She was seven. He was eight.

You can't say they grew up together, because seven and eight is hardly finished with childhood. And soon they wouldn't see each other except for awkward passes in the street and strained hellos across the fence.

Her uncle was supposed to be watching them, taking care of them. Instead he ruined them. He ruined the only friendship the two children had. He ruined whatever was left of any of their innocence.

Sure, she would end up fine. But he...he wouldn't. Who knew if it was because of that one single evening? Or if it would have ended up the way it did regardless of what Uncle did? And because of that one night, their lives were different forever. And it's not something she has ever escaped. It still lives inside her. That memory.

Uncle. Her favorite Uncle. He had babysat before, so why wouldn't he again. He lived in town, a bachelor. The parents didn't know it wasn't a safe night to leave the girl and boy in his care.

Later, she would tell his mom how it happened. After watching Oprah she would turn and say "I should tell you something." His mom took her away from the other kids and asked what was wrong. With tears in her eyes the girl would explain what happened that night. And what had happened since.

How the boy had stayed the night and taken off his pants. He thought she was curious, and wanted to see. Wanted to touch. He didn't know she was scared. Knew she shouldn't be doing it. But didn't know how not to.

Coming out of the kitchen Uncle asked the boy and girl if they wanted to play a game in the guest room. Bored with tv they figured why not. Following Uncle down the stairs they had no idea.

Later she would attend a "child therapist". She didn't talk to her though. Not about what she was supposed to. Instead she told the woman about how school was going. How she was lonely, and wished she had more friends. They played games aimed to improve her social skills. They didn't work, but she did get to play with toys. And she did get to have McDonald's for breakfast once a week as long as she woke up in time for her mom to get her to the therapist on time.

Uncle smiled. He told them to get undressed. The girl and boy did. Uncle told the girl to lie on the bed. She did. Uncle told the boy to lie on top of the girl. He did.

You have to understand, they didn't know what was going on. They only knew that Uncle was a fun guy, older, wiser. They respected him. Why should they question what was going on?

His mom told her parents when they came and picked her up that day. "I think I should talk with you and your husband a moment. If that's all right?" "Yes of course. Dear, go home and get ready for dinner."

They found her in their bedroom. Watching tv. Sitting on the bed.

The boy grew up. She grew up. He did poorly in school. She did well enough. He became a violent child. His parents blamed her Uncle. There was almost legal action, but her parents had protected her Uncle. She understood though. He was family. No matter what happens, you forgive family. You love family. You can't hate family. But Uncle wasn't his family. And before the friendship was entirely over, but after they were only allowed to see each other on his front lawn since he couldn't go over to her house, and she couldn't go into his, they still played together. And he would tell her how much he hated her Uncle. That it was his fault that everything in his life was wrong.

He dropped out of school. She didn't see him around for awhile. Maybe he went to jail. It wasn't unlikely. He did drugs, and stole she was pretty sure. His friends did anyway.

Her parents found her on their bed. They asked her if she was all right. "Yes." If it was true. "Yes." If she had any questions. "Yes. Why...why did it hurt? You said it wouldn't hurt when...that happens." That's where her memory stops.

She grew up. She knew her Uncle hadn't meant to hurt her. That it was his mistake, and that he was sorry. That her Uncle did love her, and that things were going on for him that she could never understand. That his mind was in a place she never could be. So she forgave him. And learned to love him again, and trust him. She learned she could forgive someone she loved for anything.

She was seven. He was eight.

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