Ara Ara’s Mind

{AN:It has been finished. Sydney and McKenzie have been sitting in my brain since I was 14. I originally had dreams of making them a Nancy Drew style mystery. I sat on them too long for that to happen. I hope you guys enjoy. This story does deal minimally with assault so beware of that.}

I know. Two words that could truly mean anything. “I know.” A girl says tenderly when her friend mentions her crush. “I know.” A woman nods, as a man tries to explain something she has a full understanding of.

“I know.” Sydney says to her sister, gazing deeply into her eyes.

“I figured as much.” McKenzie answers, pulling away. “What are you going to do about it?”

Sydney can tell that McKenzie is scared. That she’s worried that Sydney will snitch or berate her from her actions. Draw a line in their relationship. Stand opposite from her. Judge her. But Sydney could never do that.

“Whatever you want me to.”

Sydney was in new territory. She’s not sure where she will go from here or who she is forcing herself to become beside her sister. But it doesn’t matter. She can’t let McKenzie think she’s alone. Not anymore.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what comes next, Syd.” Mckenzie has tears threatening her eyes, but she holds them in.

Resolve courses through Sydney as she looks in her sister’s eyes.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Sydney assures folding her sister into a hug. “I promise.”

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A Letter sent to the College Board of WU

Dear Trustees,

On October 17^th, 1852, a fraternity house was established on campus. Ever since then, that house has been terrorizing every woman that visits this campus. Women leave that house battered, broken, disheveled, and abused. With no one to talk to, no one to condemn, no where to feel safe, they carry that weight with them. Some women get consumed by it, some become empowered by it, some just try to forget it ever happened. There is no correct way to deal with being assaulted or taken advantage of, that is not what I am here to discuss.

 Things fester in time when not treated. Infections happen, diseases happen, and those things can spread to an uncontrollable degree. When people looked at that Fraternity house, they could look upon a wound that had been growing for almost two-hundred years. How painful that must have been to see and know what took place there. To walk past that house every day to get to class and know what the boys in there actually stood for. To gaze at the decaying wood and know how your body would be seen and treated in its presence.

 I keep coming up with questions: why do you let something fester for so long? How long are these people allowed to remain protected? When does justice come to these women who have been abused for centuries? But none of these have answers or if they do they aren’t ones I like. So, similar to the many women who have walked out of that house with a new weight, I just carry them. And I will until I find answers to those questions myself.

            Genuinely,

            Sydney Golding

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            Statement given to the police on March 25

On October 31^st of last year, my sister was assaulted. Mckenzie went to a frat house that has been reported many times to campus police without any follow through. And yet this frat is still supported and upheld by the college board and founders. McKenzie reported her assault and was told that if she didn’t have proof or evidence that there was nothing that could be done. She must have gotten stuck on those words. She collected all the evidence there was to collect. Talk to most of the girls in our class to see if they had ever been or had ever heard of anyone else who experienced what she did at that house. She found many. She found that the number of victims the frat was still growing. She brought this evidence to you. I know she did and still you did nothing.

Let me be candid: I do not know who set fire to that house, but I do know that it was well deserved. The men in that house deserved it, their ancestors probably deserved it. For all the pain and hurt placed on these women. For all the slaps on the wrist they have received over and over. There are generations of women on this campus that have experienced assault in that house, who were told that nothing could be done. If you wanted to prevent this from happening you should have cared. Yesterday, last year, and 15 years ago, but you didn’t. And now we’re here.

⌕⌕⌕

            Journal entry of Sydney Golding

I knew something was wrong when she didn’t come home that night. McKenzie isn’t one to randomly decide to spend the night. She’s hardheaded and determined even if she were drunk, she would’ve found a way home.

From that moment, it wasn’t hard to guess what possibly happened to her. She became a shell of herself. She avoided her classes, locked her bedroom door, and turned her phone off for weeks. I wanted to say something. I wanted to reach out to her, but what could I say? What could I ask? So, I stayed silent and watched. Watched for a change in her. I waited, thinking there would be a right moment to say something to her.

McKenzie never returned to herself; she became someone different. She had to. I guess she thought I didn’t notice. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t notice, but I did. Of course I did. She would leave our apartment in the middle of the night. She would linger around that frat house before and after her classes. I would leave her in the library with no book bag and no textbooks. I could tell she was becoming transfixed on something; I could see the determination running through her body.

It’s hard not to blame myself for this. For saying nothing until it got too far to stop. For not telling her that I saw what she was becoming. For not finding the courage to talk to her. I waited too long to say something. I forced her to do this alone when she didn’t have to.

But I can’t change the past. Nor can I predict the future. All I can do is know the truth and hold on to it for dear life.

Mckenzie started that fire. She stared down the barrel of a gun that killed women daily and decided not to die. She didn’t know she would have to mourn the woman she thought she would always be. All she knew was something had to die with her.

Some crimes are necessary to kill the anger that lives inside you.

I will not leave my sisters side. Not again. She will never know pain alone. She will never have to face the unknown by herself. Every version of me will die by her side every time. In every timeline.

Sydney