What Happened to You: Playing After Trauma

"I don't go to that con anymore," she says. "Oh. Why?" She hesitates. I can see in the way her lips purse that she's weighing the odds of telling me something. She's deciding if I'll listen and believe her, or if I'm going to call her a liar and abuse her. It's a debate I've done myself, multiple times. "I was groped there." "Jesus. I'm so sorry." "Mhm." She goes quiet for a minute. "I talked to the con about it. They didn't do anything. They didn't remove him." I stare, blankly, at this person who was hurt and abused. I am looking at her, looking down at the ground, the safe neutral area where she can't see my response. She doesn't want to see my pain on her behalf because this is about her, not me. I swallow. "Fuck 'em. I don't need to go that con. I'm so sorry that happened." She hesitates again and finally looks up at me. "Are there poli...