This month's Moon Prize, the 108th, goes to Eve Louise Makoff for her powerful writing "I wasn't raped."


I wasn’t raped.

by Eve Louise Makoff


But when I see him with his blonde wife on Facebook I go dark somewhere. Shaky and acidic. Back to my young insecure self looking for validation in grey-green eyes.

I was 17 and he was an adult.
In a bathroom at a party we had sex by the olive bathtub.
“You’re cool. Always been cute” he said. 
I went home in damp pants and stupidly waited for his call. 
I think we spoke once and then he disappeared like his ilk in L.A. tended to do. Surfer guys, all salt and beer. Few promises. Few words. But they found willing partners in us, in our bikinis. 

I wasn’t raped, but when I see his face with his perfect family, I disappear in ways I haven’t since back then when I confused desire for interest. 

Then, I didn’t understand the cost of giving myself to someone who didn’t give a shit. 

I’d forgotten until I saw them today. I wonder if she knows.


* * * * *

Eve Louise Makoff is an internal medicine and palliative care physician and a writer.