Chapter Seven: Once Upon A Time
The whole reason I wanted the publication ban lifted on my name was so that I could do what I’m about to do right now.
Talk about what made me so angry.
*
This is peaches; a series of essays dedicated to the things I learned while dedicating my life to never being raped again. My name is Maarika Freund, and this is:
Chapter Seven: Once Upon A Time
Trigger warning: rape, sexual abuse
photo taken at Timna Park, circa 2023
*
If you haven’t listened to or figured it out from the six other chapters of lead-up, it was never dude. I was never angry with dude.
…Well, actually, there was that one time I was ferociously angry with him, but you’ll just have to go back and listen to Chapter Three: Lion’s Heart to get that download.
Mostly, and it was for a good period of time, I was afraid of him. And, I was afraid that he might hurt someone else if I didn’t say or do anything. But I was never angry with him. I was never angry with him because I never felt like he was the one who put me into the situation I had to live through.
Now, by that I don’t mean that I think he isn’t guilty of what happened that evening. I know he’s guilty, even though his lawyer was able to create a reasonable doubt. I know what happened that night, and I know that there just wasn’t enough evidence in the end to criminally convict. Funny enough, it wasn’t until the trial was finally over that I was able to piece everything together, once and for all, as it was confirmed to me by the other witnesses, who I was finally able to legally speak with, that my gut instincts about the happening on the evening of June 21st, 2014 were 100% correct.
The honest truth is that, aside from the Toronto Police, I’ve never actually told anyone the full story of what happened to me that night. When I spoke with the Toronto Police, I didn’t even know the entirety of what happened that evening. My intuition just told me that I was the perfect victim in something very carefully planned. But, intuition doesn’t translate into facts. They’re just feelings, and feelings don’t count in the court of law. So I only told the police what it was that I could remember. Which is all that I was asked to do from the get go, anyway.
I’m not going to speak about the happening within this podcast, so if you’re waiting with popcorn for some horrid details to satisfy any hot-gossip or dramatic cravings, I highly suggest tuning into something else that isn’t peaches. I only ever intend to tell that story once in my yet-to-be-produced television series, HISTORICAL FICTION. And, after the series finally airs, I don’t plan on speaking about the heartbreaking or terrifying details in interviews, on this (or any) podcast, or rehashing it in other pieces of artwork. By doing that, I feel like I would be feeding into disturbing True Crime addictions, and agreeing to take on the limiting and culturally imposed identity of Survivor for everyone else’s entertainment. And, while as an actor/writer/producer, in a lot of aspects, I am here to entertain you. But the one thing that I always really despised about the Canadian theatre scene (and this may have been the real reason it was so easy to discard me after the happening, because I can be, by Canadian standards, detrimentally vocal), is that there is this obsession with exploring the darkness of the human psyche and the human experience.
Now, exploring the darkness of the human psyche can be fine, but if it isn’t handled correctly, it really fucks people up, and it doesn’t provide solutions. For example, I was super fucked up after the last two lead roles I played on the stage. While now magazine described me as “ultimately formidable”[1], that's definitely not how I felt when the run was over.
If I haven’t made it clear in the first six chapters of peaches, it’s my utmost goal to make both the talking about and the dismantling of rape culture more accessible. I want to help people want to approach the subject matter. And, as an artist (who is still largely unpaid for this work), I want to be an explorer of the light. I want to explore the goodness in humans and how it shows itself, or why it chooses not to.
A big part of the reason why I only want to tell the story of that evening in 2014 once is because I want to bring joy to it. I want to have fun telling the story. Which, I know, right off the bat, sounds messed up, doesn’t it? But I want to have the best time ever telling this story because there is so much hope in it. When everything was against me (and believe you me, things got really dire) I never lost faith in myself. I asked the question: “what the fuck?!” more times than I ever thought I would, but I never lost my faith. I always believed that things could be better, and I still believe that today.
Faith and hope are the focus of the work I’m creating. I don’t want reconciliation and apologizing to feel so scary. I want there to be life after abuse. I want to find solutions, and by golly, I want to have a good time doing it.
When I finally got my voice back on October 5th, 2021, I realized just how powerful it was. I never want to abuse that power, which I could really easily do talking about my anger. It’s something I could really easily get carried away with, especially because there was a lot of it. I was so upset about what happened, and I was so hurt by what was acceptable to have happen, and those two emotions together can be a really lethal combination if one is not careful. But, justice, to me, will always come in the form of healing. So, like the upcycling alchemist I refer to myself as in Chapter Four: Conundrums of the Deeply Traumatised, I’m going to take that anger, and do my best to turn it into something beautiful. Because contrary to what that producer said to me in Chapter Three: Lion’s Heart, I do really understand what happened to me, and I don’t ever want it to happen to another identifying woman ever again.
All of this being said, I did experience a lot of disturbing things within the hell rodeo. I experienced a lot of betrayal. There was a lot of bullshit I had to navigate and/or shovel. I didn’t just magically arrive at “destination find the joy in this nightmare of a story”. Things were really fucked up for a really long time. My life genuinely was like a series of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales. But recently, I asked myself, what if I could take these dismal, cautionary tales and turn them into something so inspiring that you’d want to make an animated feature based on them? Could I create the kind of story out of my pain and suffering that would inspire a reboot within the Shrek franchise? Could I become a character in Shrek?
In this Chapter, I have decided to take my anger from the hell rodeo and expose it in fairy-tale form. I wanted to take it and turn it gold like a hot, friendly, not-malicious, hot version of Rumpelstiltskin. And as a friendly neighbourhood warning, I will be talking about myself in the third person.
So go and grab some cocoa, or some popcorn, or both, and get cozy, because I’m about to take us all on a magical healing journey. But like I mention in Chapter Six: Survivor, healing is messy. So make sure you are comfortable, because in order to get to destination beautiful, we have to go through some goo along the way.
**
Once upon a time, in a country far, far away from Canada, Maarika found herself cleaning up the hard drive on her computer. Her agent had sent her so many commercial auditions for companies in the High-Tec sector who were looking to “make it” in the North American market, and by this point, all the video files of her reciting text written by a ChatGPT bot were limiting the memory of her MacBook Pro. These opportunities definitely weren’t what she took on student debt for, but they helped pay off her OSAP loans, and now that the world was through the heights of the COVID-19 pandemic, and interest rates were soaring, she was always happy and grateful for the work that came her way. Besides, you never know who’s going to see these commercials.
That afternoon during her digital tidying, she came across a folder titled TRIAL. It had been about four years since she stood on the stand as the Key Witness in that trial that didn’t belong to her, even though it took place because of something that happened to her back in June of 2014, so she decided to open it to see what was inside. Maybe there was something that might help her with the rest of her podcast.
When it came to the podcast, Maarika was struggling. She couldn’t let go of her desire to try and win her old friends back. She couldn’t let go of the fantasy she had clung to throughout the hell rodeo. She couldn’t let go of the idea that “if she could just get them see what it was that she went through, then maybe they’d come back”. But every time she put herself out there, and every time she opened up her heart, the further away everyone seemed to get. Because of this, her hope and her optimism kept shapeshifting back into anger, and she really didn’t want to create from this place.
Maarika couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone she knew and was close to back in 2014 was currently observing her from a distance. That they all wanted to know what was going on, but none of them wanted to actively support her, despite the fact that they were all activists and #feminists on social media. It was emotionally draining and exhausting to watch people preach about healing, justice and kindness while being completely unwilling to practice it in real time.
Maybe it was just a simple truth: that they just never really liked her from the get go. Regardless, Maarika felt like Jim Carrey in The Truman Show. While Jim Carrey was one of her childhood idols and she grew up wanting to be just like him, she always envisioned being watched in outrageous, deliberate comedies like Ace Ventura or Liar Liar, as opposed to being the subject of a reality television program.
Her feeling of being watched was becoming more painfully evident every time she posted about the podcast online. At most, each post was getting five likes, and three of them were always from her other business accounts. As much as it is important to support your own work, it does get depressing to feel like nobody cares. Was it the algorithm? Or was it that no one wanted her to have a voice? Were people on the edge of their seats with popcorn, hoping she would break again? It was getting very confusing, especially because every time she posted a photo doing something banal, the “likes” would flood in.
Maarika opened the folder titled TRIAL. It didn’t have much in it. But there was a PDF document titled Maarika Letter that looked intriguing. Not remembering what it was, she opened the file. After making that double click, she was given an annoying reminder: she had accidentally given Adobe authority to be the primary application that handled PDFs on her computer when she was reclaiming her Finnish citizenship back in 2021. So before being able access Maarika Letter, she had to enter a password and go through the song and dance of reselecting the freemium version of the application. Like any other millennial, Maarika couldn’t remember what her Adobe password was, especially since she had a different password for everything in order to be protected from fraud. So she went through the “reset password” song and dance that was followed by a two-factor identification. “Was everything in life becoming overly complicated?” she thought. “Maybe I should get someone tech-savvy to help switch priority back over to Preview.” She was, of course, referring to the application that came with her MacBook Pro.
Maarika successfully reset her Adobe password, but she didn’t write it down. She knew she’d forget it anyway and just accepted the fact that she’d be going through this process again in about six months. Or, maybe she would actually remember this new series of letters and numbers. Who knew. While time can make the human memory elusive, some things you remember forever. Maybe this was one of those things.
After all of that, Maarika Letter was finally open and staring her in the face. It was penned on July 10th, 2019 by her once-upon-a-time best friend who wrote the letter to help Maarika obtain “pain and suffering compensation” for her participation within the trial. Maarika remembered it to be an effective letter, as it helped to bring in an extra $5000 when Maarika needed it most. So, with a warm and open heart, she decided to read it again.
To whom it may concern,
I write in support of my friend Maarika Pinkney, as she requests pain and suffering compensation as a result of her participation in a recent court case, and the events that led to her participation.
I became friends with Maarika eleven years ago while we were both students in the drama program at the University of Toronto. The Maarika who became my closest friend was funny, engaged, creative, and hard working. She was someone who went after what she wanted without hesitation and was incredibly ambitious. To be her friend was to be always excited by the work she was doing, and inspired by how passionate she was. Maarika became one of my closest confidants. We lived together for a time, and when we found ourselves in different provinces, or even on different continents, we kept in touch via long, hand-written letters.
Following the events that lead to her testifying in this recent court case, the change in my friend was drastic. Maarika struggled to maintain friendships and take part in events with peers and colleagues we had known for years. She abandoned projects that she loved. I heard from her less and less, and when I did, I eventually discovered she was heavily involved in a group which promised a type of spiritual healing. In the few times I saw Maarika during this period, she did not seem to be the same person I had known. She was withdrawn and avoidant, and hyper focused on spiritual group she had joined, which I was privately concerned was taking advantage of her, and was some sort of cult.
It was clear to me that Maarika was lost and in need of real and tangible support. Over the past six months, I have had the opportunity to see Maarika much more frequently and it has been reassuring to me to know she has been doing better, and is more clear-eyed about the last
several years, and the methods she used to escape the pain she was feeling. However, as someone who has known her, and knows the person she can be, it is evident that each day is a work in progress.
The past several years have been deeply unkind to Maarika, but she is ready to move forward and heal. Pain and suffering compensation would make a significant impact to her process and give her the ability to access a variety of supports. I sincerely hope you will consider and grant her request.
Maarika stared blankly at the computer screen.
What did she mean when she said: “more clear-eyed about the last several years”? …What had the community Maarika was once a part of collectively decide about her? With more time having passed between the incident, the court date, this letter, and the lifting of the publication ban, Maarika didn’t remember it the same way her once-upon-a-time-best-friend had described.
For starters, Maarika didn’t remember becoming withdrawn or avoidant. She didn’t remember the issue being that she didn’t know how to maintain friendships. She also didn’t remember abandoning projects. She remembered being abandoned when it was socially acceptable to do so. She remembered being actively left out of projects. She remembered people being annoyed, itching to get off the phone when she reached out for help. She also remembered the conversation she had with her once-upon-a-time best friend the day after the happening. Unlike the Adobe password, this moment in history was locked in her memory forever.
Her once-upon-a-time-best-friend had actually been at the party where it all happened. When Maarika told her what happened the next morning, her once-upon-a-time-best-friend said she thought Maarika was just too immature to have a boyfriend, that she was disappointed in Maarika because of how “fucked up” she decided to get that evening, and that she didn’t think dude wasn’t capable of doing what Maarika said he did.
Maarika remembered how her once-upon-a-time-best-friend confessed to her, a year after more women were telling the same story as Maarika, that her once-upon-a-time-best-friend had actually entered a lengthy flirtation with dude despite being Maarika’s number-one confidant after the happening. Maarika also remembered how her once-upon-a-time-best-friend flinched at her bachelorette party when Maarika referred to her as: “best friend”. But most painful of all, Maarika remembered having no one else to turn to after the happening.
And with that, staring at the PDF titled Maarika Letter, Maarika burst into tears. She cried for a long time. But not because she was left behind by her once-upon-a-time-friends after being raped, but because she betrayed herself.
Unfortunately, as we’ve learned in Chapter One: The Handbook, it's one thing to have a gut feeling, and another to have evidence. With a gut feeling, people on the outside can chalk your intuition up to paranoia. Maarika’s gut always told her that people were claiming the reason she unravelled was because she wasn’t capable of reaching out for the right kind of help. That Maarika was too much of a dumpster fire of a human and that she walked into the situation. That it was Maarika’s fault for allowing it all to happen to her. That Maarika was a liar.
But now, with the gift of time behind her, she was, as her once-upon-a-time-best-friend said, much more clear-eyed about the past several years. She now had evidence that supported all of her gut instincts. This letter confirmed it. Her friends all knew that the events of that evening back in 2014 destroyed her, and they all just sat back and watched her struggle to pick up the pieces.
In her gut, she knew what was going on. She was so angry that she didn’t listen to that little that was voice telling her:
“Some of them are happy this happened to you. Some of them are relieved that they have a reason to break ties with you. And some of them are happy you’re no longer competition for acting roles. Move on.”
Maarika felt like an idiot. She kept giving herself reasons to trust them and not herself. Maarika allowed herself to be swayed in the direction that she was small. She believed that she wasn’t worth listening to. That she was just a bad person getting the karma she deserved. Or maybe the karma thing was what the cult had her conditioned to believe. She wasn’t sure. In Maarika’s defense, what else was she supposed to think when the people she loved most all treated her like a loser?
Maarika sat with the letter, living out the next few days, not knowing what to do. The once-upon-a-time-best-friend who wrote the letter wasn’t the only one who treated her like a parasite after the happening. She wasn’t the only person who was spreading rumours about her mental state, keeping Maarika out of projects and opportunities. A big part of Maarika wanted to confront everyone. To tell them all to go fuck themselves for gossiping about her instead of being the kind of #friend they are on social media. For allowing something so horrid to happen to her at a house party that she was supposed to feel safe at. For how they all fostered a rapist by condoning his previous behaviour. She wanted to call them out for the betrayal. But Maarika knew that this burning desire was also fuelled by denial, and her gut reminded her that if they never wanted to be friends with her in the first place, how would this kind of confrontation help anything?
In theory, moving on should have been easy. The life she had built for herself in Israel was full of incredible people who didn’t just believe in her, but were both happy and eager to help and collaborate with her. She had a bustling social life, she was respected and revered in her community, and she was finally building out a career as an actor and choreographer. But despite all of that, Maarika couldn’t let go of the fantasy that kept her going those seven years in the hell rodeo.
Maarika began to think about all of the moments that she could have been a better friend. All the ways that she didn’t show up before the happening. Her one-upon-a-time-best-friend had a surgery that Maarika didn’t show up for. Maarika didn’t go by to visit once while she was healing. That must have hurt a lot. So Maarika beat herself up for not being a better friend. For not being able to better handle the trauma that came from her break up with her first boyfriend, or the trauma that came from her parents who leaned too much on her during their incredibly messy divorce, or the trauma that came from being from a family ripe with addictions and mental illness. Maarika was angry with herself for not being smarter. For not being the kind of person that people wanted to be friends with. For not saving more money. For being so vulnerable.
Maarika was cruel to herself for quite some time. But whatever Maarika remembered about her past actions, none of them ever seemed bad enough to justify the cruelty she had been subjected to before the #MeToo movement erupted in September of 2017.
Maarika also remembered how people did show up to help her. How if it wasn’t for the kindness of that one friend who went to talk to those three strangers who found her that evening in order to gather evidence, her once-upon-a-time-best-friend probably would have never have believed anything Maarika said. Or maybe it was after the community they once shared also exiled dude because more women were telling the same story as Maarika that she decided to believe her. Whether or not that evidence allowed Maarika’s once-upon-a-time-best-friend to regain any respect for her was one thing, but it shifted something. Maybe it just created guilt. Because her once-upon-a-time-best-friend was the hero who orchestrated the text message warning to dude in Chapter Three. So as much as she was feeling the heartache and the betrayal from how she was left to figure things out on her own, she did know that she couldn’t get through the whole thing without her. Perhaps her once-upon-a-time-best-friend only performed these necessary tasks for Maarika’s safety out of obligation, but regardless, Maarika was grateful for those moments of support. Maarika was even grateful for the letter that was currently causing her so much heartache. While remembering these actions of kindness brought lightness to Maarika’s heart, she also carried the weight of knowing that if her once-upon-a-time-best-friend actually loved and respected her, the happening that flung her into the hell rodeo probably might not have been a life experience she had to live through. Or even if it was, maybe Maarika would have had someone to go with her to the hospital the next day. Instead, Maarika spent $40 she didn’t have on the “morning after” pill, and then spent the rest of the day lying in bed, trying to figure out how to ensure that she would never be raped again. That was the day the hell rodeo began.
While that movie producer had given her a hard time about not having enough of her anger present in that first draft of her web series adaptation of HISTORICAL FICTION, Maarika knew that she had to go gently into where her anger lived. That it wasn’t going to be an easy thing to talk about. It was why she was having so many issues with the podcast. Partially this was because she didn’t want to hurt anybody the way they had hurt her, but mostly because she was more afraid of the women she was once friends with than she was of dude. If they were okay to send her off on an iceberg after the happening when it was socially acceptable to betray a victim of rape, what would they do to her when it was socially acceptable to cancel someone? She needed evidence if she was going to broach this artery that fed into, and actively kept, rape culture alive.
So, with that, Maarika sent her once-upon-a-time-best-friend a very formal email.
Dear Friend,
I'm not entirely certain if you're aware, but I have started a podcast called peaches that is about everything I learned while dedicating my life to never being raped again.
In one of the upcoming episodes, I was hoping to read this letter that you had written on my behalf, and wanted to receive your permission to do so before I recorded it.
I will not use your name, and intend to keep you anonymous so that you don't have to have any personal attachment to it.
Wishing you only the best, and hoping that your New Year is off to a wonderful start -
Maarika
Maarika was instantly disappointed in herself. That email was really a confrontation with her once-upon-a-time-best-friend for saying nothing about the podcast. Maarika went for a walk on the beach and tried to forget about how petty she had been, and in the end forgave herself for being human.
Within hours, her once-upon-a-time-best-friend responded. Maarika felt the blood rush to her head, and the cold sweat developing under arms. It bothered her that these women still held so much power over her, all these years later, and that they may never have to confront all of the deep trauma they caused her.
Maarika opened the email. It read:
Maarika,
Of course you can use the letter, and my name should you want to. Consider the letter yours to do with as you wish. Excellent work on the podcast so far, I'm really proud of you.
xo Friend
While her request was met with love, it confirmed her gut feeling of being watched from a distance. Her once-upon-a-time-best-friend had listened to the podcast, but actively made the decision to say nothing. But she liked it, and was proud of her. A cacophony of anger, love, joy, and confusion took over Maarika’s heart that evening. She decided to sleep on whether or not she would respond. Maarika was always a better, more compassionate person in the morning, anyway.
When Maarika woke up the next day, she decided to be brave, open her heart one more time, and lean into her biggest fantasy being a possibility. Despite everything that had happened in the past, the reality was that Maarika still loved her once-upon-a-time-best-friend very deeply, and missed her dearly. In the case that this was an olive branch, a gateway to reconciliation and healing, Maarika replied:
Thank you so much, Friend. It means a lot that you not only feel safe enough with what I am doing with the podcast to be a part of it, but that you're open to being a part of my story.
And, thank you for saying. It also means a lot to hear that you're listening and that you're proud of me. I miss you a lot.
xo Maarika
Days went by, then weeks, and then months. Maarika never heard back from her once-upon-a-time-best-friend. The pain of it all was so unbearable that, once again, Maarika’s hope turned into anger.
The reality Maarika was having to face was that this person didn’t want to be her friend back in 2014, and she didn’t want to be her friend now. There was just a nightmare of an occurrence that kept Maarika shackled to a group of people who wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Needing the help of people who had no respect for her made past several years akin to a waking prison sentence. Why wasn’t Maarika allowing herself to finally be free from all of it?
Another painful fact Maarika had been in denial about for years was the fact that she doesn’t have people left in her life who both knew her before the happening on June 21st, 2014, and who would want to celebrate her. Everyone in her life now only knows her after the happening. She’s felt like an alien visiting a foreign planet, with nothing to show for her existence so far. Maybe this is why she feels so passionately about the sitcom A.L.F from the 1990’s. It’s about an alien who found himself on Earth after his home planet, Melmac, exploded. Just like A.L.F., Maarika couldn’t go back to where she came from. Unfortunately, unlike A.L.F., the consequences of not having old friends to rely on weren’t hilarious, and having to make friends while there was a publication ban on your name made the line: “Maarika struggled to maintain friendships and take part in events with peers and colleagues” in her one-upon-a-time-best-friend’s letter hauntingly accurate.
But reading that letter on the podcast wasn’t really about proving that her friends abandoned her and were just watching her now from a distance. What Maarika wanted people to know was that she wasn’t just some loser before it all happened. That she was a young woman filled with promise, and that in 2014, it was culturally acceptable to hold a rape against a woman. That in 2014, the mental health conversation was atrocious, and that in 2014, no one wanted to be friends with someone who was dealing with intense trauma. And that is what actually destroyed her. What destroyed her was the fact that the women she loved like her sisters, the women who would stay at her home whenever they wanted, no questions asked, didn’t feel any need to treat Maarika with any respect when being her friend wasn’t beneficial to their social status. That the way a community responds after sexual assault is everything, and that this is what makes or breaks a person. Not the rape. Not in Maarika’s case, anyway. The rape was something she was able to recover from.
Maarika went back to publishing episodes of her podcast. Just like before, only a handful of people hit the like button, and the majority of likes were still from her other business accounts. Just like before, Maarika posted a selfie a day or two later, and it got a lot of engagement. One of the people who decided to engage with her selfie was her once-upon-a-time-best-friend.
She had been thinking of unfriending her once-upon-a-time-best-friend online for a while. Not because she doesn’t love or adore her. Despite everything, Maarika still loves and adores her very much. It was just too painful. It was too painful to know that she was just keeping tabs on Maarika the whole time.
Maarika didn’t want to be like Jim Carrey in The Truman Show anymore. So, Maarika unfriended her, and made sure that her once-upon-a-time-best-friend wasn’t following her, either. She didn’t block her, as there’s always going to be a small part of Maarika that holds onto the fantasy of reconciliation …although it’s highly unlikely after this fairy tale.
Some more time passed, and Maarika still didn’t know how to talk about her anger online without inflicting the same kind of pain onto others. She clung to the mantra: “justice will always come in the form of healing”, and she never lost sight of the fact that so many of the women in her life, although they did do some pretty horrible things, were only behaving in a way that was socially acceptable at the time. While it doesn’t excuse their behaviour, what they did was just what you did in 2014. And, if people don’t take a moment to find empathy for those who were caught up in the whirlwind of survival within a very sick society, then reconciliation my never be possible. On the flip side of that, Maarika was tired of putting the feelings of the women who hurt her before her own out of fear, and Maarika had spent those seven+ years in the hell rodeo genuinely terrified of them. But that still didn’t mean that Maarika didn’t want healing for them, too.
As she was letting go of the fantasy that she had once so desperately clung to, and was working up the courage to speak about her anger, another wave of clarity washed over her: her once-upon-a-time-best-friend told her, in writing, that she wanted to stand beside her in all of this. That Maarika could use her name on the podcast, if she wanted. That she believed in what Maarika was doing, and was proud of her for it.
Maarika thought about this for a long time. She thought about her mantra, and she thought about her own healing. She thought about what she believed in, and she thought about what it was that she really wanted in the end. Then she thought about the fantasy she had so desperately clung to one last time.
Maarika’s fantasy was that she’s at a party with people from her old theatre community. At this party, everyone is so happy to see her. They tell her that they’re sorry, and they tell her how much they’ve missed her. They tell her that there was a big hole that no one could fill without her, and that they’re so grateful she’s back and on her feet. They have projects that she would be perfect for, and really want to work with her again.
The biggest part of her fantasy, however, is that they put on this party for her. She doesn’t have to orchestrate it. She doesn’t have to spend her time making sure that these people don’t feel badly for how they treated her. The phrase “stop putting too much on the victim” keeps floating around social media, and expecting Maarika to put the reconciliation in motion is, quite frankly putting much too much on the victim. She’s been through enough, and it’s her old community’s turn to be brave.
The truth is that they probably don’t want her back. That’s what Maarika’s gut tells her, anyway. That there was never a hole because of her absence. As painful as it is to embrace, the truth has to be okay. No one should ever feel forced into being anyone’s friend.
If Maarika’s gut instinct is wrong, she invites her once-upon-a-time-best-friend to stand beside her now. Maarika avidly does not believe in cancel culture, so she would leap to her once-upon-a-time-best-friend’s defense in a heartbeat if anyone ever came after her. As stated previously, she thinks of this woman as her sister, and much like the throughline of the movie Beaches, Maarika believes that a dude should never come between a female friendship. Those are too precious to let fall apart and not invite forgiveness into, which is why it’s so traumatic when they do crumble.
But, if after Chapter Seven is launched into the world, and her once-upon-a-time-best-friend still wants nothing to do with Maarika, then that’s going to be something beautiful too, because Maarika did get what she wanted in the end: for people to know that she wasn’t just some loser before she was raped. And, her once-upon-a-time-best-friend now won’t ever have to deal with Maarika again. She too can be free from the shackles of the happening of 2014, and how they kept her trapped in a friendship she wanted out of a long time ago.
Although, Maarika will always hope that isn’t the end, and that their relationship ends up being something akin to a buddy comedy like Dumb and Dumber. She hasn’t seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind yet and hopes that it’s not the movie that ends their metaphorical Jim Carrey marathon, because unlike her Adobe password, Maarika doesn’t want to reset her memory and forget everything. Maarika still wants to remember the good times, like that Christmas they carried the tree through Liberty Village and scaled that tiny fence to shorten their trip home.
That may have been the best Christmas, ever.
**
I would like to send love to all of the people who I feel safe enough to be angry with. Anger always felt like a luxury that was out of my reach, as it was always a very dangerous for me to show my anger during the hell rodeo, and especially when there was a publication ban on my name. I can’t even begin to express the gratitude that I feel for you, because it’s been such an essential and important part of my own healing. Please know that it isn’t lost on me that it takes a very strong, brave, incredible person to allow for that kind of safe space.
There is one friend who I felt safe enough to be angry with even before the publication ban on my name was lifted, and I know that she is listening. I want you to know that I love and miss you so much, and that I really do want to give you the biggest hug again in the future. I just needed the space to be really angry with you. But I do hope that you can keep holding space for me, and be the Hillary to my Celia (but in this version of Beaches neither of us dies tragically).
And if you are reading this like I think you are, I would love it if you reached out, because I miss you most of all, Scarecrow.
*
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[1] https://nowtoronto.com/culture/williams-whirlwind/
