The Adventures of Paisley
Blue
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WARNING: This journey entry contains Triggering Material for survivors of assault and rape.
Last night I had a nightmare. It was one of those nightmares that seems to be really happening -- I had full sensory experiences of touch, smell -- everything.
I was younger, and living at home with my parents, although the circumstances in this dream never occurred in the past. We lived in a house in a middle-class neighborhood that was going downhill. An alley ran behind the house that gave access to a carport, and this is where everyone put their trash cans for pickup.
I was walking home via the alley one afternoon when a rough-looking man, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, was hanging around the back of the house. Knowing that nobody was at home, I was nervous to approach the house. However, he saw me, and I felt like I had no alternative but to keep going forward.
As I got closer, he struck up a conversation, nice at first but then becoming suggestive and making me uncomfortable. I tried to play innocent like I did not know what he was hinting at, hoping he would become bored and go away. When I was about five feet away from the backdoor of the house, he left, and I felt relieved.
Inside the house, I went through a normal routine of putting my coat away and flipping on the television. When alone I always keep the doors locked, so I was not really worried. I went to make a phone call, started dialing the numbers, and the phone went dead. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I put the handset back in the cradle and a movement out the window caught my eye.
I inched closer to the window and looked out just in time to see someone disappear around the corner of the house, going towards the backdoor. Moments later I heard someone rattling the doorknob, but knowing it was locked, I was not too anxious -- until moments later I heard the tinkling of smashed glass.
I started to panic, wondering what I should do. Run upstairs? No, then I was trapped. There were no cell phones in the house -- my parents and I did not own any. Run out the front door! I heard someone entering the kitchen through the backdoor as I unbolted the door in the living room.
I swung the door open and there was a man standing on the front porch, grinning. A gaping hole where he was missing a tooth just seemed to grab my attention. He was dirty and smelled bad, and when he started to advance towards me I instinctively walked backwards -- and backed right into someone else.
I whirled around. It was the man who had been in the backyard. I assumed he was the one who just broke into the backdoor. He said, "I know your folks won't be home for awhile. How's about we have a little fun?"
I screamed and tried to run for the stairs. Someone muttered, "Get her!" The other answered, "Don't worry. She won't be getting far." I ran up the stairs, tripping, trying to get to my bedroom which had a lock on the door.
I did not outrun them. They stayed right behind me. Great, I thought. Now I've led them right to my bedroom. I tried to lock myself in the bathroom, but the one from the backyard was strong and pushed the door open despite my feeble attempts at leaning my weight against it.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the bedroom. The two of them effortlessly tore my clothes off. I was thrown onto the bed facedown but I tried to roll into a fetal position. The smelly one pulled my legs out straight, pinning my ankles down. The stronger one had dropped his pants, and an angry, swollen member stared at me.
I writhed and screamed for about two seconds before I was slapped hard across the mouth. For what seemed like an eternity, he raped me. I was a jumble of raw, painful nerves and bloody skin. The fight was beat out of me. I prayed to die. I prayed to pass out. Neither one happened. I remember thinking how ironic it was that I prayed to die and I prayed to pass out, just like the first time I was raped. Neither had happened that time, either.
The strong one finished. He asked the smelly one if he wanted a shot at me. Smelly responded, "You made her a mess. She's all bloody." The strong one just laughed, but then replied, "You could always take her the back way."
I started screaming all over again. Of course, I got beat all over again, but I was just trying anything I could think of to get away. There was no escape for me. I was roughly flipped over to my stomach, and violated again.
Finally, it stopped. I heard them in my bathroom, washing themselves. I could not move. I wondered if they were going to kill me. I wondered why I had not passed out with all the pain I was in. They returned to my room, and the strong one said, "I don't suggest calling the police unless you don't care whether your mother dies or not. And maybe she'd like a taste of all this before she got killed. Understand, missy?"
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks and I pleaded that they spare my mother. I swore to not tell a soul what had happened. I heard their laughter and boisterous talk from my bed as they walked down the stairs. They slammed the front door shut. I thought to myself, the nightmare has ended.
It wasn't over yet.
I fell asleep where I was, naked and bloody on top of my bed, with the door wide open. The next thing I knew I heard my parents screaming. They were downstairs, having discovered the broken glass in the backdoor, and signs of a struggle in the living room.
I heard my father coming upstairs, yelling my name, but I was too sore to move or cover myself, despite my wishes to be modest. I heard his sharp intake of breath as he saw me. He tenderly covered me with a blanket and called for mom to get upstairs quickly.
He looked down at me and said, "We are going to call an ambulance for you. You're going to be alright."
I started crying again, and told him the phone lines had been cut. He just told me not to worry about anything, that they were going to take care of me.
My mother walked in the room and she started asking a million questions. "What happened? Oh my goodness, what happened to you?" She would have kept going, but my father -- in one of those wonderful moments of strong, masculine compassion -- quietly told her that I was in serious need of medical attention and she mustn't upset me further.
Mom said she wanted to clean me up some, but dad told her that through his police training he had learned that a crime victim, especially one of these types of crimes, should not be cleaned up. The best thing she could do is stay near me, keep me calm, and he would go call for an ambulance.
She pulled up a chair and sat next to me, not sure of what to say. We both just silently cried.
Minutes later I heard the distant sound of a siren, then two. They came closer and closer. Paramedics rushed up the stairs with a gurney, and soon I was bundled up and loaded into the back of an ambulance. Since mom was not fit to drive at this point, dad drove her to the hospital. The only person in the back of the ambulance with me was the emergency medical technician, but she was very calm and soothing.
The emergency room visit was almost something of a blur. Police and nurses and doctors and technicians came in and out. The cops took my statement, although at first I was reluctant to because of the threats against my mother. However, I was convinced that the only real way to protect her was to tell, so I did. Many long hours later, I had been given pain medication and I was starting to feel a little better. Dad had gone home and fetched some fresh clothes for me. As often as she could, mom remained at my side. I remember thinking how wonderful my parents were being for me, but I hated to have them see me like this.
It occurred to me that this was the first time they had ever "been with" me through a crisis like this. Usually when I was raped, I was alone, or at least never around family members. I was trying to figure out if it made it easier to have them know and see and experience it with me. The only conclusion I could draw was that at least I got the medical attention I needed a lot sooner than usually happened otherwise.
In the days that followed I slowly started to recover. I did not go to work at all. I rarely left the house, still having such difficulty walking or sitting. My parents were exceptionally considerate of me. We had long conversations, and we told each other "I love you" more than we had in all my life before then.
About two weeks after the attack we decided to go to the mall together. Dad dropped us off at the front door, like he usually did, then went off to find a parking space. Mom and I went inside and looked around at the shops just inside the entrance, but after a long time we noticed dad had not joined us. That was not like him.
Mom asked me to step outside and see if I could see the car, or see him walking towards us. After all, perhaps he had to park way out in the back of the lot. So I stood beneath the canopy next to the curb and scanned the rows of parked cars.
I heard before I saw. I heard the grunts and the laughter. I recognized the laughter and it made my blood run cold. Mom had just come out the doors and I turned to her and said, "Get security quick! Call the police!" Then I started running.
Mom called my name but I did not stop or look back. I wasn't really thinking, just running. The men were beating my father not a hundred feet away from the front door of the mall. I don't know what I thought I was going to be able to do. I just knew I had to stop them. I got there as they had him on the ground, kicking him in the side. He looked so old and frail, his face bloodied and scrunched in pain.
I flung myself on the strong one and tried to scratch his eyes. I bit his hand and he howled. The one I had remembered as being smelly tried to pry me off his partner but I held on with my legs as he pulled my torso.
The strong one said, "Put her in the van, quick!" Together they tried to throw me through the open door of the van we were standing next to. Funny what you notice during things like this... I saw a dirty mattress on the floor of the van. Obviously the seats had been removed. I saw my dad crawling away from the corner of my eye and I felt glad.
The sound of feet running towards us distracted the rapists and they turned their heads to see who was coming. I renewed my energies of trying to free myself, and I heard the approaching people shout, "Police! Let go of the woman!"
I broke away and ran towards my father. I helped ease him back, and took my jacket off to roll under his head for a pillow on the asphalt. His blue eyes were so full of pain that tears filled my eyes. He said, "They told me that they were the ones who visited you a couple weeks ago. Is that them?" I nodded, unable to speak.
My mom arrived at that time. Another ambulance was called. This time she rode with him in the back, and I followed, driving the car to the hospital. Dad was hurt a lot worse than I was. He had broken bones and would need to stay in the hospital. Mom stayed with him when I finally left to go home and get some sleep. At the hospital, the cops told us the men were going to jail, so I was not afraid to go home alone.
When I pulled into the carport, all the lights were off, of course. I had my keys out and ready to unlock the new backdoor. The key slid quietly into the lock, and just as I turned it, I heard a whisper in my ear.
"How's about we have a little fun?"
Apparently I was thrashing around the bed pretty good, and Michael grabbed me and woke me up, telling me I was having a nightmare. It took a moment to get my bearings and realize that I was okay, I was safe, I was at home in bed next to a man who did not want to hurt me.
Eventually I rolled over and went back to sleep. However, you can see how powerful that nightmare was, because hours later I can still remember all those details about it. I figured there must be some symbolism in there somewhere, and maybe another time I can review it, and see what can be learned from it, if anything.
In the meantime, I need to go and do something to nurture myself, to make me feel comforted and secure and safe. See ya later.
~Paisley Blue |
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