Deep contemptible words in a foreign language. Unfamiliar actions. He caresses my breast. I am no longer proud of them. I want them to melt away. Now he has both breasts in his meaty hands. He is behind me. Thank God I cannot see his face. I smell his body. I smell his breath. I am dead. I am rightfully overwrought. Does he not know how distressed and broken-hearted I am? He was so nice to me for so long. Subsequent to today, memory says we always had loving years where I trusted him completely. He let me have my way. He treated me so special. Had it been his plan to gain my trust from the start. Did he groom me for this?
One would think that once is enough. But my silence cursed me. I did not say anything about Uncle. Nothing about my uncomfortability. Nothing. I eat dinner and go to sleep on the antique couch that was Grandmothers. I am named after her. The couch is always my “makeshift bed” and it is feather soft, warm and inviting. I fall to rest. I dream of my body. It is that of a grown woman. I dream romantic dreams. I am with my husband. He has no face. Am I twenty? God no! I am still ten. What is Uncle doing? Is it not enough that he ruined my day? Now he is in my night. His thick hand glides over my flannel nightie. The covers are off. Hands now under my gown. To him, I stay asleep. To me, I scream the silent scream that I will use for the duration of Uncles offensive.
I remain in this world where I do not want to believe I am awake. Oh, I know I am awake. I pray for the disease of denial to infect me with its convincing and tantalizing power. Uncle is using his “voice”. That pestilent voice. If I could shrivel up into a dead leaf and blow away right now, I would. Uncle rams his fist-sized finger into my vagina. I see stars and hear echoes as if I were inside a tumbling can. Words come slurring out of his mouth. Sewage. Toxic and rank. I feel so alone. How long has this been going on? He leaves. The sun has risen. I smell breakfast. I am so hungry. I get up and electricity shoots through my groin.
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