I wake up to the sound of an alarm clock. It’s 7:00 a.m. The noise startles me, so I sit straight up in the bed. As I look around, I realize this is not my room, but it is vaguely familiar. I have been to this bedroom before, and this isn’t my first time waking up here.

I look to my right and see a closet, next to it a full-length mirror, and the shelves next to my bed are filled with action figures. All over the room are multiple baskets overflowing with lotions and other toiletries. I still can’t quite put together where I am, so I get up to look at the pictures on the wall hoping that the faces will give me some answers. In one of the larger frames I see my Aunt Cindy, Uncle Bob, and their grandkids, my cousins, Connor and Keegan. How can this be? Last night I was in Southborough, Massachusetts and now I’m in Burlington, Vermont at my aunt and uncle’s house. How did I get here? Why am I here? Confusion overwhelms me.

Over near the door is a chair with clothes on it: running shorts, a tank top, purple socks, and my old running sneakers. I could have sworn I got rid of those months ago. I get dressed and walk over to the mirror. I physically look younger, tanner, and my hair is shorter.

“Grace!” My Uncle Bob’s loud voice calls me from outside my room.
   

As I walk out, I look at the clock and it’s 7:30 a.m. I sit down at the table and watch my mom’s sister, Cheryl, come in from outside with a Diet Coke and cigarette in her hand, the usual. She reeks of nicotine; I hate that smell. I go over to give her a hug.
   

“Oh, darling, good morning. It’s beautiful outside, what a great day to run. Are you excited?” She asks.
   

Excited for what? I don’t answer and find a seat at the kitchen table. I’m too hungry and tired, and the state of confusion I’m in doesn’t motivate me enough to talk. When I get to the table, there’s a horribly burnt sesame bagel on my plate and a glass of orange juice next to it.

“Eat up, you’ll need the energy,” Uncle Bob says to me.

I love my uncle very much, but just because he’s a great person doesn’t mean he’s a great cook. The food presented to me did not look appetizing in any way. I eat it, or at least try to just so I don’t hurt his feelings. I take a bite and immediately regret it. The charred bagel, sesame seeds, and cream cheese are not a good mix. I take a sip of orange juice but that doesn’t do much help. I don’t think I’ve had a worse tasting bagel.

Then I remember. I have had this bagel before. I remember teasing my uncle later about this awful breakfast on Memorial Day of  2015, the day of the Vermont City Marathon & Relay. A tradition in my family is to participate in this marathon relay. I always run the last leg which is five miles.

I wrap the bagel up in a paper towel and slip it into the garbage can without my uncle seeing. My name is called again, but this time from the driveway.

“Grace it’s time to go,” My mom’s voice yells.

I start to walk out to the car then stop immediately. I feel what seems to be one million  butterflies take flight in my stomach and my hands start sweating. If today is Memorial Day, that means at around noon I will be in Battery Park right before lunch time. This also means I will have to re-experience a man groping me.
I try to move but my legs don’t let me. I feel sick, I can feel my face getting hot, my emotions are scattered. My eyes start to tear up and I fall back onto the kitchen counter, but I catch myself. A feeling of pure terror comes over me. I never thought I would have to go through something like this at all during my life, let alone relive the entire day.

No one knows what’s going to happen today except me. I want to shout and scream to warn someone of what will happen later today, but I can’t. I physically open my mouth to try and say a word but nothing, not a sound comes out. Does my body not want me to speak? I wipe my eyes and gather myself and start to walk out to the car.

“It’s about time. What took you so long?” My mom asks. I shrug, because my body won’t let me answer. My aunts, uncle, mom, her boyfriend and I all pile into the minivan and drive 10 minutes to the starting line of the race.  It’s packed with thousands of people. We meet up with Erin, my cousins’ mom who is running the first leg of the relay. All of us are standing at a light post ready to send Erin off and cheer her on.

The race stars. Thousands and thousands of people run by me. Looking around, I see tall and short people, some in hats and some without, others with bright colors on and the rest with dark. All these people don’t know what will happen later today. No one knows that a man will touch me in public today except me. My body tries to shout but not a single word come. The event is approaching and time could not be moving any slower.

I try to get past the fact that I can’t speak and walk around with my family. I try to pass time by playing with my cousins. We play pass on the sidewalks and I take them to get food. It’s around 11:00 when I check my phone and I hear my Aunt Cindy calling for us.

“Kids! It’s time to head over to Battery Park to see Uncle Bob run by.”

Connor and Keegan run ahead of me. I slowly walk up the hill with my mom by my side. I hold her hand. This day was traumatic for the both of us. She was so upset and angry. I look at her and she smiles back at me. My hand grabs hers and I squeeze it tight as we walk together. She pulls me close and kisses my forehead. In this moment we had no clue what was about to come. But I do now.

When we get to Battery Park I look around for the man’s face. I become paranoid. We move towards the crowd watching the runners. It’s a large crowd and I know he is somewhere in it. I’m very alert. Every movement of someone close startles me. The stereos from the race are blasting music. I can’t focus and it’s hard to breathe. In the corner of my eye I see a tall man with long greasy hair, a grey shirt and a backpack. He looks dirty, homeless maybe. He moves closer and the butterflies in my stomach flutter again. I tense up and reach for my mom’s hand. The crowd moves, so I lose track of him. I look towards the runners and feel something brush up against my butt. A body? A bag? A hand? It’s him. It feels like my heart stops. I turn to my mom, my eyes are full of tears and i squeeze her hand.

“Grace what’s wrong?” She asks.

I want to scream. My eyes say help me and look at the man. She doesn’t get the message. I need to tell her or anybody what just happened, but my body still isn’t letting me speak. The first time this happened I couldn’t find any words to say, but now I have so many. This man ended up touching me three times, and all three times I was in so much  shock that I couldn’t process what was going on. It was the most terrifying situation I’ve ever been in.

On commercials and advertisements for TV billboards, celebrities and sexual assault victims always advocate to speak up and use your voice, but they never tell you how hard it is to actually do when you are sexually assaulted or groped. When this man touched me I wanted to scream so loud. But when it actually happened I couldn’t quite find my voice.