I was six or seven years old.
Mama wanted me to learn a musical instrument, so I chose the piano.
She looked for a place that could teach me and found an instructor at the club.
They arranged for me and my brother to take lessons with him.

I don’t like it when people suddenly touch me, whether it’s a man or a woman.
And I always had trouble being intimate with anybody, but I never understood why.
I tried to think about it one time, and a lot of memories suddenly came back to me—or rather attacked me.
I remembered the music instructor when he told my brother to go buy water or soda,
And then told me that he wanted to start a choir in the club.
He thought I had a good voice.
He’d ask me to sing, and then he’d slip his hands underneath my shirt,
So he could see where the sound came from.

I don’t remember how long he kept doing that.
Nor do I remember if he touched any other part of me.
I told the boy I liked about it when he asked to be more intimate with me.
I hadn’t liked a boy in so long.
I thought I trusted him enough to tell him that this could be the reason behind my fear and anxiety.
It was the first time I ever told anyone what happened.
But he didn’t take it well.
He got scared and disappeared.
I regret telling him.
I feel alone.