Let's play house, you said
Quick, come in here, we can be quiet, you said
You closed the door behind us.
I remember playing with dolls at the end of the bed, we were playing family
You told me we could play family better in the bed
I climbed into the bed. You told me to lay down, so I did.
You laid down next to me.
You told me to be quiet, that you were the daddy and I was the mommy and we can't wake up the kids.
Your hand touched my thigh. You grabbed onto my leg. Your hand inched closer and closer, until you reached my panties. You drew them down. Grasping your fingers around me, holding me as if I was a toy. You tried to stick your fingers inside of me, but they didn't fit. You tried and tried. But it didn't fit.
You got up and left, told me to be quiet.
This will be our little secret, you said. Don't tell.
You closed the door behind you.

I laid still on the bed.
I laid frozen.
I remembering climbing down from the bed, and looking out the window.
I remember standing there and staring.
I wanted to be out past the window.
I didn't want to be here.
I didn't know why my bed never felt the same.
I didn't know why I was told to stay quiet.
I didn't know why.

Weeks later, you came to help me with chores.
I'm just bored, you said.
I was trying to fold my laundry, while mom was helping Opa in the kitchen.
I picked up a pair of panties, you stayed quiet.
You folded my panties, and placed them under the towels.
We folded the laundry and we both stayed quiet.