I was 13 when I saw I Spit On Your Grave the first time. Or maybe it was 14. It’s hard to remember which because that time of my life was a bit of a whirlwind and it’s been 20+ years since then, so of course my memory is slightly foggy when it comes to the finer details.
Nevertheless, seeing the film coincided with one of the first big changes in my life, which was getting my own room. For nearly a decade I’d been saddled with my little brother as a roommate, and as great as he could be, by the time I was 13 and 14, the last thing I wanted to do was share a room with a 9 year-old. No, what I wanted was a little privacy and finally, after work on some improvements in the basement of our house on McKinley Street came to an end, I had my own retreat. Continue reading