Not Yet a Woman

by WC Child

  I didn’t know what awaited me beyond the bathroom door. If he was anywhere close by, my screams would be loud enough to wake everyone in the apartment building. I put my ear to the door to detect any sounds or movements from beyond. Slowly I cracked the door. I was chilled by the fresh air that rushed to engulf my freshly cleaned body. It was hard to determine if the chill I felt was because of the air or from fear. I breathed a sigh of relief after my eyes and my senses gave me the all clear sign.

  Slowly I made my way back to the makeshift bedroom. I stood in front of the sofa and looked at the spot where I was violated. There was no way I would allow myself to touch the spot where I just lay in defeat. I violently flipped the cushions on the couch. I didn’t want to be face to face with the shame of the recent violation. Although I was both mentally and physically exhausted, I found it impossible to entertain the thought of sleep. My senses remained on high alert. I couldn’t close my eyes for fear of a second attack. I curled up in a ball and waited for daylight to come.

  Tears flowed again. I was broken. I needed Big Mama. She would know what to do. I needed her to know about the monster that had emerged from hiding and attacked me. The Boogey Monster was real. He wasn’t under my bed; he was in the bed with my mother. I needed her to make him go away. Although I knew she was only a phone call away, I was hesitant to speak with her. If I called Big Mama, she would have to tell my mother, who would tell the Boogey Monster. I clearly recalled his threat. He said he would kill us both if I told anyone. I knew there would be another day and another attempt on my body if I kept quiet. I would rather die than have him on top of me again. I would have to choose between an immediate death or assaults on my body that would eventually kill my spirit. I didn’t want either death.

  Everything around me changed overnight. Even the exhausted sofa, which doubled as the scene of the crime, changed its identity as well. Instead of being the spot where a family gathered to talk about the events of each day or huddled on to enjoy each other’s company, it became the last place anyone would want to be. The only thing it needed to make its new identity official was crime scene tape. That sofa became the object of my disgust. It taunted me each time I entered and exited the room. It was unapologetically a constant reminder of that horrible, unforgettable night.

  Life for me became a constant struggle after that night. I tried hard to put the entire episode out of my mind, but it was the only thing on my mind. I thought about it every day. I wondered how my mother didn’t know that I was different. When I looked at her, how could she not notice that I was more woman than child? She never questioned the pain that was etched on my face and in my eyes. She never questioned how I reacted when he looked at me or when I was anywhere near him. Maybe she didn’t love me like she said or she just didn’t care. I didn’t know. But I did know I couldn’t count on her. She didn’t wake up and save me.

  The distasteful words he whispered in my ear became a broken record in my mind. According to his whispers, my mother and I were the walking dead. He knew he had the upper hand and he exploited his position. One day he told me that I wanted “it” to happen. He could tell by the way I looked at him. I couldn’t believe he actually tried to justify his actions. But there was nothing that I did that led him to believe I welcomed his attack. After that night, I wanted to be invisible. I tried to hide any traces of femininity in my mother’s baggy clothes. I never wanted to look cute anymore. I didn’t need any attention. At night I slept in pajamas with blue jean shorts underneath to make it more difficult for another assault to occur. Maybe that would be enough to keep me safe. If all else failed, I would rely on the knife I buried in the sofa. I wouldn’t be the only one who lost blood next time.

  Chapter 10

  Confessions

  It had been weeks since I felt like myself. I was sure the nausea I endured over several days was the result of the bug that was going around at school. All I wanted to do was sleep once the sick feeling passed. Even though I didn’t want to go to school that day, for my own safety, I knew it was the best place for me. The nausea hit me again. I struggled to make it to the bathroom where I could relieve myself of my stomach’s contents. Even after everything was gone, I continued to heave. The sweat beads on my forehead signified how hard my body was working to return to normal. The attempt to remain at school for the remainder of the day was futile. The nurse was forced to call my mother. They insisted on a trip to the doctor before they would allow me to return to school. We had no choice but to comply. As I waited in the doctor’s office for our number to be called, the nausea finally ended. I was probably well enough to go back to school. But since we were already there, we stayed.

  Finally, the diagnosis was made. The nurse wanted to talk to my mother alone. From beyond the limits of my sight, I heard screams of the word “no” in rapid succession. It sounded like a package of firecrackers was going off. Based on the reaction, I wondered how bad the news could have been for that poor person. I wondered what could have been that bad. When my mother approached, the expression on her face let me know all was not well. I realized it was my mother’s voice that had exhibited such distress. She quickly grabbed my arm and rushed to exit the clinic. She pulled me behind her like a kite trying to take flight. I wondered what illness I contracted that warranted her reaction.

  As we stood on the sidewalk, she turned me around and looked deeply into my eyes. She searched my soul for any signs that I had knowledge of my confirmed condition. She didn’t find what she was looking for. Her expression softened. When she spoke, her voice was kind and soft when she shared my diagnosis. I never expected the word pregnant to bombard my ears. I wanted to throw up again. Big Mama told me how that could happen. I never thought it could happen to me. I didn't let some no-good boy talk me into doing the "it" she had warned me about. That’s what Big Mama said fast girls did. I was a good girl. I didn’t even like boys like that. I finally understood how truly powerless I had been that night. Not only had some foreign object invaded my intimate space, it caused a byproduct of its presence to be caught up in my body. I was helpless and at the mercy of nature and consequences.

  The shame and the guilt of my circumstances wouldn’t allow me to hold my mother’s gaze any longer. I dropped my head and focused on the cracks in the sidewalk. Before long, the tears fell in overlapping circles; first slowly, then as if someone turned on a sprinkler. The weight of the moment came down on me hard. My wobbly legs could no longer support me. I fell into my mother, grabbed ahold of her and sobbed. She gently rubbed my back and held my trembling body through the waves of tears.

  Through her profession of love, she peppered the conversation with questions regarding the person responsible for my unexpected circumstance. I wanted to tell her, but the power of his words was stronger than my bravery. If I let those words escape into the universe, he would kill us both. That’s what he said and I believed him. I couldn’t afford to risk our lives. But since I was pregnant now, I had nothing to lose. The secret I tried to keep no longer existed. I couldn’t go on like this and with the whole baby “thing”, I knew I needed my mother’s help. Through the tears and “I’m sorries”, I whispered in her ear the name of my “Who”.

  Because I still couldn’t look in her face, I was unaware of the wildness and anger that filled her eyes. She wrapped me tightly in her arms and hugged me like she wanted to make our bodies merge. She kept telling me that everything was going to be okay. No matter what anyone said, none of his actions were my fault. That’s what I wanted to hear for a long time. Once I found my voice, I told my mother everything about that night and the continued gestures and stares directed at me. She held my hand and cried with me through my entire revelation.

  My mother kissed me on my forehead and convinced me to go back to school. She had some business to take care of and didn’t want me to go home alone. Letting go of her hand in front of the school was one of the hardest things I had ever done. Our fingers lingered until distance intervened. Had I k
nown the significance of that last touch, I would have tried to hold on to her even longer.

  Chapter 11

  Payback

  The flashing red and blue lights startled me as I turned the corner. The feeling of being safe was replaced with fear when I realized they were in front of my house. I recalled the threat he made to kill both of us if I ever told my mother about that night. I feared my mother was probably dead. I should have just kept my mouth shut. This was all my fault and now both of my parents were gone. Who would love me now? Not even Big Mama wanted me around. She sent me there and I ended up in the clutches of a monster. I prayed she would want me back in light of my current condition.

  As I wormed my way through the crowd to get a closer view, I was swallowed up by the sea of strange faces and mumbling voices. Bits and pieces of a story came together from unfamiliar origins in the crowd.

  The lady in the white sweater remarked, “A neighbor heard somebody screaming and hollering. She called the police.”

  The woman from apartment 2-D continued the conversation and commented, “The police found somebody tied to the bed. They had to cut ‘em free.”

  The man in the blue hat joined in and added, “They took somebody out on a stretcher. The paramedics didn’t think they would make it. No one could survive after all that blood loss.”

  The man with the beard was closest to the house and reported to the crowd, “Somebody still in there. I saw ‘em sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and having a drink. For some reason, the police kept staring down at the sink shaking their heads. I don’t know what they were looking for. Whatever it was, they were gonna have to cut that garbage disposal off to find it.

  The older lady who lived next door shook her head and said, “Sure hope that child ain’t in there. She could be hurt too”.

  I felt sick to my stomach after I heard what I concluded were the torturous last moments of my mother’s life. I needed to get closer, but the pavement engulfed my feet and I assumed the role of curious onlooker. For my own sanity, I wanted to witness the capture of the monster that ruined my life and took my mother away from me. I wanted to defiantly look into his eyes, knowing he would never get the chance to make good on his promise to kill me too. I needed to be there to see him led away in handcuffs to a place where he wouldn’t be able to hurt anybody else.

  My vision of the front of the house was obscured when the police escorted the only witness to the earlier incident from the building. The shock of recognition from the crowd brought about an awkward silence after a collective gasp. It didn’t take long for the moans and gestures of surprise, mixed with the question “Why”, to ripple through the crowd.

  The hands of the offender were the first things that caught my attention. They were not as large as I remembered and were tinted in what reminded me of red finger paint. But it wasn’t finger paint on those hands; it was blood. My eyes traveled upward to the face of the prisoner. I gasped as loudly as the crowd when I realized it was my mother in custody, not my tormentor. Looking back down her body I realized the hands were not the only place that held evidence of a violent attack. I screamed her name. Both she and the crowd searched for the source. Instinctively, I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her waist. I didn’t care that the silver restraints didn’t allow her to complete our embrace. My mother bent her head down and rested it on the top of my hair. I clung to her for as long as I could until the policeman pulled us apart. The front of her dress was the initial repository for my tears. They quickly found another place to congregate as they dripped down my cheek.

  My mother’s demeanor remained calm when our eyes connected. She told me about the letter on the kitchen table. She then told me to call Big Mama. Her eyes quickly scanned the crowd and saw compassion in the face of the next-door neighbor lady. Before she was put into the car, she asked her to look after me until Big Mama could get there. I stood by the police car and begged the officer not to take my mother away. I knew my pleading was in vain. I was gently pulled away from the car before the door shut. My mother rested calmly into the back seat. I pressed my hand against the window in an unsuccessful attempt to experience one last touch. The next-door neighbor lady pulled me away so the car could leave. My mother turned her head toward the back window and our eyes connected until space and distance prevailed. Even though she was not dead, we could no longer be together. I was without my mother. He still won. He took away my innocence and the presence of my mother in my life. It would be a long time before I saw my mother again.

  The fifteen minutes we were given to collect some of my belongings were more than I wanted to spend inside that house of horrors. Now those walls could talk about two assaults that occurred within its bowels. I looked around the apartment and was overwhelmed by its current condition. I was mesmerized by the trail of blood that originated in the bedroom, traveled down the hallway, through the living room and ended abruptly at the kitchen sink. It clearly was not the way to Oz for the victim and the only red slippers were the blood-stained ones of my mother’s. Someone in the crowd had mentioned the kitchen sink. The mystery surrounding its significance got the best of me. I started walking in the direction of the sink to get a closer look. My temporary guardian interrupted my mission. She reminded me of the letter on the table before she ushered me thru the front door. Once I reached the bottom of the steps, I turned around and looked back at the entrance. I realized the apartment now had what it needed for a long time…crime scene tape.

  One of my greatest fears was that Big Mama wouldn’t want me back, especially if she knew the difficult path I was about to undertake. Making that call to her was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. My emotions overtook my speech and I was unable to convey my need to be rescued. The next-door neighbor lady intervened and explained everything. Big Mama instructed my caretaker not to allow me to go back to school, especially after the story about my mother made front page headlines and was the lead story on most local news outlets.

  The story in the newspaper replaced the crowd’s disjointed narration with their version of the facts. To the world, my mother caught her live-in lover in her house with another woman. She punished him for his betrayal in a manner that would have made Lorena Bobbitt proud. In a fit of rage, she tossed the offending appendage into the garbage disposal. It was still grinding its contents when the police arrived. As brutal as that all sounded, I had no pity for him. The punishment fit the crime.

  Relief washed over me when the lock clicked on the bedroom door. I welcomed the sense of privacy and safety I hadn’t enjoyed since I left Big Mama’s house. Although I was in the house of a stranger, I found peace. There were no strange men in the house and I was able to sleep in a room with a door. After months of holding my breath, I was finally able to exhale.

  I looked at the envelope from my mother for several minutes. I noticed splotches of blood and a red fingerprint on the back flap. It was minor compared to the amount of staining I witnessed on her garments. I took my finger and traced over my name in my mother’s familiar handwriting. I wasn’t ready to open the envelope yet. My mother had finally written me a letter. I thought about all the letters and packages that didn’t come to Big Mama’s house. Opportunities were missed to express words of joy and love I could have saved and revisited in my time of need.

  After reading the letter from my mother in secret, I knew I had to keep it in a very safe place until I could share it with Big Mama. In her own words, my mother explained the rationale behind her retribution differently than the accounts reported in the news. The letter was brief, but powerful. Through her words I saw the emotion she held back during our last embrace.

  “I don’t have much time left before the police come and there are things I really need to say. Baby I love you and I am asking you to forgive me. I messed up your life because I couldn’t get mine together. I kept trying to find your daddy again, but I couldn’t. So, I settled for someone I knew was not good for me. I don’t want you
to think any of this is your fault, it’s mine. I didn’t protect you enough. I told him before you came that if he ever touched you, I’d kill him. I hope I did. He will never be able hurt another innocent child like he hurt you. Go with your Big Mama. She is the only one I can trust with your heart. She will always protect you and love you unconditionally. I am going away for a long time, but it was all worth it because I know you are safe now. Please never forget how much I love you.”

  I had often wondered if my mother had loved me, but I now had confirmation of the depth of her love for me. Her apparent lack of concern for the dysfunction under her roof was not as I imagined. She had made the consequences of his betrayal obvious before my arrival. She had attempted to follow through with her promise once the violation of the established ground rules became evident. On the one hand I was elated. He received what he deserved. But on the other hand, I too was punished again for his actions. His destructive influence continued to spread its shadows over my life.

  The familiar face of my grandmother filled my heart with joy. I ran into the safety of her waiting arms. Our embrace lasted for a long time. She allowed me to absorb all the love I needed from her. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her kind, loving face until that moment. Big Mama visited my mother at the jail before she came to pick me up. She was informed of his true crime, her punishment and the far-reaching consequences of his actions. The impact on my immediate future and my life as a whole were unknowns. The look in her eyes let me know she was prepared for the daunting task that awaited us both.

  While we gathered my belongings, Big Mama asked about the letter from my mother. I raised the pant leg of my jeans and retrieved it from my sock. After the letter was read, she immediately tore it up into little pieces and put them in her purse. Other than the two of us, no one else could bear witness to the content of the confession. Although I understood Big Mama’s actions, I realized the documented evidence of love from my mother was confetti. All of my mother was gone from my life for the foreseeable future. I was left with memories and dreams that would gradually fade as my life moved forward.