have a chance.”

“How did killing those two give you a better chance.”

“All international flights will be grounded in about twelve hours. It will take about twelve more hours for the news to get out and then it will be mass panic. Rioting, police lock downs, martial law. Ugly.”

“But the, I gulped zombies are in Asia. They cant get here.” I heard the tremble in my voice.

“This part gets sketchy. The virus has already been transmitted or transported around the world. We know of dozens of places it has already been suspected with several confirmed.”

“But people should be told!” I said.

“And when they are it will be chaos and mass panic. That will be at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Thats when the governments decided to go public. It gives government officials and the billionaires time to get home. They hoped for forty eight hours.” She looked at her wrist again, ”About twenty four hours for you.”

“This could be contained.” I stammered.

She sat stoically, “All the models say seventy five to eighty percent mortality rate. Thats global. At best. That includes military. We’ve talked before about it, even America with all of our guns. Most people will hesitate. She trailed off.”

We again sat for several seconds in silence. She finally got up and started pulling the bag of phones out of her shoulder bag. I dumbly stood up utterly disbelieving what I had just heard.

Luckily my wife was quicker than me. She stood and grabbed Lillian by the shoulders. “Are you going to be ok? Should you stay here with us? You know how we are prepped so far?”

Lillian took a deep breath and said calmly. “I can’t spread the news in any way I can imagine. I can only hope that going back to D.C will allow me to help others after the word is out. As much as I would love to stay here with you two, for my own sanity, I can’t. I need to go and try to help.”

“Ok. Do you remember our place? Northern Wisconsin?”

“Yes, Tomahawk.” Lilian replied.

“Ok, come if you can.” She leaned forward and kissed Lillian, then pulled her in for a hard embrace. I saw a tear fall from her eye. “I love you!” She said quietly.

“I love you both!” Lillian said reaching over and pulling me into their hug also. After a second Lillian reached up and kissed me too then pulled away and quickly dumped our phones on the table. She started to walk away but looked back over her shoulder and said, “Blue bears are good and red cats are bad. Just in case.”

We stood and watched her walk away.

Once she was out of sight, I numbly sat down. My mind reeled. I can’t describe the total opposite direction that this meeting took from my hopeful imagination. After all I at minimum expected to hang out with an awesome and beautiful friend, a little laughter and good conversation. What I got was the end of the world.

Nicole finally turned to me and hugged me hard for a long time. Finally she pulled back and looked me in the eye. “Do you believe her?”

I thought for several seconds. From her slightly disheveled look, so slightly disheveled that others wouldn’t have even noticed but we would, to her kiss and parting cryptic words blue bears are good and red cats are bad. What did that even mean?

I was looking at the floor but I finally looked up into Nicole’s eyes and replied, “Yes, I believe her.”

“Me too.” She said with a tremor in her voice. “Lets go.”

The next several minutes were a bit of a blur. When we got to the Prius we were about to get in when I stopped her. I opened the rear hatch and buried our phones under a bunch of blankets, get home bags, equipment and winter coats. After getting in I sat for a few seconds. “Do you think our phones are connected to the car?”

“They are off.” She said. “If they are, there’s not much we can do.”

“Let’s walk.” I said. We walked the parking structure once as we talked. “I hope if they pay any attention that they at least take into account we are being careful and won’t tell anyone.” I said. “My family is easy they are all localish. Your family is all down south except for your mother.”

She nodded and asked, “What should we do?”

“I hate to sound like an ass but I don’t think we can warn your family easily. Maybe call and tell them we don’t like the way the Asian flu is spreading and tell them we are going up north. They have never taken kindly to out prepper mindset but maybe they will pay a little more attention to the up coming news reports. Your mother won’t notice anything. If you want to go get her… that will be rough on our plans.”

“No, my family won’t see this until it hits them in the face. I need to try though.” She said.

“We will see what we can do for them.” I said conciliatorilly. “Until then our primary mission I think, is to get up north like you told Lillian.”

“Yes.” She said. “Oh my god its so overwhelming though.” She said sagging back.

“How do you eat an elephant?” I asked forcefully.

She stopped and looked up at me and then said with a small smirk, “One bite at a time.”

“Right on!” and I put my hand up.

She high-fived me.

“The camper is in the drive way. We load that in the next hour or two then get the kids and then take that up north. It’s about four and a half hours one way so nine hours is ten to twelve hours round trip with load and unloading. If we are lucky and we have twenty four hours that will give us two trips and a lot of supplies.

For our second trip we can pick up the trailer and fill that and the truck again. If Allen can take the third trailer… but that’s a lot for right now. When we get back to the car we can send messages to the kids and your family.

“Mom just got back from her Ireland trip! What if I send her a message saying you really want to hear about her trip to Ireland and Scotland? She should come here for a few days. Even if she left in six hours, we should be able to get her in time and take her with us.”

“Great idea!” I said though I didn’t think she would take the ‘bait’. “Call her!”

We walked in thought for several moments then I started organizing my thoughts on packing out loud. “Ok. Guns and reloading, books then long term food then our clothes, warm and cold weather then short term food then tools then clothes then more food and games then extraneous items. We understand this but my family won’t.” After a brief pause I continued, “Allen will not agree but he will be happy with us up there so really it’s the same thing. Except if he believes us maybe I can convince him to load our other trailer. As for my sister and brother-in-law. I don’t know, maybe they will listen.” I paused again and inhaled and exhaled deeply. “As for the kids, Andrea will go along because she trusts me. Lars will argue but only because he will miss his computer for a day. He will assume we are crazy but will be able to blame his time off and possibly his job loss on me and will then play that out for as much as he can get out of it.”

By this time we were once again near the car. I stopped her. I tilted her face up to mine and kissed her before saying. “The next couple days are going to be hectic. Very hectic. I am going to get harsh abrupt and maybe downright angry not to mention upset and pissed off. Just you remember!” I stared deeply into her eyes. “I will be doing all I can do for us and those we love. Don’t think I am asking you to do something for some self centered need. We are doing this for us and our loved ones.” I then kissed her deeply and reached into my pocket for the key fob so we could geet our phones from the back of the car.

We had been prepping for years. About nine years. There wasn’t much to plan. Once I made a decision she didn’t argue though I knew she would if she felt strongly enough. We both started making calls on the 10 minute trip home.

When we got home I woke up my son Lars, he is 21 but works evenings washing dishes and such for a restaurant. While he was getting dressed I called my daughter Rose who is 19 and a shift manager at a fast food restaurant.

Then I called my mother. When she picked up, I explained that Nicole would be coming to pick her up and to pack for a long stay up north and yes bring her cat. I’m allergic to cats but it’s easier to not argue and get things moving. She didn’t want to come but I told her it there was something special going on.

My wife looked at me and said, “Oh nice! Throw me under the bus.”

“Yes, it was an after thought. Pick up Rose first it will be quick and easy for you two to pack and load her things in the Prius. Then both of you can get moms stuff. Bring all the cat food and cat litter she has. That will allow Lars and I time to haul supplies up from the basement.”

After Nicole left, Lars and I started bringing bins and buckets up from the basement and staging them in the dining room. From there it would be a straight shot out to the camper and truck. Just a few months ago we bought twenty flip top sixteen gallon bins from someone on facecrack marketplace. We used several for different camping and storage needs but many of them were still empty. We used them now packing loads of store bought canned goods and boxing up all our home canned food. All told we had several months of food but that would go fast.

When Nicole got home with those two and a Prius full of clothes, they started bringing things upstairs and I started loading as much as was reasonable in the camper. We loaded all our blankets and bed clothes then we started with the cold weather gear and finally books and games. We have a 10 foot long shelf of books we considered necessary for the end of the world. I hooked up the camper to the truck and loaded bin after bin of food in the bed of the truck. I quickly strapped the load down with a cargo net. I had loaded several firearms into the truck and camper and several ammo cans also. The zombies weren’t due for a day or two but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should have my pistol within reach.

During the loading of the truck my mother thought I was crazy but she helped, honestly I think she was just glad to be included and that her cat was coming. Occasionally she had seen a some of our preps, she never saw all of them, and would comment about why we would ever stock up on that much food. We gave various reasons but she would always shake her head and say the store is right down the street. She was flabbergasted by how much we had.

The truck and camper were loaded. My son rode with my wife in the Prius. My mother and daughter rode with me. They would stop at my sisters place and explain to them what was happening and I would head straight north. I really hoped my sister would take her seriously.

We were on the road by 11:30. Remarkably good time in my opinion. A quick stop for fast food and a little bit of careful speeding and we were there by 4:30. I guess it also helps that mid week traffic is much better. I had dropped the trailer and was unloading the truck into my brothers garage and lean to when my son and wife showed up. They unloaded straight into my brothers house.

When we were done unloading I spoke to my wife. “I think you should go to Dubuque and try to pick up your mother.” The look in her eye spoke volumes. It was almost like reading her mind, was I dumping her, then why doesn’t he want me, then why does he want me to go away, and then the change wait it’s still safe out there, this would be the only chance to get her, then splitting up would allow us to maximize our effectiveness in dealing with this. She pulled me down and kissed me. Good she got it, “Be safe!” she said.

“You too and keep me posted.” I said. “I’m leaving mom and the pets here. The kids will be with me for faster loading. We will both be back here sometime in the middle of the night. It took another five minutes to explain things for my mother and then we all left.

I stopped in town to fill up my gas tank and get drinks. We stopped at another gas station half way back and the clerk must have thought we were nuts when I bought out almost the whole display of beef jerky and a swath of other items. When we were back in the truck I told my son, in the back seat, to just drop all the packages into every nook and cranny back there. We would still need all the room we could get for the rest of our stuff. My phone was kept wrapped in aluminum foil and taken out every couple hours for updates and then re wrapped. This allowed us to speak freely. As I didn’t think they would be listening in on the kids phones and we never spoke about Lillian.

When we got back to Milwaukee, I stopped by my brother to tell him face to face what was going on. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get him to go up north, he always had plenty of vacation. What he didn’t believe was that shit was going down. He would leave in the morning.

We left and went straight to were we stored the camper. I called that storage place while on the way and simply rolled in and out with no pause to chat. I backed the big trailer into my driveway. We loaded propane and generators more clothes and finally the rest of our food. I packed my toolbelt, electrical tools and all my Dewalt battery operated tools but couldn’t justify the rest of my tools. Between what my family already had up there, mine simply weren’t needed. Also we were running out of room fast. By 1 am we were again loaded. We stopped twice for gas this time and both times we bought out nearly the entire displays of beef jerky and other treats. I was sucking down energy drinks and had bought caffeine pills. My son and daughter just kept dumping the small packages int the small gaps in the back of the truck. I had bought nearly a thousand dollars on that credit card and you could almost not see it they packed it so well.

The sky was just beginning to brighten when I pulled into the driveway up north again. I was really tired. We dropped the trailer and then began unloading. Again we were just dumping things in the garage, lean-to and shed. I paused and slammed the rest of my energy drink as Nicole crossed the yard. After a quick hug and as we finished unloading, she said she was thankful for being able to pick up her mother. I’m not sure how she convinced her to come here but we could talk about that more later.

“Now you need to get some sleep.” She said.

“No, we are going to town to buy whatever we can yet.” I replied.

She looked at me for only a moment before agreeing. “What are we going for?”

“You get to the drug stores in Tomahawk and buy anything you think we need medical and hygiene wise. I burned up my visa card already so I have about five grand I can spend on my other one. I’m going to Menards and a grocery store. I want to be back by noon. That will be past her 24 hour deadline but it may still be ok.”

She looked very tired. “I don’t like that we are splitting up but I understand. I will take Rose.”

“I’ll take Lars.” I felt as tired as she looked.

The kids just groaned but they had gotten cat naps between all the stops as I was driving. The girls left with us following. On the way I had an idea. When we got to Menards, I rented a trailer and they filled it with 6 foot fencing and a lot of fence poles. I grabbed a cart full of hardware, nuts washers and bolts and all the white gas they had. I then bought out the soups and such in their food section. I was loading all this into the truck when a police officer showed up. He parked a few spots away and approached me from the front. He had a nervous look and his body was angled away with his right arm slightly back.

“Good morning!” he said.

“Good morning!” I said pleasantly. Loading the last of my things in the truck. Lars came back from returning a cart.

“Whats the event?” the officer asked.

I looked at him slightly bewildered but then with a look of understanding. “Ahh, fencing, food, hardware.” I chuckled and passed my empty cart to Lars who started taking it back to the corral. I then slowly stepped forward and extended my hand. “My name’s Robert, my wife and I just closed on a property up here, our dream homestead really.” He slowly reached out and shook my hand. “And I promised my son a hunting trip to Montana and a load of food for when he goes back to college in Milwaukee for a few weeks work.” I looked over the side of the truck and pulled up a bag of Bear Creek powdered soup mix, He loves this stuff.” Then dropped it back in.

“Ya, not as good as pizza but it will last all the rest of the year and part of next.” He said and smiled as he returned.

The officer looked at me for a few seconds and asked, “Where did you buy a place?”

“North of Sprinter about six miles. Nice place. Goats, rabbits, ducks, we are going to have it all!” I wasn’t trying to pour it on too much but I had gamed this out slightly in my head. We really had been looking for a place. We really planned to have those animals and many more. “I just had a talk with the guys in the store. They weren’t pissed but they asked that next time I order ahead so I don’t deplete their stock. When I bring this trailer back I will place an order that I can pick up in a couple days. More fencing, cattle panels… I should have bought stock in this place before I pulled out my credit card.” I joked. “So what can I do for you anyway?”

“We got a call about suspicious activity. Buying an oddly large amount of stuff.”

“This is a lot?” I looked at the large though slightly odd assortment of material in the truck and trailer. “We would pick up twice this much stuff when I worked for a contractor in Milwaukee. Besides,” I continued turning back to him. “I used a credit card to rent the trailer and buy all of this. They have a complete record if something nefarious was going on.”

The officer started to visibly relax as I was talking. Just as I finished he got a call on his radio. He reached up and pressed the button. I didn’t know what the few words and codes meant but was quite happy to see him relaxing more and more. We have a friend in Chicago who needs to buy many gallons of white gas for a fire dance performance group and she tells stories of long talks with police officers to explain just what and why they need so much flammable liquid. They are always worried about terrorist and other threats nowadays.

When he was done on the radio I asked, “While I have you here what are some good places to eat? I really like Ted’s pub over on west street. Great burgers. What do you suggest for a breakfast place?”

To his credit he looked thoughtful for a minute, then “Maggie’s on fourth. Great greasy spoon type place with out the grease.” He had hooked his thumbs in his belt in front of him. “Great for breakfasts! The fork right down the street is only open for lunch and dinner but it is also really good. The new fancier restaurants are driving up prices but those two are still reasonable yet.

“Hey dad, Uncle Allen is expecting us soon.” Lars reminded me. Smart kid. Dropped that in at a perfect time.

“Hey it was nice meeting you!” I said as I started to step around him to get in my truck.

“Yes, you too sir.” He replied. “It’s always nice to see good people moving into the area.” He turned and went back to his car.

When we were safely inside the truck I praised Lars for listening and going along with what was happening. As we pulled out of the lot I thought about one more stop on the way out of town.

We pulled into my brothers place just before noon. I was really glad to see his truck was there. The radio had been going crazy with the reports of the grounding of all the international flights last night and it got only worse when they grounded all flights and said they were going to restrict all travel by the end of the day. My sister and her husband and kids arrived an hour later. Most of my family was safe. At least as safe as we could be for now. That evening the first reports of looting and rioting started. Then there were reports of some of the rioters biting each other. Most of the reports were coming from other countries so far.

I don’t know what words I would use to describe my thoughts and feelings when those first reports came in. It happened. It was happening? Way down deep I was afraid we were doing all this for nothing. I would have to go in and tell the boss that I was pretty sick. Try to return all kinds of stuff at Menards because I really couldn’t afford it. No, they showed people eating each other live on the evening news. For only a split second I felt almost vindicated for all the work over last 36 hours. Then I immediately felt the horror of the millions of people that would die over the next few weeks. Then fear for my friends and family that I couldn’t help right now. Finally the dread of having the end of the word as we know it occur right in front of us and how it would change our lives.

I got up and walked to the open bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. I picked it up and took a long pull from the bottle then turned to my family. Mostly what I saw was fear and worry in their eyes. “Thanks to Lillian we are far ahead of most people right now. I think we are safe enough for the night. Tomorrow we will decide what to do next.” I set the bottle down. “I’m going to bed. It’s going to be another long day tomorrow. Goodnight.” I took my wifes hand and pulled her up off her seat. She followed me, as I walked to our bed I only hoped we would have this one last night be peaceful. Tomorrow I would really take charge and keep my family safe!

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viralhottopics · 8 years ago

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Can I forgive the man who raped me?

Thordis Elva was raped aged 16. Years later, she emailed Tom Stranger, the man who raped her, beginning a raw, painful healing process documented in their book South of Forgiveness. In this extract, they meet to find a way forward

Thordis Elvais from Iceland and known to Icelandersas a writer, playwright, journalist and public speaker. She was voted Woman of the Year 2015 by the Federation of Icelandic Womens Societies in Reykjavik for her work on gender equality, and has written a celebrated book on gender-based violence, 2009s mannamli (The Plain Truth). She currently resides in Stockholm, Sweden with her partner Vidir and their son.

Tom Stranger is Australian. He met Elva when he was 18 and on a student exchange programme in Iceland, and the pair had a relationship. Since then, he has worked in various sectors (community services, youth, outdoor recreation, charity, construction, and hospitality). For now, he is working as a landscape gardener and lives in Sydney with his wife, Cat.

From: [email protected] Sent: Saturday 21 May 2005, 5.38am To: [email protected] Subject: Words for you Thordis, I dont know where to start. When I saw your name in my inbox, my spine went cold. My memories are still as clear as day. Please believe me when I say I have not forgotten what I did, and how wary I have to be of myself. I dont know how to reply. I want to call myself sick (but I know I am not), I want to say that you are so strong, so strong to be able to write to me and recall the events and my actions. I want to thank you for not hating me, although Id like you to. It would make it easier for me. Without looking for a scratch of sympathy, I want to tell you that the events and emotions I was party to in Iceland have replayed in my head many times, usually when I am by myself for any length of time. They flash past me, vividly accurate, and then, shortly after the denial and positive character reinforcement, comes the question: Who am I? It is a dark part of my memory. Ive tried to suppress it. But this is not about me. Whatever I can do or offer you, I am more than willing. The question is where to go from here. You tell me. Tom.

*****

After eight years of analysing the violent past and its consequences in a written correspondence, Thordis and Tom decide to meet up in the middle, between their home countries of Iceland and Australia, looking to face their past once and for all.

Day one, 27 March 2013

The taxi picks me up at a quarter to five and takes me to the bus station, where Im booked on the fly-bus. The grizzled taxi driver, hoisting my suitcase into the trunk with a smooth manoeuvre, asks me where Im going.

To South Africa.

Oh, really? To Johannesburg?

No, to Cape Town, I reply, still in disbelief at my own words despite the time Ive had to adjust to the idea. It would be an understatement to say that the proposed meeting has been on my mind. Its reverberated in every step when Ive gone out for a run; its been in every breath of cold winter air that scraped the insides of my lungs; its soaked the wet washcloth I used to clean my sons sticky fingers. And Ive tried my best to push it out of my mind when making love to my fiance, enjoying his warm skin against mine.

After all, that would be a highly inappropriate time to be thinking about it.

From the moment the destination was set, I adapted to a new calendar before or after Cape Town. The last time I bought deodorant I automatically deduced that I wouldnt have to buy another one until after Cape Town. Yesterday, when snuggling down with my three-year-old son to do some painting together, spending quality time with him BC momentarily appeased my guilt for leaving him for 10 days to travel halfway across the globe to face a man from the past without any guarantee of the outcome.

Something tells me that parents of young children are not meant to take such foolhardy decisions. Thats the reason I gave up my dreams of parachuting when I fell pregnant with my son. Then again, throwing myself out of an aeroplane at 7,000 feet carries less emotional risk than taking a trip down memory lane with the man who turned my existence upside down. Because it wasnt an unknown lunatic who tore my life apart all those years ago. Who turned down the offer of medical help for me, even though I was barely conscious and vomiting convulsively. Who decided instead to rape me for two endless hours.

It was my first love.

My mothers eyes flew wide open when I told her that I was travelling alone to South Africa to meet up with the man who raped me when I was 16. She strung together a series of hair-raising worst-case scenarios before letting out a sigh, looking at me with loving reluctance, and adding: But I know its pointless to try to talk you out of things youve set your mind to, dear. Shortly thereafter, my dad interrupted my packing when he dropped by for a coffee. Despite my attempt to break the news to him in the gentlest manner possible, it didnt prevent him from freaking out. He lectured me in a thundering voice about how I was jeopardising my life for an utterly ridiculous idea.

But I have to finish this chapter of my life, I said softly. My cheeks were on fire.

Finish this chapter? he repeated, appalled, and jumped out of his chair. You dont need to travel across the globe to finish anything! This whole idea is a big pretentious drama, thats what it is!

His words hit me right where it hurts.

Youll have no control over anything. Nothing but your thoughts! Nothing else!

What do you mean? I asked, confused. Ill obviously control my actions and whereabouts.

No you wont, dear, he hissed. You cant always. If you could, then that wouldnt have happened.

We both knew what he meant by that, even though weve never talked about the incident that changed everything. In recent years, Ive spoken widely and publicly about my status as a rape survivor (though, until now, never identified the man who raped me) yet my father and I have never discussed that fateful night. He has never asked and Ive always assumed he doesnt want to know.

I sat up straight, aware of my glowing cheeks. If you reduce me to victim and him to perpetrator, I can see how this seems incomprehensible to you. But were much more than that, Dad.

He scoffed loudly before storming out of the kitchen.

I leant against the wall and let the air out of my lungs slowly. Goddamn it. I knew this would be hard, but bloody hell.

My father appeared again in the doorway, pacing up and down with frustration I knew was fuelled by fatherly love. How can you be sure youll finish anything with this nonsense? This may just as easily be the start of something else entirely! The distress in his voice made it sound like a threat.

I sat alone in the silence my father left behind and watched the dust settle. In a way, I think were both right. This trip will surely mark an end to a certain chapter of my life. What sets me apart from my father is my belief that in the next chapter, I wont be the victim any more.

Day two, 28 March 2013

The screen in the seatback in front of me shows a blinking plane over a map. According to the timer, Cape Town is just 29 minutes away. The butterflies in my stomach nose-dive, as the time seems way too limited considering how many questions are left unanswered.

Goddamn it, what if I cant forgive him? Am I ready to let go?

Frustrated, I scroll through the folder on my laptop, searching for something to calm my nerves. I was level-headed enough when I suggested this trip, wasnt I? In an attempt to recover my faith in this risky undertaking, I read through my own proposal:

You may need a lifetime to forgive yourself for what you did to me. That is up to you and you take however long you need, independent of anyone else. I, however, am climbing a different mountain. And I am getting very close to the top. I propose that in six months time, we meet up with the intention of reaching forgiveness, once and for all. In person. It is the only proper way for me to do it, I feel. No letter can ever compare with face-to-face communication. And after all weve been through, I think it is the most dignified and honest way to finish this chapter of our story.

I sound so calm, so fucking reasonable. How is it possible that this was written by the same person now hyperventilating in a plane 30,000ft over South Africa, full of nerve-racking doubt?

Reading through his reply, Im somewhat comforted that he, too, felt conflicted:

Ill admit that I was floored by your request to meet up. Fearful, anxious, cautious, paranoid. You name it, it all came swarming in. But youve asked, and you sound like you are making vital ground towards something very special for yourself. So of course Ill agree to see you. After much thought I do think it will be beneficial, and an opportunity for myself to air face-to-face some long held words and for us both to look to close some doors. I want it for you, Thordis, as you seem strong, open and ready to see me and move forward. I want it for me because Im so very sick of being sick and seeing myself as unlovable, and believe I can move on if I could just look you in the face, own up to it and say Im sorry.

Forgiveness is the only way, I tell myself, because whether or not he deserves my forgiveness, I deserve peace. Because Im doing this for me. My forgiveness is white-hot from the whetstone, and its purpose is to sever the ties, because if I can let this go, once and for all, Im certain that my overall wellbeing will benefit greatly. Self-preservation at its best.

Day four, 30 March 2013

Its seven oclock when we buy ourselves a drink at the hotel bar and sit down by a table facing the garden, readying ourselves for the hard talk. The windowpane clatters loudly, and an endless stream of staff crossing the room distracts me to the point where I give up. What do you say about us finishing this conversation in my room?

He looks at me, shocked. Are you sure? Youre comfortable with that?

Im sure that itll be easier to have this talk if we get proper privacy. Its tough enough as it is.

Tom radiates ever-increasing anxiety as the elevator climbs closer to the 12th floor. Unlike him, my emotions have calmed down.

Almost serene, I step out of the elevator. Theres no turning back now.

He buries his hands in his pockets as I fish my key out of my bag in front of my hotel room. Putting my hand on the doorknob, it morphs into the white plastic door-handle with the keyhole that haunts my dreams. Within me, everything falls silent. Ready? I ask myself.

Without hesitation, I turn the key.

Tom follows me inside my room, takes a look around and smiles nervously. Not bad.

Sit wherever you like. Im going to make some tea.

Thordiss student ID from around the time she met Tom. Photograph: Courtesy of Thordis Elva

He sits down on the edge of the bed while I busy myself with the kettle. From the corner of my eye, I notice him closing his eyes and straightening his back, as if hes steeling himself. When the boiling water hits the teabag at the bottom of the cup, Tom begins the story in a hoarse voice. I wore my golden shirt that evening. I didnt know it was customary to get dressed up for a dance in Iceland, and I didnt have anything fancy. The son of my host family took me to an exclusive store and helped me choose the shirt. I thought it was the peak of cool, at the time. The striped trousers were a present from my host sister.

He accepts the steaming teacup from my hand and stares into it for a moment before continuing. I remember how excited I was when I bought the ticket. I remember that I was with my friends Carlos and Ben when we met you outside the dance. You were pretty drunk when you arrived.

It was the first time Id ever tasted rum, I tell him. I didnt know how to drink alcohol. Nor did I know how to smoke, even though I took a drag from the rolled cigarette you handed me. I just wanted to impress you. And after the ensuing wild cough, I wondered if perhaps that wasnt a cigarette, I remind myself.

I lost you the minute we stepped inside, Tom continues. Carlos and I went straight to the dancefloor. I remember feeling happy and carefree in that sweaty pile of people. Then someone told me you werent well, you were in the ladies.

My mind replays the awful scene from the bathroom stall. The stains on my new dress. My hair wet from hugging the toilet. My fear and wonder as one spasm after the other wrung my body out like a dishrag. The repeated promises that Id neither drink nor smoke again if I were only allowed to survive this night. And finally, the desperate wish for my mom to come save me. I fucked up, Mom. Im sorry.

Tom frowns. I felt it was my duty to go and check on you. So I went in and climbed over the partition, into your cubicle. I held your hair back while you vomited, and I thought I was going to be sick as well. Then you flopped to the ground and lay there, motionless. I remember carrying you out.

He pauses and looks away. Before I have a chance to tell him how grateful I was when he appeared like my mother incarnate to save me from an untimely death on the bathroom floor, he grimaces bitterly. Then I couldnt be bothered to look after you, Thordis. I dumped you on Ben and left you with him. You were slumped on the chairs outside the bathrooms and he stood there, stooped over you, as I went back to the dancefloor.

I look at him in surprise. I thought youd taken me straight home.

He clenches his jaw. My only thought was that this was the only Christmas dance I was going to experience in Iceland. I was selfish and didnt have any concern for you. In the end, I felt guilty that some other guy was looking after my girlfriend. So I scooped you up in my arms and carried you up the stairs, in a foul mood because I had to leave the party.

And the security guards stopped you on the way out because they wanted to call an ambulance for me as I was dangling from your arms, foaming at the mouth. They thought I had alcohol poisoning.

Id forgotten that moment but I dont doubt it, he says in a low voice.

Tom Stranger in 1996, the year he went to Iceland. Photograph: Courtesy of Tom Stranger

I remember that part vividly because for a second there, I thought youd take their advice, I respond, looking down into my cup. That Mom and Dad would get a call from the hospital saying that their 16-year-old daughter was lying there with alcohol poisoning. I imagined being grounded for life.

Id known for three years by then what it is to drink to excess, and Id seen many of my friends at various stages of drunkenness. I just thought you were wasted. I didnt think you were in real danger, he says.

Whatever it was, it had me paralysed and unable to speak. But I heard you loud and clear as you refused the offer of an ambulance, telling the security guards that you knew me and would see me safely home.

He nods, his complexion strangely pale. The taxi was white, I recall. I told the driver your address I remember letting us into your house. But what I dont remember is what I did with you while I struggled to unlock the door.

You draped me across your shoulder while you rummaged round in my bag for the keys.

He raises his eyebrows. Really? Like a sack of potatoes?

I nod.

He swears at himself quietly. And I remember your entrance hall, the shoes on the floor. From memory, past the coat hooks there were some stairs on the left, leading up to the kitchen and your parents area. Your room was through on the right. He stops and swallows.

I remember taking your clothes off.

I remember it too. My gratitude when he removed my vomit-stained dress. My relief at having my feet freed from the high heels. My frustration for not being able to utter a word of thanks. My lack of understanding when he continued to remove my underwear. Why my panties? Why?

My stomach muscles reflexively tighten as I prepare for the blow.

He stands up, moving restlessly, and walks over to the wall opposite the bed. I undressed you completely… He falls silent and hangs his head. The wind howls pitifully outside the window.

Tom begins to cry.

I wish I could tell you why I did it, Thordis.

Did what?

Raped you, he says, quietly.

This is an edited extract from South of Forgiveness by Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger (Scribe Publications, 12.99). To order a copy for 11.04 go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger will be speaking at the Royal Festival Hall as part of the Women of the World festival on 11 March, and at the Bristol Festival of Ideas on 13 March

People were quick to judge I wasnt angry enough: what came next for Thordis and Tom

Standing in stark stage lights, with five cameras directed at me, I recently found myself on a stage, telling an audience of 1,200 how Id been raped when I was 16 years old. Next to me on stage was Tom, who raped me after a dance at our high school. Together, we gave a TED talk that summarised a 20-year long process, whereby Tom shouldered responsibility for his actions and the way they impacted our lives. It was viewed nearly 2m times in the first week and the overwhelming reaction was positive and supportive.

In the talk, I described the violence Tom subjected me to, how I spent years wanting nothing more than to hurt him back, how I found a way to part with the anger that nearly cost me my life, as well as rid myself of blame that I like so many other survivors wrongfully shouldered.

Tom described how he felt deserving of my body that night, without any concern for me, and consequently convinced himself that what he did was sex and not rape. The following nine years were marked by denial, in which he did his best to outrun the past, until I confronted him in a pivotal email that changed our lives for ever.

Ive been asked why I didnt press charges immediately, and the simple answer to that question is that I was a 16-year-old girl with naive notions about rape. Rapes were committed by armed lunatics, the kind of sensationalised monsters you saw on TV and read about in the papers. The fact that Tom wasnt a monster, but a person who made an awful decision, made it harder for me to see his crime for what it was. That way, the demonisation of perpetrators in mainstream media got in the way of my recovery. By the time I was able to identify what had happened to me as rape, Tom had moved to the other side of the planet, far from the jurisdiction of the Icelandic police. At the time, 70% of rape cases in Iceland were dismissed, even when the perpetrator could be interrogated and the survivor had documented injuries, neither of which were the case for me. Therefore, pressing charges would not have been a fruitful process, and the only option I felt I had left was to bottle up my pain and anger. Studies show that very few survivors have a clean-cut story in which they went straight to the authorities after being assaulted, put the blame squarely on the perpetrators shoulders, healed their wounds and moved on. For most of us, life after violence is a messy ordeal. We dont go to the police because were too confused, scared or doubtful that well get help. We blame ourselves and obsess about things we couldve done differently. We numb ourselves with alcohol/drugs/sex/food/work, or we turn to self-harm to relieve the emotional pain. We continue to see our abusers and pretend that nothing happened, because facing the truth is overwhelming. We develop PTSD and mental illness. We stay silent about what happened out of fear that well not be believed, or worse, blamed for it because we did something wrong. No wonder, really. In reality, the only people capable of preventing rapes are those who commit them, and yet were told from an early age that we can avoid being raped by dressing and behaving in a certain way. This culture of victim-blaming also fosters the idea that there is a right way to react to violence. Had the survivor only worn something else, not smiled so widely, not gotten drunk, fought back (more), screamed (louder), gone straight to the police, not feared their attackers retaliation if theyd only done that, everything wouldve worked out differently. Victim-blaming deepens the shame that many survivors feel and lessens the likelihood that they speak up about their experiences.

youtube

Watch Thordis Elva and Tom Strangers TED talk.

The reality is that there is no right reaction to having your life ripped apart by violence. I knew that my collaboration with Tom would be controversial, and the reactions of internet trolls didnt surprise me. But I am concerned with how quick some people were to judge the wrong way in which I worked through my experience. I wasnt angry enough, I shouldve pressed charges, I was setting a dangerous precedent, I should be ashamed. Although I made it clear that my forgiveness wasnt for my perpetrator but for myself and that without it, I wouldnt be alive, I was still told that I should not have forgiven.

This worries me. I worry about my fellow survivors who are at risk of internalising the misconception that there is a standard reaction to sexual violence, with the conclusion that they didnt react in the right way. To you, I want to say that you did nothing wrong. The way in which you carried on with your life may not have been clean-cut, it may have been messy and incomprehensible to those who dont share your experience, but it was your way to survive a trauma. Nobody has the right to tell you how to handle your deepest pain.

And as the title of our story South of Forgiveness suggests, forgiveness played a pivotal role in allowing me to let go of the self-blame I shouldered, largely due to the victim-blaming culture I grew up in. And yet, forgiveness is not the core of our story, in my mind. The core issue is responsibility.

I understand those who feel discomfort and even outrage when hearing and seeing Tom on stage, knowing that hes perpetrated sexual violence. At the same time, given how prevalent this type of abuse is and how under-reported a crime it is, were in all likelihood seeing and hearing from perpetrators on a daily basis the main difference being that we dont know theyre perpetrators. They could be the people we went to school with, who greet us at the grocery store, who direct the films we watch, get elected to public office, run entire countries and live right next door. Given the low reporting and conviction rate, most of them will never have to take responsibility for their actions in an institutional sense. This does not lessen the gravity of their deeds.

By the time Tom had confessed to his crime, he couldnt have done time for it even if he wanted to, as the statute of limitations had passed. As a result, our case fell through the cracks of the legal system, like so many others, but it didnt lessen our need to analyse our past and place the responsibility with the person to whom it belonged: Tom. We also did our best to answer questions that are rarely posed in the public discourse about rape, where more focus seems to be on the survivors attire, behaviour, whereabouts and sexual history than the perpetrators culpability. And as frustrating as it is, I understand it to a certain extent. Because in the public discourse, the only people speaking about the violence theyve been party to are the survivors, usually. Which is why we only have their stories to dissect, their details to scrutinise. Did she say shed been drinking that night? This tradition of one-sided scrutiny blindsides us from looking at the behaviour of the person responsible, the perpetrator, to whom the focus needs to shift.

I am not sharing the story of how I processed the abuse I endured as a set of recommendations for others.

My story is a unique account shared in the hope that it can aid a public discussion about sexual violence.

As a society, it is our duty to fight against violence. And as individuals, we have a right to heal from it.