How am I still here?
Inbox: 0 Unread / 23 Messages
1. NOVEMBER 27, 2017
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, We currently send you a letter whenever we take enforcement action on your case, as we understand the payor may respond to our action in a way that is of concern to you . . .
Dear Dad, because you’re my father.
Dear Dad, because you’re still dead and I’m looking for a way out.
It’s already November, cold, rainy, and I’m thinking about what it means to have a father who remains dead.
What is your story of pain? they ask.
Where did it hurt most? What were those days like? What do these dates mean to you? Why are there inconsistencies in your story? How can we trust you when every version of your story is different? What was your state of mind when you wrote this? Can you repeat the story, can you repeat the story, can you tell us one more time? Can you provide dates, times, locations, and number of events? Were there any witnesses? What did you do about it? Why should we believe you?
Dear Dad, the bullshit is unrelenting.
Dear Dad, what do you think about those days?
How are you?
I’m fine. What is your story? I’m fine. Your story. I’m fine. Your story. I’m fine. Not you. Your story.
2. NOVEMBER 22, 2017
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, The Family Maintenance Enforcement Program does not have a record of being provided with a change of address since you enrolled with the program December 2, 2008 . . .
There is no way that we can separate our experiences from the readers. What do readers know? What do they want? Your story. Your story. Not you. Your story. What are you looking at? What do you want? Your story. Your story. Not you. Your story. Readers are voyeurs. Just empathetic fucks.
3. APRIL 6, 2016
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, We need to confirm your address for the enrollment of the alternate file. Once we can update our records the correspondence will be sent through the mail . . .
Dear Dad, nothing actually happened. Nothing, if all we have to go on are the facts.
Dad, here is the photo from that night, of him, me, and my friend. His arms around both of us. Most people comment on my smile. Could be a grimace. He invites me and my friend up to his hotel, where he’s having a party. Two of us, both of us, what can go wrong? Readers are voyeurs. Just empathetic fucks.
Inside are loads of people, all manner of drinks on the table. White powder in lines. Folks in different stages of hit and high. Low lights, bursts of laughter, a red lamp under the coffee table. People’s voices, mostly men. Everything in slow motion.
Anything you want, he says, with a sweep of an arm over the table before us. Anything at all. I decline with the brightest of smiles. Did you have fun? Yes, thank you, I say. Is everything okay? Yes. You happy? Yes, thank you for everything. What do you need? I’ll give you everything. Contacts, money, everything you need. I’m okay, thanks. He promises an email to follow up on our conversation. He kisses the back of my hand, holds my gaze. I cannot look away. He turns from me, speaks to my friend. We know this language, us women. We catch each other’s eye, get up to leave together. Thank you so much. Thank you so much. Yes, we must go now. No, not tonight. But thank you. Thank you.
What’s ungracious about that? Nothing happened.
See, Dad? Nothing happened at all.
So why can I only start to breathe when we leave the room? Why is my body covered in goose bumps? Why are my hands shaking? Why can’t I say anything? Why does the top of my head buzz intensely? Why do my friend and I turn to each other and ask at the same time: Are you okay? Why do we reassure each other that we’re fine? Why, when all it looked like was a couple of women being offered the world?
These are the facts, Dad. Nothing actually happened.
4. AUGUST 18, 2015
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your message has been received at our office and the information you provided us has been noted on your case . . .
Dear Dad, how was it to be a man and have daughters?
Preteen: catcalls, gropes as we made our way to the market and back. Hard male hands on our budding breasts and bottoms. I love you! We walk with our heads down, ashamed of bodies we cannot control.
Older city girls, now properly teenaged: we learn to toss back scorn, cast glances to wither them to piles of dirt. Some of them look away. Others counter our Fuck off! with You wish! We spit back, Like your mother, because nobody wants to hear about their mother underneath anybody. Nobody does.
5. SEPTEMBER 29, 2015
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your message has been received at our office. The matter will be filed for consideration . . .
Dad, did you ever think about what it means to swear to kill any man who touches your daughters?
What does that mean?
What is it for which you would kill a man, Dad?
What does it mean to want to kill a man who touches your daughters and never, ever have a conversation with your daughters about what it is about them that you would kill a man for?
I ask because you’re still dead.
In your lifetime, none of them would dare. After you were gone, they pounced.
Dad, they call themselves friends of yours.
What are men so afraid of?
What hurt are men so aware of that they cannot imagine for their own daughters?
6. DECEMBER 26, 2014
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Our offices will remain closed until the new year. . .
Years later, the man I was married to reminded me that I was lucky to live in Canada, because if we were back home, I would see. I would know “real life.”
What is “real life,” Dad? Dad, did you ever intend for me to know “real life”?
Our mothers tell us that men are like that.
They say I will be okay.
They say don’t worry.
This is my mantra. I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.
Dad, what is it to be a man with daughters?
7. APRIL 30, 2014
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, I have sent the child forms out to you today. Thank you for your patience in this matter. . .
Dad, I’m caught inside the curse of a man who said and said and said many times: You’re nothing. You’re nobody. You will never be anything.
Can you hear me, Dad?
8. MARCH 11, 2014
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, We have mailed you a Request for Information form. We will review the circumstances to determine if the FMEP may be able to enforce child support . . .
I write myself into being. I write out curses. I imagine myself in the clear, as if nothing has ever happened. I write text to re-create the world. I write so that the story can reveal me to myself. I am the writer. I’m the voyeur. I’m the reader. I am a joker. I’m my own empathetic fuck. I want to be real.
9. FEBRUARY 13, 2014
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your message has been received at our office and the information you requested has been noted on your case . . .
Dear Dad, I have to relax my body against a strange man’s chest because he says he will never let me go unless I say I love him. What can I expect when he calls me a liar because he says I wanted him, too? How is it wanting when I was thinking all the while that he might kill me if he thought different? Dad, who will believe me? Who?
Some men’s hands are hard on me. Some men are cold, like concrete.
10. JANUARY 6, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Thank you for your message. The payor contacted our office last month and indicated that he was going to file a court application to address the ongoing maintenance . . .
Dad, second day in the women’s shelter, a message is sent for me to go to the office.
How are you? I’m fine.
Is your room adequate?
May I call you Juliane? Sure.
Do you need anything? No, I’m fine.
Good. Please let us know immediately if you need anything. Okay?
I want you to know that you’re safe here. Nobody will hurt you. But we do need to go over some paperwork. Are you okay to do this right now?
Oh, yes, I’m okay. Of course I’m okay. I’m okay.
My rib hurts. My thigh is sore from where he kicked me, Dad. The doctor says she cannot see any signs of bruising. Dad, she looks at my skin with a flashlight.
Where are you, Dad? What does it mean to be the father of daughters?
11. NOVEMBER 22, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Thank you for your message. The program has not received any funds to send to you . . .
Now there is a crisis of Sexual Assault in Hollywood. Capital S and A, because this is a crisis, a “newly shocking time to be alive.” Every day, another rich white woman reveals her experience. Everyone gawking and sucking their mouths as if this is new. As if we were never there. As if anything will ever change what already happened.
His arm around me. Him telling me that he wants me to stay with him forever, telling the woman across that he will take care of me. Buying drinks all around. For everyone. Even the one across at the other table. A shot of vodka for all of us. The waiter scurries away, returns. The woman across wears a tight smile on her face. She accepts the drink with grace. Her eyes are hard when she looks at me. I know that she knows.
Dad, these are the facts.
12. SEPTEMBER 18, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Any funds received over and above the monthly maintenance amounts are applied to the arrears owed to you . . .
Does an account of sexual assault include the therapist who said I had no signs of trauma?
13. JUNE 20, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your message has been received at our office and the information you . . .
My girlfriend says I’m lucky that I can attract men, even after all this. She says men look at me. She says no one looks at her. She says she would jump any man who looked at her.
What is my problem? It’s not as if my bed ever gets cold.
The woman across from me takes the shot, touches her mouth with her eyes shut, then stands up. She brushes my shoulder as she walks by. Thank you, she says to him. He does not respond. I need to go.
14. MAY 28, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your message has been received at our office. At this time your file will continue to be monitored closely . . .
Where do you think you’re going? the man asks. You’re mine now. We can be together. We will be very happy, all of us. You, me, and my wife, all of us. You, me, and my wife. Does the wife have any say in this proposal? I don’t know. I want to leave. I can’t. I can’t go home.
My friend says I’m lucky that powerful men take notice of me. So lucky, she says.
How are you?
15. MAY 9, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Thank you for your message. Our records show that you received a payment of $524 on February 27. This was your regular monthly payment that was due on February 15 . . .
What are your strategies?
How do you cope?
What is your story of sexual assault?
16. MAY 7, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Thank you for your message. The program has not received any funds to . . .
What is it to be shocked by the allegations of sexual assault in Hollywood?
The aunties ask why I cannot hold on to a man.
What’s the matter with you? they ask.
Marriage is not easy, they say. Men are shit. You have to put up with a lot. You think we would still be married if we got excited by all men’s shit? You have to be patient. Be patient, my girl, the aunties tell me. Be patient.
17. MAY 6, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Thank you for your message. The payment of $674 received on April 9 was applied toward the payment due on March 15 . . .
Year after year after year, mail to remind me. That I am nothing. That I get to be jerked around by power at every level: Dear Juliane, Dear Juliane, Dear Juliane. I am a useless fuck. I am nobody. Still, they tell me, so lucky to live here.
18. APRIL 11, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Thank you for your message. The program has not received any funds to send to you . . .
Dad, a decade before the term “date rape” was coined, a workmate offered me a ride home after the Christmas party. You want to come in for a minute? I forgot something, he said. No, I’ll wait in the car. Don’t be silly. Come see where I live, he said.
In the Christmas party photo, I’m wearing a short, tight red dress. We pose together in front of the Christmas tree. We sit at the same table. I have a happy smile. He has a happy smile. His arms around me, so respectful. It was in the days of should have known better should have known better should have known better. I bought the dress on sale and waited and waited and waited for December. In the photo, nothing has happened yet.
I’m told that maybe he loved me. That maybe he wanted to show me how much he was attracted to me. I’m told that men are like that. Why don’t you ever go to the work Christmas party? friends ask me.
How are you?
Dad, are all men like that?
A decade after, language catches up.
Law defines date rape as a crime. Too late, the police say. We’re so sorry, they say. Statute of limitations. Nothing we can do, the police say. There’s no reason to question this, no doubt about the veracity of that statement. There’s no reason to think that they had lied.
Once, I saw a pair of soiled white panties at the steps of the Student Union Building at the University of British Columbia. I don’t know whose panties they were, or why they were there. Never heard anything.
I’m looking for language, I’m looking for language. I’m a writer. I’m a reader. I seek language that reveals itself as it lassoes back to the soiled panties, and forward to this moment.
Nothing makes sense these days.
I can’t remember actual dates. This one was a work Christmas party. We took a picture together in front of the brightly lit Christmas tree. I can’t remember his last name. I only know what he looks like because I have a photograph of me and him at the party.
I’m okay.
19. APRIL 9, 2013
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Thank you for your message. As previously noted, the payor has a full month’s time to send in a maintenance payment . . .
The payor makes a claim to be the receiver.
The payor told me years and years and years ago that I was nothing, nobody, would never be anything.
The payor fills out a form so that I have to pay him child support.
The institution works. The institution works within the law.
I pay child support.
I pay child support for years and years and years.
The doctor cannot see any signs of bruising.
The therapist cannot see any signs of trauma.
Dad, how do you stay dead?
20. JULY 22, 2012
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your message has been received at our office and the information you . . .
The worker at the shelter goes over the house rules and asks me to sign if I agree with them. Sign here, here, and here. She reminds me that this is not a holiday. If I have a job, I need to keep going to work. She reminds me that there is no free childcare, that I should keep my child with me at all times. She hands me a package of forms to fill out for housing. She reminds me that this is my responsibility. That I should not expect to stay here indefinitely. But I’m safe here, she reminds me also. I’m safe, and that’s all that matters.
How do I cope with sexual assault?
I’m okay.
How are you?
21. AUGUST 29, 2011
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Please continue to report any payments for child support and the child support arrears that you are receiving directly from the payor. . .
Dear Dad, when I got married, people said that you would have loved to have been there. They said it was a pity that you were not there to see me so happy. We had a toast. Your former student bought champagne. We toasted you.
22. MARCH 15, 2011
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your file is coming up for review at which time the Enforcement Officer will be looking to see if the file is current (payments being made) or not current (no payments being made). Additionally, she will be interested in knowing if any changes have arisen from dealing with the Family Justice Centre. . .
Today was a sunny day with a rainy evening, like many, many before. Forget the past, they say. Forget the past.
A woman walks into the coffee shop where I sit looking for words. Hey! The two men sitting at the table next to mine greet her. She leans to hug one man. As she leans toward the other man, his arm slides along her bottom. Then his hands move up and down the inside of her thigh. He stops at her calf.
Is this the kind of touch that you would kill for?
All these men in the world, Dad. All of them still alive, and you still dead.
My friend tells me that she has resorted to social media to look for men. There are no real men in this city, she says. All the good men are gay, she says. I tell her that social media can’t work for me. Readers are voyeurs. Readers are assholes. She swipes right and left, right and left, right left right left. She shares stories of her exploits. Vicarious living, she and I. Men and no men. Assholes or unavailable men.
How do you cope with a history of sexual assault?
Are women finally claiming their full sexual power?
Has the tide turned?
Dad, how are you?
23. MARCH 27, 2011
Dear Juliane Okot Bitek, Your file continues to be monitored closely. . .
Just a little bit, your lawyer friend said, Dad. It won’t hurt. I won’t hurt you. I can’t hurt you. Your friend, the lawyer, the family friend. He laughed at me. You’re funny, he said. Relax, there’s no one here. Everyone has gone home. Nobody will hear you shouting. Okay. Okay. Shhh. Relax. Relax. I won’t hurt you. He’s also dead now. Did he tell you?
What gets me through since then? What gets me through since all the thens? What gets me through the times I still don’t speak of? What gets me through stories of rape, like mine, like others? What gets me through skinny days when the slice of daytime coincides with the bus ride back home, and it’s cold and wet for months on end? What gets me through You’re not good enough, you’re not good enough, will never be any good? What gets me through faithlessness, a dead father, women who want to remind me of my place, my place, my place on my knees? What gets me through the ticking of time toward the beyond?
Of what use is a dead father?