The Inevitability of Nina
Hotel Room, Belize City
Dear Nina,
It was December 1987. We arrived after a bumpy bus ride from Chetumal, with reggae Christmas music playing on a loop the entire trip. When we reached the Belize City bus station, an elderly Chinese woman approached us and offered us a place at her guesthouse. The upstairs room was very simple. It had two double beds and a door that led to the owner's bedroom. When she opened the door, chickens wandered in and out, pecking at anything that looked appetizing on the floor. The room was slightly better than the palapas we slept in during a month on the Riviera Maya after meeting at the Poc-Na Hostel on Isla Mujeres. We bonded quickly—two Irish girls, a German girl, and me (out of respect, I won’t mention names). The two Irish girls shared one bed, and I slept in the other with the German girl (I’ll call her ‘A’).
Sexual tension was already growing between ‘A’ and me. It felt familiar, not new. After my first experience—being sexually assaulted by an older man—my sense of attraction survived. But fear of intimacy was a different issue. Each time that door opened to that possibility, it slammed shut even faster. Before I was traumatized, that fear wasn’t there. I know it wasn’t because I remember feeling ready with my first girlfriend. It didn’t happen then because she wasn’t as ready as I was, but that memory still holds a special place. Fifty years after the abuse, I read letters I wrote to my first girlfriend from the ship where the abuse took place. Why she kept those letters is another story. When I read them, I didn’t recognize the author because they were so incredibly romantic. The letters were in chronological order. As I went through the stack, I noticed the tone suddenly changed, and my letter frequency decreased. I realize now it was because my sexual development had been damaged. Dealing with the aftermath has been a major challenge for the rest of my life.
After dinner, we headed to a club popular with British soldiers. As three women and one man, we seemed to upset some local guys. One got angry and threatened me with violence. He kept asking, "Why did I have three women?" or something similar. As violence against me seemed possible, we moved quickly to the safety of the club. He didn’t follow us. The club was lively, and it was fun being around so many Brits. But my mood shifted when ‘A’ danced with a soldier. I felt jealous, which was a clear sign I was in deep. I left the club with the Irish girls. ‘A’ stayed behind. Later, my sleep was disturbed— ’A’ was on me. My fear of intimacy was caught off guard. Although it's as old as biology, it’s hard to convey how intense the experience was. I was thirty-three years old, Nina. A bit late for such an initiation, don’t you think? From Belize City, we rented a small boat for the short trip to Caye Caulker, a tiny island on the reef. ‘A’ and I rented our own room. A week later, ‘A’ and the Irish girls took a bus to Guatemala, while I traveled by bus to Mexico City and then flew to Denver. Whether what happened between me and ‘A’ would have a lasting impact remained uncertain. One thing is certain: Belize City is deeply ingrained in my memory.
Love, Roddy