Night Time

Third grade. Home of a teacher with wild black hair and crazy eye make-up. Her first experience with a student teacher - Mr. Walsh. A kickball tournament. Her class won the whole bit. Puberty started. She began developing a bit young - nine years old. A very active school counselor, Mrs. Silver. Timmy the Tiger - her cuddly stuffed animal. Tigers were the school mascot. A trip to an amusement park, and her first roller coaster ride. She remembers spending a lot of her summer at her aunt and uncles house. Swimming in the pool, jumping on the trampoline. A trip to her mother's parents home.

But these take second place to the darker memories.

The first time it happened, she was in her bed. Early morning, world still dark. She was awakened by a tugging on her nightgown. A hand down the back of her underpants that began to fondle her. She didn't fight, she didn't say "no." She didn't do anything except freeze in place. She cried furiously after, and told herself that she'd tell. If it happened again, She would march into the kitchen, pick up the phone, and call the cops herself. She never did.

The Girl cannot recall when the next time was. Or how many times. Always the same. She tried to clench her legs together. It never worked. She never spoke, never struggled. She lay there frozen and helpless. In her bed, in her room, in her home - she should have been safe.

Bold.

Daylight. She saw the truck in the parking spot. She managed to make a two minute walk take what seemed like hours. She was asked to lie down on the couch with him. Without speaking, or acknowledgement, she did. He unbuttoned her pants, and did the same. Everything bleeds together, and She's not sure how many instances. In her room, her younger brother on the bed playing. She sat in his lap, as told. This time, she said to stop. Please, just stop.

"Only if you tell me how it makes you feel." Her heart was pounding, she was terrified and angry. But all that came out was, "Stop. I don't like it."

 
Bolder still.

He walked into her room, nude. Looked out the window, presumably at a passing car...except that they lived on a cul-de-sac. She lay flat as a board on her back, because by now she anticipated the early mornings. She woke up, no matter what. Fear. This time he lay on top of her, on top of the blankets, and sheets. Again, she kept her silence.


Time twists. She hated Wednesdays, that she recalls. Her mother had a book group, and she hated being at home with him. Anytime that she was left home without her mother, she dreaded. By now, this had gone on from third grade until the fourth. New teacher. New room. New friends, old friends. Kelly, and a new friend. Dawn. They fancied themselves The Three Musketeers.

Fourth grade saw the first year of sex ed. Separated genders, both learning what was to happen (or already happening) to their own bodies. A group presentation, by the school counselor regarding Good Touch and Bad Touch. The girl remembers laying her head on her desk, and crying. A neighboring student asked what was wrong. She told her, "Nothing."

That day, Dawn, Kelly and the Girl went to recess. She paced restlessly. She told her friends she had something to tell them. It took almost the whole of recess for her to work up the courage, to find her voice and choose the words. But she did it. She told someone what was happening to her.

Kelly and Dawn were dismayed. All three were ten years old. The girls insisted that She tell someone else. An adult. She refused. Kelly and Dawn pushed and insisted. Finally, a couple of hours later and just before school ended, she relented. They'd just had the presentation that very day, after all. She could tell Mrs. Silver, the school counselor.