CHAPTER 1

“Is it a child’s fault, too?” She demanded to know in no uncertain terms. She had posed the question concisely and completely; yet, the ostentatiously-decorated upstairs apartment remained silent; but, not really; for, the rooms in that living space seemed to plead for an answer, too. The rooms seemed to bellow out the truth themselves. Even so, there was a sick silence that made Alyssa want to vomit. Her ire escalated. “Is it a child’s fault, too?!” She wasn’t asking out of mere curiosity. Her mother had backed her into a corner—fighting, as it were, for her life. She was almost yelling now. “Is it a child’s fault, too?!” One, two, three strikes and you’re out, she thought.

She still knew the hurt in her heart. Still, there was silence. Alyssa could contain herself no longer. She exploded like a human volcano unleashing its wrath. She cried ferociously. She would give her mother one more chance to answer the crucial question. “Is-it-a-child’s-fault,-too?!!” Her mother didn’t answer, as she continued to check the oven to see if her roasting fowl was done.

Alyssa’s profound fear was that the truth would forfeit the moment’s opportunity to be powerful, enlightening, and liberating—at least for Alyssa. Her mother’s silence shrieked what Alyssa already suspected by now—that she blamed women for being raped and damned little children who’d been sexually abused. No, thought Alyssa, this can’t be! She can’t be telling me, by her silence, that I, or any other child deserved to be abused! Anathema! A wave of nausea engulfed her stomach. No! No! No! she thought. How can anyone be so ignorant?! How can anyone be so insensitive?! How can a man be sexually attracted to a two, three, or four-year-old?!

Alyssa was, by now, enraged. It all felt like a nightmare. Her head wracked with the pain of anxiety; yet, she yearned passionately to hear the woman who birthed her say, No, child, I didn’t mean that, and I’m so sorry you thought I said something like that. No such relief! Alyssa began emitting one sharp phrase after another. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! You are all crazy!” (She knew there were others who believed the same way her mother did.) “I don’t believe this! That man messed up my head! He messed up my mind! He messed up my life—and you blame me?! This is insane! This is sheer insanity! Damn it! I’m the one who’s labeled mentally ill! I’m the one who has to be hospitalized again and again! I’m the one who has to take medications all day and every day!”

Her mother is very aloof. She won’t even look at Alyssa. Instead, she continues to check her oven. She offers Alyssa no tissues with which to wipe her flooded eyes. She offers her daughter no comfort at all. By now, Alyssa is crying barrages of tears. She wails aloud. She is emotionally gone as she grabs her coat and things. She is yelling obscenities and shouting barbarously. She, angrily, throws open the door and hastens to the back hallway. She stomps down two flights of stairs, crying all the way. She had to get away from this person! Alyssa is so upset that she is indifferent to what her mother’s neighbors might say about her tirade. She did, however, take a bit of pleasure in knowing that her mother was certainly concerned. Alyssa exits the downstairs door, and races to her car. She fumbles nervously as she attempts to unlock the door, finally unlocks it, gets in, starts the ignition, and drives off recklessly.

She thinks about the heavy blow that has been dealt her. She had been hit below the belt, and by her mother—of all people! Mother! Alyssa is so hurt that she thinks about death and dying. She is sure she wants to die. She’s trying hard to calm herself, though. She parks the car along a side street, weeping intensely and beating on the steering wheel. She screams furiously—oblivious to everything and everyone. Suicidal thoughts still flutter through her mind. Her heavy heart feels as if it’s about to cave in. She thinks about cutting herself. She’d done it before, numerous times when she felt out of control. She remembers where the cutting tool with the razor edge lies, dormantly, hidden in her bedroom. She’d have to awaken it from its slumber; for, there was work to be done now. Alyssa feels like a rejected child and is sorely depressed. In spite of all the commotion, the sunset, nevertheless, beckons for her attention. Alyssa can’t help but yield to that spectacular event.

Alyssa has calmed down enough to drive again. She takes the freeway home, still thinking about….

Chapter 2