How To Meet Your Golden People

Martha’s Vineyard, MA: 4yrs old

Sabrina was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.

I would turn her hands over and back, again and again.

Marveling at the meridian between the palm and the back of her hand.

A line where pink faded to deep chocolate.

She was Beauty.

She lived several blocks away.

Doors open, no one home.

Except cookies.

Almost to the jar when the screen door slammed.

Caught!

A dark man I didn't know.

Dark like Sabrina, something I'd been learning I wasn't supposed to speak of. This difference of color.

He had a deep voice, an odd accent.

He spoke softly at first, his tone almost friendly.

Red and brown swirling around his head.

He shut the inside door and came closer.

He smelled of sweat, piss, alcohol and shit.

(Upset about the cookies!)

He has me. I keep trying to get up. I have no control over my body. I am a rag doll.

His penis has white and green ooze. Musky rot.

Forces into my mouth: gag. Vomit.

It covers him, re-ignites the Rage.

Skin ripping as he shoves himself into me.

My anus stings as if it were burnt.

Kicks me in the crotch.

The screen door slams.

Birds outside.

I cannot move.

My skin, bones and ribs ache. I feel tears roll down my face but I am not crying. I fear his return. Crying in itself a failing.

A small plane passes lazily overhead.

I am terrified of being found.

Unsure if Sabrina's mom or my mom sent him because of the cookies.

This shame about food is already a part of me.

But I can't move.

Please help me,

I call to the plane, to the birds.

I passed out.

Suddenly I was aware of being surrounded.

A group of golden figures, crouched over me.

Reaching into me.

Stroking my forehead, rubbing my back, my stomach.

The pain, accentuated by every pulse of blood, decreases.

I feel warmth.

Absolute love.

They soothe my pain. Numb the terror in my heart.

I came to.

Mom says I acted perfectly normal for about ten minutes and then broke down. She changed my clothes, washed my face and called the police.

They came and asked questions. I made sure never to mention the color of his skin. Didn't examine my body. Everyone smiles and talks quietly but I can't hear them, I barely could see them.

When I finally found myself again it was dark and I was alone in the house, still sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket.

I lie on my back. Above, in the murk of the dark room, there is a small glowing light. The pinprick grows into a disk. The disk becomes a sun, then a face, then a hand reaching for me. I close my eyes but when I open them it is still there and has become a small glowing figure. It fills me with indescribable comfort and I fall asleep without realizing, wanting to keep my eyes on the image forever.

Predators were common on the island.

Jason missed you!

The high, urging voice people use with children.

Jason’s mom, Candace, and my mom were buddies.

Sister-Waitresses at The Black Dog, they often commiserated at Candace’s rambling farmhouse on Vineyard Haven.

Jason was her pre-teen son and we were expected to play out of sight. I learn many years later adults were already aware that Jason was dangerously disordered but still allowed a toddler to be at his mercy. It reinforced my growing belief that violence was not only normal, but there was something about me, a failure in my core, that made me deserving of abuse.

As they poured the wine Jason would grin widely, talk to me softly, and take me by the hand to his room.

As soon as the door closed he became a raging beast. Alternately smacking me and forcing me to kiss him. He'd make me touch his penis, talking dirty, wanting me to put it in my mouth or he'd rub it around in my hair.

He wanted me to kiss him most of all, stuffing his tongue into my mouth and pulling the small hairs at the base of my neck.

His violence expected but still always a surprise. Sudden stinging smacks to my face. Twisting my nipples until I begged for mercy.

Mom didn’t seem to hear me when I’d say he’d treated me badly, or report that he’d hit me. There was never a discussion or confrontation with Candace or Jason. Like the chronic pain I’d suffer for the rest of my life, this kind of ill-treatment was just par for the course. Suck it up.

One day she was babysitting Jason and she’d gone to The Black Dog, leaving us in the car for quite some time. Jason bullied and threatened me to take off my pants. Crying while he slapped me and called me names, I slid my pants and underwear down to my knees.

Shut up, shut up! He growled as he forced his fingers into my crotch. Don’t look at me!

He maneuvers his penis through his pants and masturbates. He keeps his eyes on the restaurant entrance and stops everything abruptly. I wriggle my pants back up, he fixes himself. Moments later Mom gets into the car.

I hope you two behaved! She says playfully.

Of course! He says, putting his arm around my shoulder and giving her his wide smile.

I'd tried to talk with her about Jason a few times, she didn't want to hear things, would get mad and cut me off.

Within a few years he was ancient history. So many more like him followed. I was easy, obvious prey.

Years later she tells me he’s been institutionalized. He’d been convicted of sexual assault and some other gross things.

I tell her I’m not surprised.

He really loved you, he took care of you like a sister. She says.

What the fuck, Mom? I say.

(Excerpt from Dirty Shamana. All text and art copyright 2017 Alexandria Heather)