I hope this finds you well and glad that school is about to be in session again. Things have been busy for us. (Understatement)
Until next time, take care of you and be happy. Thanks for stopping by. Your visits and comments are always enjoyed.
I sat at the bar and waited, drinking cranberry and seltzer as if it were the vodka I really wanted.. He came as he always did; sizing up all of us that moped around his dark bar. There was Mae, who sat and drank herself blind on Wednesdays because that was the day her husband left to be with a woman she had once been but lost in the raising of her family, and suppressed to the the wants of a man who in the end, never noticed. There was Mike, who toyed with the swizzle stick of his Crown, poking recklessly at the ice cubes as they dwindled in his glass like his broken dreamt up life. Most days, he would succumb to the Royal feelings and begin to bleat about the injustices of the world and how he had been oh-so-wronged. And there was me. I rarely spoke. My problem wasn't appropriate for sharing with the others. I glanced and smiled too hard at him as I always did, struggling to hold the bile in my mouth. He slithered up next to me, ordering a little Gentleman Jack. He was anything but. Turning to me, he began to chit chat and stroke my leg. I endured and fought the screech in my chest that thumped and begged to get out. I shut my eyes, belting back the last of my drink, wincing with disappointment; just juice. He blew sour, dirty breath in my ear and down my neck; slurring that he thought I looked like I needed a good time. He pinched my nipple through my shirt, grinning like a mangy wolf. I laughed. My body was screaming for a good time all right, but he had no idea what it was exactly that I needed. He suggested we should go outside for a little fresh air and a change of scenery.
I said yes we should. Funny word; should. My body came alive; hovering with expectation of what was sure to come. It was like an evil Christmas. I saw the gift but had to wait to open it.
We barely made it out to the dingy lot before he pushed me up against the wall next to the dumpster and began to maul me. He forced my legs apart with his knee and tore at my clothes. He gulped at my throat; slobbering on my cheek; at the corner of my mouth as if he had been overwrought with passion as he pushed against me, he moaned to his own selfish timing; encouraging me to join in I guess. I felt my body tighten and recoil. I could barely breathe. The scream, if let out, would never stop. I grabbed and pulled at things around me; garbage cans, trash bags, watching him as he mistook my disgust for desire and want. A low moan slipped from my mouth. I started to wrench away. This made him angry so he punched me in the stomach hard enough that I doubled over and threw up. The street tilted.
"You a tease?" he huffed, yanking my hair. He punched my jaw so hard i thought it flew to the other side of the street. Darkness crawled over me. I felt warm and numb.
"Wake up Princess." he cooed, rolling his cigarette back and forth in his fingers. He blew the smoke at me and kicked me. "Up." he commanded.
I rolled over to face him and felt the familiar poke in my pocket from what I needed to stay alive. Confidence and eagerness swept through me.
"You always such a buzz kill?" I asked wiping my mouth.
"You want the lights to go out again?"
I was silent and wiggled the small knife to the top of my pocket. I sat up slowly, folding my hands in my lap to pull it out. Watching every move he made, I felt safer with it out. It was almost time.
"Lights out." I smiled to myself quietly.
"It doesn't really matter anyway. No one can hear you out here. They'll never know you're gone."
"You are that sure?"
"Sure. They never have before."
"you bring all your..."
"girlfriends." he laughed softly. "Let's call them girlfriends."
"girlfriends here?"
"yep."
"How many?"
He paused and glared at me through the night, leaning in close. "some. You should meet them soon-"
And with the sound of my favorite word, I moved, swinging my arm around tight and fast to slice his face from cheek to mouth. A warm spray graced my cheek, sweetly, softly encouraging me to go on. I rolled quickly to my knees and punched him on the fresh wound. He lolled back surprised and fearful. It was the most beautiful he would ever look while breathing. He squeaked "stop" and clutched his sagging mouth. He lunged but missed. I plunged the small dagger into his chest and began to pull. down. Then across. I gutted him. We watched as his body emptied on to the floor of the woods. The air stank of copper and filth; all that filled his body and worthless soul. I rolled him to his back and tilted his head to look in to my eyes. He sobbed a little and then the light went out. I put his cigarette out on the other cheek and kicked him soundly. I walked back to his car which was close by. I saw its shadow at the edge of the trees where I was supposed to be buried. I looked and found the shovel meant to cover me with dirt. I hoisted it over my shoulder and went to work. It didn't take as long as I thought. maybe I was still filled with adrenaline. Or pride.
He folded up nicely as I rolled him into the muddy pit. I was glad he'd remembered the gasoline. I sat entranced by the flames that stretched and danced in his grave and prayed but I don't know for whom.
Every cell in my body was alive with the most sickening, heavy feeling I can describe. it wasn't a wave of nausea, it was a consumption of it; by it. If the tears I finally cried had been blood, I'd have died a thousand deaths. My chest was tight and my mouth was dry. I couldn't speak. Didn't really have anything to say.
But it was nothing compared to what my child suffered at the hands of this man she never knew; a man who had watched, calculated and depended on the naivety and trusting spirit of a child. Predator? No. Not strong enough. Dangerous? Not even close. What he chose to do to my child; the flesh and blood I carried inside my own was beyond disgust. He hurt my baby. He terrorized her soul and mangled her body. The worst? We didn't know where she was.
More than a year ago, she had begged me to ride her bike to her friend's house; four cul-de-sacs over. Her pal lived near a park where they had played since they could defiantly creep out of their strollers. It was like their second home. At twelve, I had decided she could. She should be okay and responsible. She had a phone and knew the rules of engagement: call when you arrive, call if there are any changes in plans and call when you are ready to leave.
She did all that. She did what I expected; what I had asked and it wasn't enough. She wasn't safe after all I had done to protect her; taught her: "Don't talk to strangers." "If someone approaches in a car go the other direction so they must turn around to drive with you. " "Don't walk on the sidewalks but closer to the homes in case you need to run up to a door." All of these things we lived and practiced. I even drove by the park and waved so I would see her. I failed. She got hurt. I was grateful for the witnesses and relieved that the police found him; but not her body. I prayed and I begged. I refused to talk to the papers though they followed us no better than that man. They hounded us, trying to brow beat us into telling "our side" before the verdict went out. I just couldn't. I had believed he would not go free if I sat patiently and waited for the system to work. For all that is right in this world, that is how it should have been.
funny word : should.
But that isn't what happened. He walked out, passed me and he winked; blowing a greasy kiss as he did so. I did not move. I felt as if lead pad been poured in my ass and I COULD not move. I wanted to be sick all over him. I wanted to punch him until the bones in his face sounded like applesauce under my fists. I wanted to call him all the names he called my daughter. I wanted to save her but it was too late. We got up and walked away from the lights and cameras. I turned off my phone, stuffing the the world in my purse for some peace and quiet. We went home and tried to forget. We went to counselors and tried to heal. The press vultures soon moved on to devour some other wounded family. We were permitted privacy of sorts.
We tried to step cautiously back in to life, seeing friends and family. For Christmas I got a camera. I took pictures of those close to me doing everything because never again would I miss a minute of life. We framed them and tried harder to fit in to normal. I became a passionate shutterbug. I guess I came unglued. I watched him never change or show remorse. I watched him over and over hurt innocent people; not just the victims, but their families and friends who had to help pick up and start over.
I watched it, I took pictures of it and it all hurt me.
He too rejoined the world. He got a job and an apartment. He took the bus. 403 in the morning and 527 in the afternoon so he could stop at a local bar and eat dinner. He had no girlfriend anymore. She had been given a reality show and was too busy on the West Coast to be with him. She had done a nude spread in some magazine and had acquired quite a following. Thanks all to my daughter. He chain smoked Marlboro reds and wore the same jeans every day. His hair was usually greasy except for the weekends when he went on the prowl. He would go to bars and pick up loose women and grind them up in some back alley, beat the shit out of them and then steal something; a ring, their purses...whatever. They never told because they were too drunk or high to help themselves. I usually just got them cabs and sent them home according to their ID's .
So at last, I compiled the folder; the girls, their conditions, their names addresses everything. I looked at it every day. My daughter never went to school again. Amidst all that healing remained a gaping wound. My home was just a house filled with sadness and ghostly memories. I survived my daughter's murder but I was not living.
Until tonight. I let the fire burn for most of the night. I sat glaring at it and talked to my daughter. She was here somewhere in these woods. I rested my head on my knees and dozed for the first time in more than a year. Throughout the night, I put the contents of my purse and the pictures of those girls he had hurt on top of the burning man. I said I was sorry I had come so late. I was sorry they had suffered like my daughter.
The sun had peek through the trees to check on me. I used the shovel to cover the hole. I buried that under some leaves and brush near by to make it look less dug up. Then I took his car and began to drive. I hit a main road and continued until the gas was almost out. I pulled in to a service station and stated my name, where I lived and that I needed help.
The ambulance came as did the police and family and friends. There were a ton of questions and sadly, I could answer none of them. I never really saw his face; my assailant. I staggered to the road and drove but I didn't know where I was. I couldn't remember. The police were frustrated and gently tried to help me recall something; anything. They pointed out monsters who would do such things should be caught and punished.
Yes they Should.
No comments:
Post a Comment