omg so much to write about…
1) I went to Mcdonalds the other morning before class and ordered a medium doctor pepper and The lady in the drive thru goes, “you know, you should probably just order a large..” “Why? I just want a medium..” I say. Then she says, and this absolutely blew. my. mind. “Well, If you just order a Large, you’ll only pay 99 cents, but if you order the medium, you’re going to pay $1.49 because the medium isn’t on our dollar menu.”
WHAT? excuse me…WHAT?? I was so absolutely flabbergasted that I took the medium drink! I haven’t been thinking about how freaking backwards this is for days. I just can’t get it out of my head!
2) France is completely confirmed. 32 days and counting. I’m freaking nervous as crap. Its super expensive. But I’m excited out of my mind.
3) The past week has absolutely been wonderful. Its been sunny, and warm, and just completely relaxing. For three days straight I was able to just lay our a blanket on Henderson lawn, and just sit in the sun talking and relaxing with my friends. Its been wonderful. I love these summer days, but I’m always so sad when they’re over. The sun starts to go down and I’m SAD because these days have been so great that I just dont want them to end. =(…..I hope these days continue. I love weather
4) I submitted a piece for Carson Newman’s Ampersand. Its a journal that the English department puts out every year thats sent out to the community. I wrote my piece a while ago, but I never thought about submitting it until two days before it was due. I had a few different people read it and made comments before I submitted it. I also made a lot of changes because the piece I wrote was extremely graphic and difficult to read..So when I DID turn it in, I talked to my professor about it for a bit because I wasn’t even sure if I should submit it. But I did, and I found out on tuesday that it was denied.
I spoke with Dr. underwood about it and she said the senior editors were split 4 to 5 on my piece. She also said that no piece had ever caused that much debate between the students. ultimately, i’m NOT upset that it was denied. I think that my piece is great, and complete, and I know that it will be published…i just want to make sure it is published in the right place. The audience at Carson Newman isn’t ready for a piece as serious as mine, and I want to publish this piece to an audience that can handle it.
Dr. Underwood DID say that a student asked if it was a faculty piece..so thats a huge compliment. But I think the best thing she had to say was that there were a lot of emotional reactions to the piece. And that amazed me. I’ve never written anything that cause my audience to really FEEL something, and I’m really excited to know that this piece can do that. =)
I’m going to end this post with a copy of the actual piece that I submitted. The official title of it is Untitled. So I’ll leave you guys with this piece, and I’ll write a new blog in a few days. Please leave me feed back, I love to hear what you all think. =) =) Have a lovely weekend.
“You’ve got to calm down.”
I stare at my face in the mirror. My cheeks are burning red, my nose is running, my lips a chapped from chewing on them. My eyes are swollen; I look drunk. I feel drunk.
I wish I was drunk.
I don’t recognize the voice. I yank a paper towel from the dispenser. I’m annoyed at how cheap they are. If they can afford to build a place so nice, why can’t they afford decent towels? It scratches me.
I look back up at the girl in the mirror. Her chocolate brown hair, stringy, knotted at the ends that fall around her shoulders. I don’t know who this girl is. For a second I think I know; I flash back to the girl I used to see. A girl whose beautiful, shiny hair used to fall in luscious locks around her waist. I try to look beyond the hideous scar that stretches down her chin. I look into her dull-brown eyes, trying to find the vibrant hazel they once were. I wish I could see the confident girl that used to gaze back at me. Her lips are peeling; I bite down and use my teeth to slowly peal away a piece of half-dead skin. I taste blood.
Blood reminds me of that night. It’s all I could taste. Blood. Pouring down my throat. I tried to spit it out to keep from choking, but I was gagged. It was my fault. I looked. I looked up at the face of the man inside me. His eyes were closed; sweat ran down his nose and dripped onto my chin. He looked down and caught my eye. White-hot pain ran through my entire body as his fist came down, breaking my nose. My hands, free for only that second, flew towards my nose, as if touching it could fix the pain. He was too quick. He grabbed my arms and slammed them into the foggy car window. It was my fault. He continued as blood ran down my throat. I didn’t dare open my eyes after that. The blood in my mouth gags me and I run from the mirror, from the memory, into a stall, and puke into a toilet.
I lean into the wall and slide down. My knees pile on top of each other and my hands fall to the tile. I can’t keep the memories out of my head. I haven’t had a single moment of peace in the past 993 days. Every sound, touch, grunt: I remember it all. I could have done something different. It’s all my fault. I should have parked closer to where I was meeting my friends. We should have picked an earlier movie. I should have worn tennis shoes. Jeans. Anything other than the summer dress and flip-flops that I later burned in an effort to rid myself of the memories. Maybe I could have run. I was so stupid.
I saw him. I saw the man. In the parking lot of the mall: almost two years later. He put his kid in the back seat and walked around to his door. The engine starter; a sound I will never forget. As I saw the man drive away, and my chest collapsed. My head spun, my head seized. The mall bathroom was the closest place to be alone. Did he see me? Would he even recognize me? Does he know that he took my life?
When the man asked me if I had a cell phone, I hesitated. But when he pointed to his nice Volvo XC and said he was out of gas and needed to call someone, I didn’t question why he had such a nice car and no cell phone. I figured he must be a nice family man to have a car like that. I felt bad for him. I wanted to help him. I walked right over and reached out for him to take my phone.
He took much more than that. When he jerked my wrist I almost thought he was joking. I laughed and pulled back, but the second jerk brought me to my knees. He grabbed my hair, put his arm around my neck, and dragged me towards his SUV. All I kept thinking was that I had dropped my purse. I never tried to run; I didn’t fight. I thought, as long as I behaved, he wouldn’t kill me. I believed that when he ripped off my panties and put them in my mouth. I still believed that when he tied my hands to one door, my feet to another, and got in the front seat. But when he turned the key and the engine roared to life, I started thrashing and screaming and crying and crying and crying. I knew my life was over. I wanted my mom.
I’ll never know where he parked. But I could smell dew when he opened the door and climbed in the back seat. He pushed something and the backseat folded itself flat. He looked me over; when he caught my eye he slapped me in the face. I knew I wasn’t supposed to look at him. It was all my fault.
He started untying the knots around my feet, I waited until he was finished. Once my hands were free I kicked, and I punched, and I threw my entire body towards the only door I could see. He grabbed me around the waist and threw me further into the car. My entire body hurt, I felt like I was being pushed inwards and pulled apart all at the same time. I don’t know how I lost my dress, but suddenly I was cold. I was ashamed. It was all my fault.
The man took his time. He looked me over, took off his glasses, and folded them into a clear case. He slowly undressed and crawled towards me. I folded my arms around my knees and covered my face. I was sobbing.
He took my face in his hands and I thought of my daddy.
“I’m not going to hurt you, just be still.” I knew he was about to rape me. I don’t know why it took me so long to understand. Oddly, I was relieved. I knew I would walk away with my life.
Or so I thought.
The first time he raped me, I was on my back in the middle of the car. With every thrust it hurt more and more. I was disgusted at his sweat that was dripping all over my body. I was freezing. When I looked, and he broke my nose, I felt like a dog. Master had trained me, and I knew not to look again.
The second time he raped me he was angry. I was flat on my face, I should have been able to smell the dirt on the carpet, but my nose didn’t work. He was heavy. Later I would scream in the shower when the hot water stung against the full-body carpet burn I had received.
I finally thought it was over. He pulled away and got out of the car. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest. I grabbed my dress and tried to cover myself. I sobbed. I rocked myself. He opened the door and looked at me. His eyes went to the blood-stain on the floor and he shook his head.
“I thought you had learned your lesson”
He climbed back in and was on his knees in front of me.
“Now if you scream, no one will hear you. Don’t waste your energy.” He ripped the tape from my mouth and I spit out my gag. He picked it up from the floor and wiped my face off. I knew what he wanted me to do, and I knew I would refuse. My mouth wasn’t going to open: it was wired shut.
He tried, and I bit down as hard as I was brave. He slapped me across the face. Hard. I yelled out in pain. He slapped me again.
He raped me two more times after that. When he was done, he drove back to the mall, and pushed me out onto the street.
After that, I’m not sure where time went. I laid on the pavement. I screamed. At some point I picked up my purse and all of my belongings and dragged myself to my car. My wrist and nose were broken. My knees were bruised. My entire body was sticky and bloody. In the car, I slept.
When I woke up at daylight, I wished it all away. But I knew I couldn’t do it. I had to grow up, I had to pull myself together.
Parkwest was the closest ER. They fixed me as best as they could. One nurse stayed with me the whole time. She kept telling my it wasn’t my fault. That same nurse called me 3 weeks later, but I never heard from her after that.
The police never knew, I never told my family. I never told my boyfriend even though he knew something was wrong. I stopped caring about school. I gave up my goals. I locked the memories away in a safe place, and tried to get on with my life. I still don’t understand, I lost my life the moment I handed out my cell phone. That man took it. I will never be that person ever again. I’ll never recover. That’s what’s so hard to accept.
The girl that went out with her friends that night is gone, and I’ll never know her again. No amount of therapy or psycho-babble can bring her back. I have to move forward. I have to come to terms with what happened on that night, almost three years ago; I have to work on fixing who I am because of it. I will never survive until I learn to move forward and accept that it happened. It’s not my fault. It’s happened to others before me; It’s happened to others since me. It was a tragedy that no one should have to endure. But it was a part of my life, it shaped me into the person I am now. And even though I don’t like that person, I have to accept her. And I have to accept that it wasn’t my fault.
This is my first step.