Post by LostInnocence on Feb 4, 2005 10:53:29 GMT -5
I know this is a poetry site and I am about to post a chapter of a book I am writing...I just need opinions...and you all are such wonderful writers i decided to put it in here...
Chapter 1
My therapy session lasted 40 minutes longer than usual, and Dr. S still wanted to talk. I lowered my eyes and looked at my hands holding used tissues. Dr. S didn’t say anything for what seemed like a very long time. I looked up at him. His pen had stopped moving and his usually vital eyes, looked empty. I grew nervous and I furrowed my brow trying to remember what I said last. Finally the long silence was broken.
“Shit,” Dr. S mumbled. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with his palms. I sat there mesmerized by nothing, thinking hard of what to say next. I was scared that I had said something wrong. What if I had said too much? Suddenly, I remembered what I had said to him and took a deep breath. Fear always set in when I spoke of my secret. I was scared he wouldn’t believe me, or worse, he would see me differently. Dr. S leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and sighed.
“I want to ask your mother some questions, “ he said quietly as though scared.
I don’t know if he was scared, but I was very scared. My heart jumped out of my chest. I couldn’t understand. Why did he want to talk to her? He walked cautiously to the waiting room to get her. I crumpled up the tissues and straightened myself in the chair. I wanted mother to see me strong, not crying. Mother walked in and sat down across the room from me. Dr. S closed the door. I couldn’t help but feel trapped and helpless.
“Okay,” Dr. S said slowly. He looked at mother and asked, “Do you know why your daughter is here?”<br>
“Yes,” her voice sounded harsh.
“Do you understand why she was in the hospital?”<br>
“Yes.”<br>
Dr. S sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He looked nervous.
“Do you think it’s normal for an eleven year old to have sexual intercourse?”<br>
“Yes, they know about it. They see it in sex education videos and that’s how they learn.” Mother’s eyes looked joyful and full of life. She looked at me and smiled. She sickened me.
“As a matter of fact,” she continued. “She has two cousins that I used to baby-sit. And one day they were playing outside and the girl, who was three, and the boy, who was two, were both naked. The girl touched him; the boy touched her. It’s normal.”<br>
“Thank you, “ Dr. S said while standing. He escorted mother out the door quickly. He had sensed the tension between mother and I. In my mind I could picture that devious smile she always has when she gets away with something. Dr. S turned to me with sympathetic eyes.
I looked at him with a hard, blank stare.
“He knew where to put it. It is NOT normal.”<br>
Thirty minutes later I stepped out of that tiny room, my safe haven and away from Dr. S, my savior. Panic set in when I saw mother’s eyes peer over the magazine she was pretending to read. I knew what I was in for on the ride back home. Once the car doors were locked, she let me have it.
“You’re ruining our lives,” she said angrily.
I stared at the passing scenery outside the window pretending that I didn’t hear her. My heart pounded hard against my chest.
“Listen to me, I want you to stop talking about this. It will go away in time. Just stop ruining everyone’s lives.”
I wanted to cry, just alone in my room with my face in the pillow to drown out my screams. I wasn’t ruining lives; I was trying to fix mine.
“Are you listening?” My mother stopped the car abruptly and stared at me. I felt her eyes bore through the back of my head. I bit my bottom lip hard to help me hold back the tears. I turned and looked at her with cold eyes.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I want you to stop going to the hospital anymore. We don’t have that kind of money.”<br>
She always thought about money. Her and father were always talking about how we never have enough of it. And I agree, we were tight on money, but I couldn’t imagine any decent parents with a heart putting a price on their own daughter’s life.
We both stopped talking. Conversations in our family always end when someone mentions the word money. The rest of the drive home was spent in silence. At last the car pulled into our driveway. I stepped out carefully looking through the living room window. I saw a silhouette of brother sitting at the piano playing some catchy jazz tune. He turned and looked out the window. His eyes danced with evil.
Chapter 1
My therapy session lasted 40 minutes longer than usual, and Dr. S still wanted to talk. I lowered my eyes and looked at my hands holding used tissues. Dr. S didn’t say anything for what seemed like a very long time. I looked up at him. His pen had stopped moving and his usually vital eyes, looked empty. I grew nervous and I furrowed my brow trying to remember what I said last. Finally the long silence was broken.
“Shit,” Dr. S mumbled. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with his palms. I sat there mesmerized by nothing, thinking hard of what to say next. I was scared that I had said something wrong. What if I had said too much? Suddenly, I remembered what I had said to him and took a deep breath. Fear always set in when I spoke of my secret. I was scared he wouldn’t believe me, or worse, he would see me differently. Dr. S leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and sighed.
“I want to ask your mother some questions, “ he said quietly as though scared.
I don’t know if he was scared, but I was very scared. My heart jumped out of my chest. I couldn’t understand. Why did he want to talk to her? He walked cautiously to the waiting room to get her. I crumpled up the tissues and straightened myself in the chair. I wanted mother to see me strong, not crying. Mother walked in and sat down across the room from me. Dr. S closed the door. I couldn’t help but feel trapped and helpless.
“Okay,” Dr. S said slowly. He looked at mother and asked, “Do you know why your daughter is here?”<br>
“Yes,” her voice sounded harsh.
“Do you understand why she was in the hospital?”<br>
“Yes.”<br>
Dr. S sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He looked nervous.
“Do you think it’s normal for an eleven year old to have sexual intercourse?”<br>
“Yes, they know about it. They see it in sex education videos and that’s how they learn.” Mother’s eyes looked joyful and full of life. She looked at me and smiled. She sickened me.
“As a matter of fact,” she continued. “She has two cousins that I used to baby-sit. And one day they were playing outside and the girl, who was three, and the boy, who was two, were both naked. The girl touched him; the boy touched her. It’s normal.”<br>
“Thank you, “ Dr. S said while standing. He escorted mother out the door quickly. He had sensed the tension between mother and I. In my mind I could picture that devious smile she always has when she gets away with something. Dr. S turned to me with sympathetic eyes.
I looked at him with a hard, blank stare.
“He knew where to put it. It is NOT normal.”<br>
Thirty minutes later I stepped out of that tiny room, my safe haven and away from Dr. S, my savior. Panic set in when I saw mother’s eyes peer over the magazine she was pretending to read. I knew what I was in for on the ride back home. Once the car doors were locked, she let me have it.
“You’re ruining our lives,” she said angrily.
I stared at the passing scenery outside the window pretending that I didn’t hear her. My heart pounded hard against my chest.
“Listen to me, I want you to stop talking about this. It will go away in time. Just stop ruining everyone’s lives.”
I wanted to cry, just alone in my room with my face in the pillow to drown out my screams. I wasn’t ruining lives; I was trying to fix mine.
“Are you listening?” My mother stopped the car abruptly and stared at me. I felt her eyes bore through the back of my head. I bit my bottom lip hard to help me hold back the tears. I turned and looked at her with cold eyes.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I want you to stop going to the hospital anymore. We don’t have that kind of money.”<br>
She always thought about money. Her and father were always talking about how we never have enough of it. And I agree, we were tight on money, but I couldn’t imagine any decent parents with a heart putting a price on their own daughter’s life.
We both stopped talking. Conversations in our family always end when someone mentions the word money. The rest of the drive home was spent in silence. At last the car pulled into our driveway. I stepped out carefully looking through the living room window. I saw a silhouette of brother sitting at the piano playing some catchy jazz tune. He turned and looked out the window. His eyes danced with evil.