by Carol Selick
“How are your guitar lessons going with Michael?” Bonnie asked out of the blue.
This was a conversation I wasn’t looking forward to having. “He’s a really good teacher, but he’s a bit of a flirt. Are you still seeing him?”
I took a sip of my coffee and studied Bonnie’s face. She was hard to read, with her mouth turned up in its ever-present half-smile.
“I’m not sure about him. I’m seeing a few other guys. He is a flirt and I don’t get his whole music thing. Hmm, maybe you should be with him.”
I tried to hide my excitement, “Are you sure? I don’t want any bad vibes between us.”
“Yeah, my life’s been getting too complicated. If you want him, he’s yours,” she declared.
I was ecstatic, but I couldn’t let Bonnie know. She’d find out soon enough.
My guitar lessons turned into make-out sessions, but I did manage to write a new song about Michael.
Hoping he’ll find me, wherever I am,
I’m playing it cool, that’s part of my plan.
Might take a day or a month or a year,
My love will happen, I know that he’s here.
I was willing to let things heat up between Michael and me for a while longer. I knew it was just a matter of time until we “did it” and I experienced not just sex, but making love for the first time. Melanie and I were busy moving across the hall, trying to stuff all our clothes into Bonnie and Marsha’s apartment. Marsha drew the shortest straw to see who got the couch in the living room. She seemed fine with it, knowing it was only temporary. Soon we would have an entire townhouse to ourselves.
“You wanna fly to New York with me for the day? My treat! I need to see some friends there,” Michael asked during one of our lessons.
“That sounds like fun. I love New York!” A few weeks had passed and I’d finally finished moving across the hall. I would have gone anywhere with Michael.
“Great! But I need to tell you that I’ll be doing a little drug deal. Are you cool with it?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, but felt disappointed. I wanted to be so much more than the chick he traveled with to avert suspicion. As for the drug thing, I kinda knew he couldn’t be making money just from his music. I wasn’t that naïve.
On Saturday Michael and I got on a plane to New York, met his “friends” and then walked around the city. It was a clear, cold December day and the stores on Fifth Avenue were decked out like a winter wonderland. We stopped in front of Lord & Taylor’s window where two-tone hanging crystals glistened in front of a red velvet background and dancing dolls moved to the music of the Nutcracker. It was a magical world come to life and when Michael drew me to him and kissed me, I felt like I was living my own enchanted fairy tale.
“I think I could be falling in love with you,” he whispered in my ear.
“Me, too, but there’s one thing bothering me. Should I feel funny that I’m a little taller than you?”
“Is that all you’re worried about?” Michael gently laughed. “My last girlfriend was a model and she was a head taller than me.”
I should have said, “No, I’m worried that you’re a dealer and we both could end up in jail, and you have no education and wear an earring,” but none of that phased me. Instead, I answered, “You’re right, I’m just being silly.” Michael kissed me again, “Forget it, babe, you’re perfect,” he said. By the time we landed in Washington that evening we were a couple.
“Spend the night with me Carol,” Michael said on the taxi ride home. He lived in an apartment in Arlington on the first floor of an old, two-family house that he shared with Doug, his friend from New York.
Michael referred to Doug as an “alligator”—someone who hung around musicians, but didn’t play an instrument, a musician wannabe. I’d never heard that expression, but then again, Michael was teaching me a lot that I didn’t know.
“I’m not sure if I should stay, Michael. Let me see how I feel. It’s getting late and I’ve got to get some things at the apartment.” He looked disappointed, but I didn’t know if I was ready to sleep with him yet.
“Come on, Carol! You can take a cab. Arlington is just over the bridge. I wanna be with you tonight.”
When I got back to the apartment, I still wasn’t sure. It was already 8:30. Marsha, the only one home was busy baking Hannukah cookies. Her high-school friend Peter and his brother were coming over to sample them later. Melanie was playing catch-up at the library, sacrificing her Saturday night to study, and Bonnie had started filling in as a waitress at The Attic.
“You’re glowing!” Marsha said as she looked up from her cookie batter.
“I’m in love and it happened in New York! He wants me to take a cab back to his apartment. I don’t know if I should, it’s already going on nine o’clock.”
“What on earth are you waiting for? Go for it! Call Michael and tell him you’re coming!”
Marsha had a way of giving advice without sounding pushy, so I took what she said seriously. I put a change of clothes and a toothbrush in my canvas army knapsack, called a very happy Michael, and caught a cab to his apartment. He opened the door and threw his arms around me. I knew right then and there that I’d made the right decision, but didn’t yet know that it would be one of the luckiest decisions of my life.
“This is a big place!” I said as he showed me around. The dining room was set up as a music room. There were amps and mic stands and of course, Michael’s guitars.
“Be careful not to trip on the wires,” he warned, drawing me closer.
He picked up a red electric guitar from a stand, put it around his neck, and handed me a mic.
“Here, let’s jam. Doug’s out for the evening,”
“I’m not used to singing in a mic.”
“Just hold it a little closer to your mouth,” he said in his sexy, low voice. I knew what he was thinking about. I was a willing student, ready to learn everything he wanted to teach me.
“You better get used to it. You’re a really good singer, Carol.”
He plugged in his guitar and started playing “Summertime.” The minute I held the mic in my hand and heard my amplified voice rise up singing, I knew this was for me! The reverb and bass gave my voice more presence and made for a bluesy sound. I spread my wings and let my voice take to the sky. Michael felt it too. When he played his solo, the vibes between us were so heavy I had to lean on the mic stand. As the last chord faded, he put down his guitar, took my hand, and led me to his bedroom. I felt like I was floating!
“This is my bed. I built it myself. Come up.”
It was a solid wood loft about five feet off the ground. I had to climb a wooden ladder with six steps to get up there. Once I got used to our bed in the sky, I started to relax and get comfortable.
Michael was a very gentle, but passionate lover. Making love in his loft sent me to new heights, pun intended. The connection was cosmic, as if we were plugged into a spiritual force. There was nothing mechanical about it. I couldn’t tell where my body ended and Michael’s began. We were melting into one another and I didn’t want the night to end.
The next morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Michael to make us coffee when I felt inspired to write a poem. I grabbed a napkin and wrote:
Two fantasies in New York met, trembling to freedom’s syncopated rhythm.
Airport, planes, taxis, trains. A universal harmony remains—
You, intensely bright, penetrating my protective shell,
Making love under vanilla fudge skies . . .
I’d just taken the first sip of my coffee when the phone rang. Michael picked up, then handed it to me.
“Carol, it’s Marsha.”
“Marsha, are you okay? You sound upset. How did you get this number?”
“Bonnie had it. Listen, we’re at the police station. We’re okay, but
something really bad happened! Really, really bad. Last night three black guys knocked on the door and said they were looking for Big John. I got really bad vibes and closed the door but forgot to put the chain back on. They knocked again and my friend Peter said he’d get rid of them. He opened the door and they forced their way in. It was a nightmare! They raped us, Carol. Raped us!” Marsha broke down, sobbing.
“Oh my god, my god!”
My hand was shaking so badly, I could barely hold the phone. I’ll be there,” I said. “I’m coming to the station.”
“No, my father is on his way to take us back to our house in Westchester. I’ll fill you in when we get there.”
I put down the phone, burst into tears and Michael threw his arms around me. In between sobs, I told him what happened. “They got raped! Guys broke in! If I hadn’t come here last night, I would’ve been raped too! Marsha told me to come here last night. Both of you are my angels. This can’t be happening.”
In just a few seconds, I’d gone from heaven to hell. It was beyond a wake-up call. A few hours later, Marsha called back. She’d managed to steady her voice and her nerves and tell me more of what had happened.
“So, Melanie was back from the library, when these guys burst in. They tied Peter and his brother up to the kitchen chairs and locked me and Melanie in the bedroom. We could hear them ransacking the place, dumping every drawer on the floor. Then they came into the bedroom. Melanie and I were too petrified to move. Two of the guys were on top of me and Melanie and they held knives to our throats and started forcing themselves on us. They took turns raping us. We didn’t struggle. They were so wired up on drugs we were afraid they were going to kill us. Then, Bonnie came home and before she could run out, one of them grabbed her. She twisted free and ran towards the bathroom, but he just grabbed her again, pulled her into the bedroom, and raped her, too. The last thing one of them mumbled as he split was “Love is just a four-letter word.”
I was beside myself again. “Oh no! Oh God, I can’t believe it!” I kept saying over and over again.
“They trashed everything. Every drawer, every closet. Everything we own is on the floor!”
“Do you think they were looking for money?”
“Money, drugs - who knows?”
Michael put his arm around me as I chain-smoked and told him the gory details. Now I was getting angry. “Why didn’t Peter put the chain on? Why did he have to answer the door?” I kept repeating between inhales.
“No one wanted this to happen, Carol.”
“I know, but if only . . .”
I was on an emotional roller coaster—devastated when I thought about what happened, and elated when Michael held me. There was no middle ground. How could I feel such extreme emotions? How could I not?
I shuddered just to think about what I’d escaped! I was practically a virgin. Even Michael, who I loved, had to be very careful with me. How could I have survived a gang rape? I couldn’t even imagine it. Surely, I would have been damaged for life. How would my best friends be affected?
Later that day, Marsha called again, this time with better news. Her father had told our new landlord what happened, and he agreed to let us move into the townhouse right away.
“That’s great news.” I tried sounding upbeat.
“There’s only one thing, Carol. Can you pack up the apartment for us? None of us think we can face going back.”
“Of course,” I said. I was terrified to set foot in there, but that was the least I could do.
“Just feel better. I’ll take care of it. You shouldn’t ever have to see it again. Michael will help me.”
There was one more phone call I was dreading.
“Daddy, I have some bad news,” I said in a shaky voice.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m okay.” I took a long drag on my cigarette.
“When I was at my new boyfriend’s yesterday, some guys broke into the apartment. I’m not gonna lie, it was really bad. They raped Melanie, Bonnie, and Marsha.”
After a moment of silence, my father asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, I’m at Michael’s house.”
“Michael? Who’s that?”
“I told you, Daddy, my boyfriend.”
“Where are you? I’m coming to get you!”
“No, I’m fine! And Marsha’s father took everyone to their house in Westchester. He talked to our new landlord and said we could move into the townhouse right away.”
I could hear my father sighing and sounding a little out of breath. “Last night your grandmother came to me in a dream. You know you’re named after her.” After a moment he said softly, “I asked her if she could watch over you and she said, ‘Can’t you do something for her on earth?’”
“Oh my god! She did watch over me!”
“Carol, I want you to move back to the dorm immediately.”
“I can’t. I have to be with my friends. We need each other. We’ll be safe, the townhouse is all arranged. I promise! We have to be together!”
I hung up the phone, grateful that my father relented, and did not insist I move back to the dorm. Maybe he just went with it because he was so relieved that I was okay. Or maybe he didn’t want to upset me anymore, but something told me this was not the last I’d hear about it. I’d played it calm and brave and convinced my father that I’d be all right. Now I only had to convince myself.
8
PICKING UP THE PIECES
You keep your hurts in a private place,
What you’ve been through is hard to face,
But together we’ll find a sacred space
And start life over again.
The next morning Michael and Doug helped me find some cartons. As we rode in Doug’s car to the apartment, I snuggled up to Michael in the back seat. What if they came back? I was petrified. It took every ounce of courage I had to open the apartment door. I didn’t know what I’d find. It was worse than I’d imagined. Everything the four of us owned was on the floor. It looked like a tornado had swept through and there wasn’t even a clear place to walk. I sat on the couch and cried.
Michael and Doug tried to comfort me but made it clear that they couldn’t help me pack. This came as a total surprise. Michael told me he had guitar lessons to give and Doug made up some excuse about where he had to be. I felt a growing sense of panic setting in.
“You’ll be okay, Carol. Don’t open the door to anyone. They won’t come back. They know the police are looking for them.” Michael tried to reassure me.
“I’m scared, I truly am!”
“Listen baby, you promised your friends that you would do this. I’ll call you in a few hours and we’ll go back to my place,” Michael said sweetly and gave me a goodbye kiss.
I didn’t have a choice. Michael had saved my life, but he wasn’t going to help me pack. I kissed him back and told myself that this was a hellish job, but nothing compared to what had happened to my roommates.
I started in the kitchen. The uneaten Hannukah cookies were still on the counter. Why couldn’t a miracle have happened that night? As I packed up the kitchen, I tried to focus on our new place. Most of the pots and pans belonged to Marsha. I carefully inspected each one to make sure we didn’t bring any “unwanted guests” to our new house. We’d complained about the roaches to our sleazy landlord a week after we moved in. His words of wisdom were: “Girls, roaches are like men. If you don’t feed them, they won’t come.” It took me a few hours to finish up the kitchen. Michael called to say he was on his way. I made doubly sure it was him before I opened the door. If only Marsha’s friend hadn’t opened the door that night!
“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I told Michael later as he held me in bed. I felt guilty about complaining since he was understanding to a point. But still, he didn’t offer to help.
Every day I
went back to the apartment and forced myself to pack more things. Going to class was out of the question. Marsha’s dad called the Dean of Students and explained the situation. Not only did he get us excused from classes, but arranged for us to get our grades without taking final exams. The major stipulation was that we keep the incident quiet. The publicity would be bad for GWU, the Dean explained. We could care less about GWU’s reputation. We were just relieved that we didn’t have to go to our classes.
Not until Friday did I find the courage to walk into the bedroom. Michael went with me. So many evil vibes hung in the room that it was impossible to turn my brain off as I imagined the horrific scene. I felt violated just thinking about it. A chill went through my body. Michael picked up on what I was feeling and held me closer. What had my roommates done to deserve this? Every drawer was emptied and every piece of clothing we owned was strewn on the floor. Michael sat on one of the beds, as I quickly threw clothes in boxes and suitcases. We would sort it out when we got to the new house.
A week later Marsha’s father drove everyone back to DC. I got Michael, Doug, and two of their musician friends to help move boxes to our new place. As soon as my roommates walked through the door before they had a chance to take their coats off, we threw our arms around each other in a big group hug. My eyes welled up with tears, part sadness, and part joy. We were finally together! There was strength in numbers and nothing was going to separate us now. They all looked a little paler and thinner but were still the same beautiful women I’d always known. They inspired me to write a song about our sisterhood: