GOD, CAN YOU HEAR ME? |
"There are a couple things I'd like to go back and talk about," Marlin smiled over his glasses. A new day, a new session. "One is the statement you made about not crying. The other is when you said you "especially" didn't want that to happen to your children - when you were talking about the assault on Jason."
Really. He really wanted to go there again!
I said nothing. I sat there. I thought about the times when I was little and I would cry out, only to be greeted with a hard hand, harsh words or other punishments. I learned early on to hold the screams in, the crying... all that was for dark, dark corners hidden from the world.
"When I cried, or spoke without being spoken to, or tried to ask a question they would force me to eat spoonfuls of chili powder. Pretty simple, really. You learn to not cry, at least out loud." I shrugged my shoulders. "It is what it is."
"How did you deal with that?"
"I was terrified. I'd roll my tongue and keep as much in the front of my mouth as possible, while they watched for me to swallow."
"Actually, I was talking about the mental part. I have no doubt you would think it through on how to facilitate the pain. How did you withstand such a cruel thing, mentally?"
"The same as always. I would take my mind to another time, another place. Someplace lovely where I could hide for awhile."
I read once about Lucretia Borgia of Italy, who was being prepared to later marry royalty (she married King Henry of France), was taught the hard way never to let the world see her emotions. One of her two dogs was poisoned in front of her [by her parents]. She had been told if she cried out or expressed anything in face or attitude, they would poison the other one, and make her watch that slow, painful death, too. Lucretia later became known as Madame Serpent, because only her cold, hard eyes looked out at the world.
"Where are you now," he gently prodded me.
"In the Land of the Lost," I responded automatically. It was so true, the Land of the Lost was such a familiar, comfortable place. I had lived there so many years. Did I think I really wanted to leave it?
"When was your first sexual assault?" he drew my attention back to the prsent.
"How did you know?"
"How could I not?"
I was about four years old on that summer day. A group of teen-aged boys were playing in the neighborhood of my grandmother's house. They had a baseball and a bat and were headed to the school grounds. One of them had a shiny, red bike. I stood there looking at that bike, simply dazzled.
"Hey, look!" One of them called out. "The little girl likes you Danny."
The others chimed in hooting and teasing the boy on the bicycle. He rode around me and came to a stop.
"Nah, I think she likes my bike," he grinned. "Do you like my new bike?"
I could only nod my head. Part of me wanted to run away, but part of me wanted to stay and look at the bike.
"Would you like a ride?"
"Yes!" I smiled, then laughed out loud.
"Okay. Sure. But first you have to earn it." He looked at the other boys. "And you have to be part of the club."
How exciting! I would be included as part of a club, and they would be my friends and let me play with them. Best of all, I would get to ride a beautiful bike, all in one day! My mind whirled with all the lovely, unexpected treats in store for me.
The others joined in proclaiming that I was a new member of the club. All that was left was my initiation. So they led me to the club house, closed the door and one of them turned on a flashlight.
"To be part of the club, you must past the initiation," Danny explained. "Can you do that?"
I nodded my head solemnly, "I'll try," I whispered excitedly.
"Good," said Danny, unbuttoning his pants, this is what you have to do.
I was glad there were only six of them, as they introduced me to forced sexual activity. I didn't like it, and I wanted to leave, but they wouldn't let me go. Until finally Danny got angry "You didn't do any of it right," he yelled at me. "Get out of here," and opening the door he threw me outside.
Standing there dazed and confused, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. All I could hear was the laughter and talking of the boys inside. I stumbled away, heading towards my grandmother's house. Suddenly they were all around me, Danny riding his bike. I looked at him, not letting him see my fear, or see me cry.
"Look at the little whore," he yelled, whooping.
They all picked up on this and ran around me in circles, trying to cut me off, yelling and taunting. Danny brought his bike to a stop in front of me.
"You tell anyone about this, and we'll come back and kill you." He snarled.
"Yeah, the others chimed, "We'll kill you and more!"
With that, they were gone, racing off down the road. I found a big bush, crawled under it and curled up. Sick, crying and scared, I fell asleep there.
Marlin looked at me, quietly for a moment, so much compassion in his eyes.
"It was not your fault. You are NOT the one at fault here, Linda. You must learn that you were assaulted, by a group of older boys. You were a victim, and it wasn't your fault."
I shook my head. "It was too much for me to assimilate. I have always felt dirty and ashamed. And it hurts so bad."
"Did you ever see those boys again?"
"Only Danny. I was standing with my grandmother outside the house one day when he came riding by on that bike. He never even looked at me, but kept his eyes straight ahead, and rode on the other side of the street, peddling as fast as he could."
"Did that make you upset."
"Yes, I was pretty angry. He could at least said he was sorry - that's what I thought when I saw him that day!"
"For hurting you and calling you names." He nodded.
I love you, Mother!
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