Violation of Virtue

Olivia is sexually assaulted and confides in her Polish grandmother.

Chapter 1 - Violation of Virtue

            My Grandmother Anna was the first person who learned I was molested. She lives with us. I seldom talk with her since I can't speak Polish, her native tongue. I was surprised to learn later in life that Momma, her daughter-in-law, had a loving relationship with her. More about that later, this begins with a brutal attack on an innocent girl.

            After getting off the bus, I was walking in the dark and cold. I shivered in my penny loafers. Momma said to wear boots to school, but I refused. My boots were old rubber ones with zippers in the middle. They went over my shoes. The other girls laughed at how bulky they looked when I tried to pry them off my feet before I put them into my locker. Conveniently, I forgot to take them to school that day.

            I wished I had them as I took a shortcut through the park. Then I would not have slipped on the icy sidewalk. When I fell, a man wearing a leather jacket appeared. He looked somewhat familiar but in the dark all I felt was fright. One moment there was no one, then, suddenly, he was there. The elm trees near the path loomed tall and ominous beside him. He seemed to sneer when he asked, "Do you need help?"

            I raised my eyes. The books I'd been carrying were strewn around me. My hand felt bruised where I'd fallen on it. Much as I wanted to be aided, I didn't want him near me. He wasn't wearing gloves. His hands were red and rough. Yet, I took the hand he offered and rose stiffly. "Thank you, I can manage now."

            I bent to pick up my books. Some of my papers had come free from my binder and started to blow across the snow. "Oh no, that's my senior essay. I can't lose it." I started to run for the paper when the man grabbed my arm.

            "Hold on a minute. I want to talk with you."

            I pulled my arm from him and said, "I don't want to talk to you. I have to go."

            A wounded look appeared on his face. "What's wrong? Don't you think I'm good enough for you? I've seen you in your school uniform. You think you're so high and mighty." He stared at my blue serge skirt and plaid stockings. He had a nasty leer on his face.

I looked at him with different eyes and saw that his leather coat was worn at the seams and the cuffs. His pants weren't clean. On his feet were scuffed work shoes. I smelled alcohol. I was afraid and couldn't remember how I knew him. I left my papers and began to move away. Those cursed shoes with the slick soles failed me again. Once more I lost my footing and fell to the ground.

            This time, the man didn't help me get up. He knelt next to me and put his hand on my upper arm to hold me down. He was squeezing my arm tightly. "Stop it, that hurts. I'll scream."

He slapped me hard across the face. I felt a warm liquid in my mouth. Oh great, my lip is bleeding now. I'll look terrible at school tomorrow.

            While he was holding me, I began to squirm. He put his hand on my throat and pressed. I couldn't breathe. "Lie still! Do you want me to choke you?"

I stopped wriggling as he lifted the pressure of his hand on my throat. As he pressed his body against mine, I repeated in my head over and over, "Go away, go away".

            He loosened his pants. Before he put his full weight on me, he lifted my skirt and ripped my underpants. I felt something cold against my thigh. His hand was down there! I'm being raped. I began to decline French nouns in my mind so I wouldn't think about what was happening to me.

            He had a difficult time inserting himself into me. "Help me," he said. "Put your hand on it."

            "Never. I'm not that kind of girl."

            He struck me again, this time my head hit the pavement, hard. I screamed and clawed at his face.

            "Good, now you're angry. Maybe you'll remember what it's like for the next time."

            My mind was spinning with the idea that there would be a next time. He heaved himself another time and I felt a tearing in my pubic region. I moaned in pain. This time he said nothing.

            At last it was over. I heard him grunting, then coughing. Then, he was gone. Had I dreamt it? What was I doing on the ground? I shuddered with the cold and felt the hard concrete beneath my back. My head ached. I had to get up or I would freeze, alone in Saveland Park. When it came to me what had happened, I began to cry.

            My skirt was twisted around my waist. I lost one shoe. I was sore and my throat felt dry. My lip was starting to swell. I put my hand to my face and felt the wet. Was it tears or blood?

I found my shoe. As I slipped it on, I felt liquid running down my leg. I tried to smooth my hair. It  had gotten wet from the snow and was a tangled mess. As I gathered my books, I realized my French dictionary was lost. That's a very expensive book. What will Momma say? My virginity was just stolen from me and I was worried about a book?

             I found my purse near a scrawny tree. When I retrieved it I examined my wallet and saw that the three dollars I carried was gone. My bus pass was still there. At least I could get to school tomorrow.

            Go to school? Who was I kidding? How could I face the other kids with a split lip? They'd know by looking at me that something happened. What would I say? I must get home.

Hurrying the few remaining blocks, careful not to slip again, I was glad to see lights. I entered the back door into the welcome warmth of the kitchen. Supper was long done. No one was in the kitchen but my Grandmother, Busia. When she saw me, I could see the alarm on her face. She said in accented English, "Vhat happened?"

            It took me a second to understand her. As I sank into the kitchen chair, I could feel the slick vinyl seat through my skirt which felt wet. I placed my books on the table and whispered,         "Busia, I was attacked in the park. I'm so ashamed. What should I do? Is Momma here? Where's Daddy?"

            "A man does this to you?"

            I nodded, sniffling and sobbing.

            "Your Momma and Papa at Church for the Ash Wednesday. Shh, now." Busia moved toward me and put her hand on my chin raising my face.

            "Bleeding. I get a towel."

            As she cleaned my face, I heard her making noises underneath her breath. I put my hand to my throat and felt the bruises there. "Will I have a baby?" I asked.

            "Talk with your Momma. She help you."

            When Momma and Dad came home, Dad didn't look at me. Apparently the two of them had been arguing again. Dad went into their bedroom and slammed the door. Momma sat at the kitchen table and noticed me for the first time. Looking at Busia, she asked, "What's going on here?"

            I was still crying, making that huh, huh noise, after no more tears would come.

            Busia said in Polish, "Molestowanie."

            Momma took me to my bedroom, sat with me on my bed and listened to the whole story. I felt ashamed and embarrassed to talk about it. Even though I'd been the one violated, I asked her, "What did I do wrong? Why me?"

            Brushing my hair as she helped me undress and get into my pajamas, Momma said, "You did nothing wrong. It's not your fault. You're not the first girl to have a man attack her."

            "Momma, I should have done more to get away. He was drunk. I could've found a way to escape. Also, I think I know who he was."

             "Don't talk now. When a man uses his power against a woman, there's little she can do. Go to sleep and we'll talk in the morning. You won't be going to school for a few days. Rest now. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

            Busia and Momma talked softly in Polish. That word, molestowanie was said over and over. I didn't feel better knowing that other girls had experienced what I had. I'd never be pure again. Exhausted, I fell asleep knowing I never wanted to get up again.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Whew, this is an emotional drain. The image of the young girl being raped on the frozen ground like that is a tough pill to swallow. I had a close call when I was about nine, but it was enough to scare the bejeebers out of me. I really can't understand how someone could do that to another human--especially a child, but we know it happens. One suggestion--I think we should know the girl's age. I assumed she was young, but that could be anywhere from six to eighteen. Very good writing, it seized my attention and held it.