Beauty From The Ashes

I knew that the one person who would understand what I was going through would be my mother. Sadly, she also had been the victim of a sexual assault.

As a teenager, Mama and a girlfriend had been exploring a part of town outside Love's Park, their neighborhood in Rockford, Illinois. A group of high school boys had cornered them in an alley. The friend had managed to get away, but my mother had been trapped. She'd been gang raped. Dazed and traumatized she had found her own way home, her dress torn and dirty. She was scraped up, but those injuries were superficial. The real damage had been internal.

Mama had shared with me this awful secret from her past when I was 14. We were outside, enjoying the breeze of a beautiful spring day. I am not sure why she chose that particular moment to talk to me about her ordeal. Perhaps it was because she realized I had made the transition from little girl to young lady and she meant it as a warning, or maybe that was the age she had been when she was attacked. I never knew for sure.

She had sat down on the grass under our favorite big shade tree. "Come sit by me. There is something I want to tell you," she'd said. There had been a sadness in her tone, and I'd listened without interrupting her. When she finished I had asked her, "Does Dad know?"

She'd said, "Yes, I told him about it before we got married. Men like to know that they are the only one you have ever been with, and so I did not want to keep it from him. He never judged me."

"No, of course not. Why should he have?" I'd asked her, offended at the idea. But my mother had only shrugged and smiled in an odd way, and although she hadn't responded to my question I'd gotten the impression others had judged her. Mama had only spoken of her experience that one day and I'd since forgotten all about it. But remembering in the wake of being raped myself, tears I'd held back then were now unleashed. I sobbed for that hurt, young girl who later became my mother. I sobbed for myself, a damaged 19-year-old who had foolishly believed I was ready to venture out on my own into adulthood. I sobbed because I now needed my mother and I wished I could turn back time and become a little girl again. As I wept, the shower at Dollie's apartment provided the perfect cover for me to finally give in to my grief. The warm water washed over my face and mingled with my tears. I could hear Skylar in the living room talking with Gabe and Dollie and I hoped their voices and the spray of running water drowned out my sobs.

As I stepped out onto the mat and wrapped a towel around me, Skylar knocked and entered. He reached for me and pulled me ino an embrace. His appearance interrupted my private moment and startled me. My body jerked, but he appeared not to notice.

"How did you get this gash on your back?" he asked, without thinking. I didn't know it was there, this one visible mark.

"It must have happened when...I guess...he did it," I stammered.

He held me, believing a husband's closeness was just the thing to bring me comfort. He kissed me and I fought back the urge to push him away. I knew that he would not understand.

Skylar was off duty that day, but he had applied for an emergency furlough and we were awaiting his orders. I hoped our stay in Virginia would be brief. I prayed the decision would be made quickly so we could soon be on our way home. Dollie and Gabe had welcomed us with their usual "our house is your house" hospitality, but I wanted to leave that first night.

In the afternoon we were visited by three men in Marine Corps uniform. I did not ask Skylar who they were but as they came into the living room, he and Gabe both stood and saluted. I realized they were officers. They stayed only for about 15 minutes, staring at me and talking with Skylar about me. I felt awkward but I was happy not to be required to answer any questions. One of them called the base and the only part of the conversation I overheard was, "She is clearly still in shock, Sir."

They motioned to Skylar and he followed them outside. When he returned, he told us, "My furlough was approved. We will leave for home first thing in the morning." I almost cried with relief. I was eager to get home, but it only made sense to let Skylar get a good night's sleep before he had to drive that 16-hour trip.

Morning could not come soon enough for me. The night held terrors for me beyond anything I could have expected. Daytime had furnished activity, conversation, and some moments of distraction. When darkness fell, the household got quiet and everyone was asleep, I was alone with my demons. We had made a pallet on the floor and Skylar lay next to me, snoring. The demons cried out, "He can't protect you. You won't ever be safe again!"

Details about the rape that had lain hidden in my subconscious chose the dark of night to make their presence known. When I closed my eyes, Dollie's front door became mine. I kept re-living in vivid clarity the moment I heard the sound of metal in the lock, the crashing sound of splintering wood... the monster silhouetted for an instant in the doorway, then running toward me. I could hardly breathe as I remembered his voice, quiet and menacing. I clung to Skylar in the dark and silently begged him to help me, but he slept so soundly my movements never roused him. "What did we tell you?" the demons mocked. "He won't wake up. We can do what we want."