I get it: you have a lot of money. You also have really poor self-esteem married to a glaring sense of entitlement. These three things have led to the Lamborghini, Jaguar, Porche, or whatever that you are driving that is in mint condition and the new wax job. It also explains why your car is that horrible color burnt orange, pea green, or whatever.

I, on the other hand, am driving an 11-year-old White Honda that isn’t even mine. And has shitty brakes and awful traction. I am not the person to play Asshole Highway Chicken with.

I’m sorry 80 mph on the Eisenhower is not fast enough for you. But I will never get out of your way for throwing a temper tantrum with your brights over how terribly slow I am driving. And I will certainly not brake when you cross four lanes of traffic to get around all the cars and then get back in front of me and try to slow down to 30 mph.

Let me tell you a story of another one of your kind. I was walking through a construction zone in New York City that had a flagger directing traffic and pedestrians. I had the right of way, and Mr. Brand New Jaguar had the stop sign. It was real cute how he faked a slow down, swerved around the flagger, and then slammed on the brakes when he realized that, gee, there was a person there.  A person wearing steel-toed boots. A person who can kick hard enough to leave a boot dent in their shiny new car. A person who may have been me.  Those cars you drive might be expensive, but the siding is cheap.

I will not slow down for your entitled belief that you think the Eisenhower is the Autobahn. I will laugh when you flick me off as if I were the most horrid person on the planet. I will cackle as you realize I’m not slowing down to protect your precious little sports car. And I will reach for my phone and I will call the police, and I will tell them you are speeding 100 mph and driving recklessly and that you are the only burnt orange Lamborghini heading into the city on a Friday night when there are cops all over the highway.

I hope you like your ticket, asshole. It made my day seeing you pulled over.

But here’s a tip for the rest of you Douchebags Driving Nice Cards. When you are driving a really expensive sports car that is so obviously a stand-in for the shortcomings in your life: don’t piss off the people around you. We don’t have overpriced physical egos to protect and we can cost you a fortune for doing something that’s free.

Sincerely,
Wren

Dear Edward —

It’s been a long time. Do you remember me? Of course you do. I “took” your virginity. That’s not the right words, though, is it? You made me take it; no wasn’t an option.

How has that been working out for you? I mean, not very many people spend their entire sexual lives as rapists. Is every encounter rape? I hope not because no one gave me the opportunity to stop you. I genuinely hope you are doing better.

I’m not writing you to berate you. Quite opposite. I love you. Our chance encounter at summer camp changed my life forever. I was angry for a long time, but I cannot live my life ruled by it and, by extension, you. In so many ways I’m glad it was me. It didn’t ruin me and it was never the worst thing that happened to me. Yes, it changed me, but I’m glad it wasn’t someone who would have been destroyed.

And I do love you, because without you, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t know how strong I am. I wouldn’t know how to refuse to be a victim. I wouldn’t have been able to care for my friends as I did when their own traumas surfaced.

You made me a better person. You made me a worse person, but I cannot ignore how good you made me. Without you I don’t know where I would be, or who I would be. I know I relate to others better than I did. I know my compassion and ability to forgive is nearly endless. You taught me these things.

I am the woman I am today because of you. Thank you for letting me become myself.

All my love,
Wren

I have never named him publicly before. I have never named these guys publicly either:

Dear Jakub, Dan, Chadd, and the Others Whose Names I No Longer Know —

Good evening, gentlemen. I doubt you know why I am writing you after all these years. Rape was pretty funny to you boys at 17 so I doubt you committed your crimes to memory.

This is not about that, though. I do not wish to judge you. This is my time now.

Thank you for teaching me that I need to be more self-reliant. When situations get sticky, I now know that I must be able to handle it myself. People will often not do the obvious right thing.

And I love you for showing just how important doing the right thing is. You laughed when my rapist told you his plans. You laughed and did nothing. Well, you laughed behind my back when I walked by, and avoided my gaze when you found me crying afterward. Because of you, I always do the right thing. Even when it is hard or inconvenient. I am a good person because I have learned from your mistakes.

I love you, even though you are a bunch of douchebags.

Love,
Wren

This is what accountability and release looks like.