How I Spent A Month Helping A Level 3 Sex Offender

Picture taken from https://twitter.com/UWLgymnastics/status/951664266188386304

Trigger warning: this blog post talks about sexual assault and sexual abuse.  If you find yourself triggered, please reach out to a trusted friend or adult. Or please find the best resources you can to talk to someone. Also feel free to reach out to me, or call the National Sex Abuse Hotline: 
1-800-656-4673

3 years ago, I was sexually coerced into losing my virginity.
At the time, I was unaware that what was going on was a form of sexual abuse. I was convinced to the point of begging that losing my virginity to this boy made sense. After dating for a brief two months, with a whole year of mental abuse, and a WHOLE LOT of therapy and medication- I found myself giving in but feeling uncomfortable after it happened. I was told that what we were doing "made sense" after all. The next day, he dropped me off at school and sent me a text message before class. "We can't do this anymore," it read, "I'm still with my girlfriend."

3 years later I am still effected by the incident. I hold my guard up in every relationship I enter, and find myself with major ptsd. I think in any relationship I enter in the future, this will never change. My past is now a part of me. 

My senior year at Emerson started like any normal school year would. I was nervous, because this was my last year in college, but excited to see my friends again. Summer had been rough, and being around the people who made me happy was what I was looking forward to the most.

The first couple weeks of September flew by. I was enjoying where I was in my life, and I found myself feeling genuinely great with myself, my friends, and my family. 

On my morning walks to class, I would notice an old man with striking blue eyes standing in the arch way of my campus. He had a sign wrapped around his neck reading, "Help 3 Elderly Men With Housing," in black sharpie and held out a white cup asking for change. Any person who walked by, he would smile at them regardless if he got money or not, and sing song "have a nice day!" 

I didn't think anything of it at first. In my time living in Boston, I had seen hundreds of homeless people asking for money. I normally would give them the change I had with me or smile at them as I walked by, but this man was in the same exact spot every day on my way to classes. About a month ago, my best friend texted me, asking me if I knew Bob who stood outside the dinning hall.

"Yea," I replied, "His name's Bob?" 

She proceeded to tell me that Bob, a man looking for housing for himself and his two other friends, was the nicest man she had ever met. He loved everyone at Emerson, and was particularly around all the time because our smiles made him the happiest he's been in a long time. She had brought him lunch from the DH multiple times, and spent time talking to him and learning more about his situation. "I want to help him in some way, I think I'm going to make a GoFundMe," she said. 

"Go for it," I wrote, "I support you. I want to meet him!" 

When I met Bob for the first time, the GoFundMe was over 1,000 dollars. I remember sitting in the library with my best friend, looking at the main page, surprised that it was even at 80. The more I heard amazing things about Bob from her, and MANY other students from Emerson, the more I wanted to help him out. I shared the GoFundMe on my Instagram, and it got to over 600 likes, which was the most I had ever gotten. All of Emerson knew Bob and they were all helping us raise money to change his life. I had messages pouring through my social media that what my friend and I were doing was awesome. I heard stories of students going for coffee with Bob and listening to him tell HIS story as they had lunch with him. This man is different, I remember thinking, he really does deserve this. 

"I'm Bella! It's so nice to meet you Bob!" I met him under the old construction that was being done in the alleyway with my friend and a couple of other students on a rainy day. The meeting confirmed everyone's claims, that Bob was the nicest man you could ever meet. He told me that Emerson had changed his life, after living in a rough part of Boston, in and out of prison...being in a coma for months....as well as maintaining soberness for 25 years. "We have to keep this GoFundMe going," I told my friend, "We have to get it higher." 

And we did. The GoFundMe climbed higher and higher. My best friend and I were interviewed by the Berkley Beacon and Good Morning Emerson. Many people for class projects interviewed her as well. Along the way, we reached out to multiple news stations and to my professor who worked on WBZ. We truly thought Bob's story, unlike any other homeless man in Boston, was special. We visited him daily, and learned that Bob was afraid to leave Emerson. He told us he wanted to give the money to his friends, who had been out in the streets longer than him, and we reassured him that he deserved it just as much as his friends did. 

I had been assigned a news package to do for class by my professor who worked for WBZ, and I thought doing it on homelessness and Bob was the best idea. I was slowly discovering this fundraiser was boiling up tension in my friendship with my best friend. But I tried my best to focus on school, even if our friendship was hitting a rough patch, and continued to see Bob. 

The day I interviewed him and his friends, they were sitting at a table in City Place. 

"All the ladies are always looking for him," his friend Bob chuckled. Peter, the third friend, was sitting next to him. He look bothered, and was constantly looking around. 

"Will you guys help me?" I asked, "I really want to tell your story." 

Bob, who was now known at Smiley to Emerson, hinted that Bob was better at explaining their situation than he was. At the time, I came to the conclusion that Bob just wasn't in the best of moods. I begged them to sit down with me and tell me their story, even if it was off camera, because I desperately needed this for my class. They reluctantly agreed, and wanted this to be filmed without their faces in it. I came to the conclusion they were just nervous. Later, when I had to get more video of Bob standing outside Emerson, Peter had run up to him shaking his head...Bob left in the middle of my recording. I came to the conclusion I just had no idea what was going on. And now I know I truly didn't.

"You don't know who these men are Isabella," my mother said. The GoFundMe was now at 3,000 dollars. "They're good people," I replied back to her across the table at dinner on a Saturday night.... home one weekend, "trust me, I do know them." 

As I video recorded Smiley, Bob, and Peter...I cried with them and hugged all three men as they told me the kindness they had received here was unlike anything they had experienced in their life times. Their entire lives they were hurt and treated poorly, and this community of family that Emerson had created for them made them feel good, and hearing it made me feel amazing. I remember thinking at the time that I was part of the reason why these men would have housing for a couple of months during the winter. My best friend, as well as myself and the rest of Emerson, had done something remarkable for three homeless men in a world that is so cruel. There was finally some good in it.

As time went on, I continued to stop and greet Bob at the corner. His hugs were getting tighter...and the last time I saw him, his hug left me feeling weirdly uncomfortable and pondering if I was just overthinking it or if it was just nothing at all. I told him I was going home for the weekend to get away for a bit, he smiled that smile I had gotten so used to. "Say hi to your parents for me!"

I skipped away and yelled back, "don't worry I will!" 

A couple of days later, as I was back at school, my phone chimed as I laid in bed watching the Food Network on my laptop. I picked it up next to me, quickly glancing at it, but looking back at it when I saw the name. My heart skipped two beats. It was my best friend who I hadn't talked to in over a week. 

"Hey..." 

I watched her continuing to type, anxiety boiling in my throat. 

"I was interviewed by boston 25 today and they interviewed bob and he gave his full name and i just got a call from the reporter that bob is a level 3 sex offender and he wouldn't tell me what he's done bc it's too bad. i think i'm going to take it down. he's contacting emerson to let them know there's a sex offender on campus."

I sat up in bed, automatically feeling sick to my stomach. The room started to spin as I tried to make sense of it all. Cause in fact, it just didn't make sense. They had to have interviewed the wrong man, or had to have a wrong name. Maybe he gave a fake name, maybe this wasn't OUR Bob. This isn't right. It couldn't be. I knew I had to be dreaming. 

But maybe it was true. Maybe the tight hugs that Bob had given me, feeling him press up against my chest, was more than just my active mind always thinking and telling me thoughts that weren't true. Maybe the off camera interviews, and the way they had been all hesitant around any mention of a camera made sense. Maybe the sense of uneasiness I ignored or pushed away in the back of my mind had been trying to warn me all along. 

I made sure my friend, who was on her way to ECAPS with heavy trauma from her past like me, was okay...and immediately Facetimed my mother. 

"You were right," I told her shaking. And this whole time she was. The voice in the back of my head telling me not to trust this man was right too. After I ended the call, I grabbed my laptop and went on the Sex Registry in Massachusetts. I didn't know Bob's last name, but I put in the city and zip code and the region of the city we were in. I went through every Robert that was on the list. And that was when I found him....his piercing icy blue eyes starring back at me on the screen. 

Rape of a child with force 
Indecent assault and battery on child under 14 years of age

Indecent assault and battery on a person aged 14 or older

Rape and abuse of a child

The charges had occurred more than once. I continued starring at his eyes with a feeling of betrayal, anger, confusion, bitterness, hatred, and now.....fear. In the past month, I had spent most of my time raising money for this man, spending time with him, and potentially losing my best friend over him. I felt disgusting. I felt gross. I heard Bob's whisper in the back of my mind, "he gets all the ladies." Even if what he did was years ago, he had hurt so many people. They were now living their lives with darkness and sadness....because of HIM. Similar to the same kind of trauma I HAD, a well as my best friend. And we had helped him get on his feet, we had raised 3 months of rent for him to have a roof over his head.

I went back and forth in my mind and realized he was like the man who hurt me too 3 years ago. I was again, mentally manipulated into getting what this person wanted. And what I had done 3 years ago, was exactly what I had done again. I had given in. 

My best friend took the GoFundMe down and refunded everyone who had donated money. We received multiple messages, asking us what had happened. We were reluctant to tell anyone. What if people thought we knew about it? We would be known as the girls who helped out a sexual predator.

What if this followed us for the rest of our lives?

Over time I learned his other friend Bob and Peter were also level 3 sex offenders. The housing address listed on the Sex Registry was the home to many other sex offenders. But Smiley's case was the worst out of the two of them. I discovered the gruesome details of the rape of his nieces and a six year old girl. I spent days feeling sick to my stomach and fearing that any corner I turned Bob would be there. My best friend and I went through short cuts in Emerson's Walker Building to avoid where he usually stood. She went to ECPD and was turned down. They couldn't do anything about the fact that there were sexual predators on campus. We felt unsafe being at school and both escaped by being away for a weekend, in fear that Bob and his friends would come looking for us. We feared for the safety of Emerson students who just had no idea. 

And seeing him just brought up the faces of those young girls who's lives were ruined, as well as the past trauma that both of us had been through.

And slowly, Bob would no longer stand there under the archway like he always did. We learned that he had moved down the streets towards Downtown Crossing. I got comfortable with the spot that he inhabitated for a long time being empty. My best friend and I were on talking terms again. 

I became confident in saying this was not our fault. This was the first time in my life that I was confident in saying, "this is truly not my fault." 

I have been taken advantage of multiple times for my kindness in my lifetime. Being kind can be good, but a lot of people will take advantage of that to benefit themselves. Giving someone your trust and being stabbed in the back in the end is probably the most hurt you will ever feel in your life.  But you also can't let that one person stop you from being good. I'm learning that day by day.

In my 21 years of being on this earth, I've learned that the world is a cruel place. I don't hold any ill will against the man who sexually manipulated me. He stole something I can never get back, but I can still live my life with the trauma I carry. I never thought starting this fundraiser would be a re-opening of a wound that I have to keep putting a bandage on for 3 years. But I know I am a changed person because of it.

What Bob and his friends did to me and my best friend is still fresh. And all three of these men have left devastation in their path. Although I can't seem to grasp forgiving them for lying to both me, my best friend, and the community...I know I can be confident in knowing that that's on them. And not me or anyone else. The 3,000 dollars that we had raised in a month is now back to everyone who had donated it in the first place. We still get questions to what happened to Smiley, and we're still so reluctant to answering them. 

I grieve for the victims of these three men. I can't even begin to understand or know what they have to carry when they wake up to live their lives ever day. Being sexually assaulted, sexually abused, or sexually manipulated is something no one can understand unless you've been through it too. I think about them daily, and I know in my heart that they're strong women. And I'm here for them. And for the rest of survivors of sexual abuse or assault. 

I wanted to end this story with a quote I found online...

"You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice....until now."