Part One: Roller-Skating
Fourteen. The haunting number of my life. That was the age of when it all went down yet it all went right the years after. At this age, I had found the first love of my life. I guess that is what you could call him. Not now, not anymore. Never again.
He was perfect. At least that is what I thought at first.
His name was Jonathan Kate. He was a year older than me, in the tenth grade -- I was in the ninth, it only being the beginning of the year. We have been going out for six months already, until it happened. I guess you call it the one thing that was supposed to be magical, or beautiful between two lovers.
This wasn't either.
We were on a date. He was driving us to a roller dome. He looked at me with a smile and I did the same back to him. I laughed and leaned against his arm, my head resting on it. He put his head on the top of mine but before doing that he kissed me. We spent about three and a half hours there, maybe four, until we decided to go home when our feet were both throbbing from the badly-made skates that have been used since the early eighties. We walked into the parking lot, walking to his truck, holding hands.
"Jo?" He began, I looked to him. "Have you ever thought about...?"
Sex. I knew he was going to ask me this, again.
It was what all of men at the fourth grade and up, seemed to think about everyday of their lives.
"John," I stopped, facing him. "That is the fourth time you have asked me! I'm-- not ready," I said. I felt uncomfortable talking about it most of the time. I would, I guess, plan to do this when I was of the age, not at fourteen. I didn't know why he would suddenly bring this up at a time like this four times in one night.
He stopped me in the middle of the parking lot and faced me again after I started walking, again.
"Come on," he said, asking me again. "That's not a 'good-enough' reason!"
"No, John! Please, stop asking me that! Can I go home now, please?" I asked, walking away, going to the truck. I opened the passenger side and got in, sitting on the ruggid seat, the fabric having holes in some spots of it.
He got in after me, on the driver's side. We both sat there for a few seconds, in silence. Most awkward in my part. I looked out of the corner of my eye. He was looking down to my legs. I crossed them and then looked out the passenger window.
"Are we going yet?" I asked calmly, not looking in his direction.
I sat there for another few seconds again. No answer.
I was becoming scared because I could still feel his eyes on me.
"John--!" I started to turn towards him.
Then suddenly, he grabbed me. His face was fierce, with anger. He forced me below him and ripped the clothes off of him and then me.
"You ready, girly?!" He said with his teeth clenched.
I tried to get away but he forced my shoulders against the seat.
I could only scream for help, now. My strength was draining from me quickly. He covered my mouth as he moved over me, so I wouldn't cause anyone to come over and help. Tears ran down my face, ending at the hand over my mouth, of his.
Five or so hours later........
It was four in the morning. He threw me out of the truck, throwing the clothes that he took off of me, at me.
"Why did I ever love you," was the last thing he said before he drove off, the wheels making a skidded noise on the pavement. I sat there in the dark. I quickly went into the bushes on the side of the roller-rink, building and put my clothes back on.
"I was thinking the same thing," I whispered in a weak, broken voice, to myself.
My hair was messy and falling on my left shoulder. My white shirt was loose and one of the sleeves had a tear in it. My shoes were left in John's truck, so I had to walk barefoot on the side of a road, in the middle of a city.
I eventually arrived at my house at seven-thiry in the morning. Three and a half hours on foot. I thought that this would never happen to me. All of the stories I have heard, I never thought....
I could hear my parents yelling inside of the house when I showed up in front of the house. I could hear my mom struggling as my father yelled over her. I knew it was about me, what they were yelling about.
I opened the front door and my parents were standing in the kitchen. My father was pointing at her. My father looked in my direction. My mother saw me and smiled.
"Oh sweetie! Your home! Where were you?" She was starting to walk towards me, her arms open.
Then, my father practically shoved her out of the way. He walked over, passing her, his feet stomping against the wood floor, like a herd of elephants. It was like he was charging at me. I started to back up but he grabbed my shoulder before I could do anything. He snatched my shoulder like a rabbit trap; I was the rabbit.
My Father was always hard on me. I don't think there was ever a time where he wasn't just normal around me.
He then took the back of my neck and walked me down the hall into my room. My mother followed behind at top speed.
"Don't hold her that way, Paul!" My mother shouted.
"She's my kid, too. You don't make the rules, now SHUT UP!" he said to her, turning his head to look back from the corner of his eye. I tried to fight; to get awa yfrom him but he was too strong.
He kicked my door open, one of the hinges of the door, flying across the room. It hit the wall with a loud tap, like glass breaking against a metal surface. He threw me to the bed, pushing me towards it. I tripped forward and landed. I landed on my right side and then turned over to look in their direction, guarding myself.
My father always seemed like this, ever since my brother had died. He had a heart disease, we found him dead in his room one morning, three years ago.
"Where the hell have you been?!" He shouted, pointing his greasy, long finger at me.
"John, he left me in the parking lot," that was all I wanted to say. I didn't want to mention that I was raped, to them yet.
"Left you?! Well, why would he do that?" He said, sounding sarcastic.
"Yes, left me," I repeated.
"Why would he do that?" My mother asked in a calm voice. She was always the calm, laid-back one. She loved me for I didn't know about my father. I think she just stayed here so he wouldn't hurt her.
"I don't--" they knew the rest of the sentence so my father charged out of the room, heading for the refrigerator to get a beer -- of course.
My mother slowly left behind him.
I laid on my bed. I don't know what was next, how I would avoid John. I was scared to see him again.
