By: Elyse Smith

My mother was one of those women who was cute in a 1950's sort of way.  A strict Irish Catholic, she had a million explanations for all things sexual...none of which contained the names of actual body parts.  For example, she described the loss of virginity as the time when you lose a piece of your "heart" and it bleeds for the first time.  "You can never get that piece back!" she implored.  "That's why you MUST save it for your husband - he's the only one who'll keep it safe," she'd say. 

In addition to my mom's antiquated language for sexuality, she relied on classic Irish Catholic guilt and manipulation to control my siblings and me.  My father wasn't much better.  Beatings, hair-pulling and other questionable punishments were commonplace in my childhood home.  When I was twelve, my father died.  His death was almost a relief to my siblings.  But I was the youngest; and in spite of his questionable parenting tactics, I took his death quite hard.   Perhaps this was because I was his favorite and thus I was spared the worst of his wrath.  After his death, I always believed he was watching me from heaven and that I should work to make him proud.  Still, losing him left a huge void in my heart which I needed to fill.

Luckily, attracting male attention was never difficult. I was the "pretty" girl, who developed early; and I had a pretty face with big expressive eyes, perfect skin, perfect hair and the perfect body. Perhaps this sounds conceited...but it was simply true.  My older brother and my brother in law started chasing boys off the porch when I was only 12.  At the time, my mother had not yet given me the "bleeding heart" talk, so I didn't understand exactly why the boys were there...or why my male relatives felt the need to chase them off.  But in the absence of my father, I enjoyed the attention they seemed willing and eager to give me. 

Later that year, when I entered junior high school, I hit my social stride. I was very outgoing but also empathetic and genuinely interested in getting to know everyone.  I never felt specific loyalty to any one clique and I regularly crossed the cafeteria to meet and greet all my classmates.  I was a born people pleaser and I wanted to make everyone happy...especially those who seemed especially lonely or sad.  I remember feeling the pain of one of my classmates who had the double misfortune of being overweight and having bad acne.  She rarely smiled which saddened me.  One day, I noticed some sketches peeking out from her notebook.  She was clearly a gifted artist and  I didn't hesitate to express my appreciation for her talents.  After that, she seemed to smile more often, which made me feel happy. Making other people happy was my daily goal.  For this I was well-liked, throughout junior high school, by many different people and not just those in specific cliques. 

By 8th grade, the older brothers of my girlfriends were asking me to their proms. I had alot of girlfriends - so there were a lot of proms - at least two every year until graduation.  It was around this time, when my popularity with the boys was becoming undeniable, that my mother unleashed her cautionary tale of the bleeding heart, which sounded almost as maniacal as Edgar allen Poe's A Tell Tale Heart.  After that, I fully intended to keep my virtue until marriage. After all, my dad could see everything I did; and I didn't want to disappoint him.

By high school most of my peers had branched off into well-defined cliques, but in general we were all upper middle class. Ours was a public high school in an affluent suburb and thus it had more of a private school feel. Wide streets were lined with old oak and maple trees that formed a canopy top. Old tudor style homes and some center entrance colonial homes sat close to the streets.  Yards were landscaped with lots of flowereng shrubs and even a few picket fences.  On the outside, we were picture perfect American kids living the picture perfect America dream.

Our parties were characterized by a lack of adult supervision, plenty of alcohol, lots of pot and cocaine and whatever other drugs anyone might happen to have. I loved to drink and I smoked a little pot too; but, I generally stayed away from the other drugs. I always had a boyfriend. Always. When there was a break-up, Another boy would come along within a week - and again I would be part of a couple.  I regularly made out and engaged in heavy topless petting, and dry humping - I even held a penis as it ejaculated into my hand. I thought I was pretty sexy!!  But I definitely had my limits and I wasn't shy about saying "NO" when those limits were reached.  I never believed these limits would make me unlovable...even when occasionally, after enforcing one, I was called a tease. In fact, I thought boys were foolish for not understanding how "lucky" they were!  To be sure, I was supremely confident.  But that was all about to change. 

One weekend, late in my junior year, David, who was one of the richest of the rich, hottest of the hot boys from my school, had a party. I had a huge crush on David and excitedly downed a few beers in my attic bedroom with my girlfriends while we got ready.  We left for the party looking great...our makeup was perfect, every hair was in place.  We were giggly and ready to flirt the night away.  The party was walking distance from my house and when we arrived the party was in full swing.  As we entered, it was as if a movie camera was rolling - the cheers went up full volume and our gorgeous, perfect, holy shit hot host, David, greeted me with open arms.  He soon whisked me away to a small study where a smaller more exclusive party was taking place.  David really was beautiful.  He had dark thick wavy hair and huge brown eyes framed by long lashes, which made him almost "pretty." He was wearing black loafers without socks and his khaki's were rolled up and a little worn.  His white button down shirt was more open than usual and he was clean and fresh and he smelled and tasted good.  In between kisses, he whispered all the things I had heard before..but with more saavy than any other seventeen year old. I thought life couldn't get better.

At his command, the room emptied. However, one person remained outside the door. It was his best friend, Peter, who had moved away when we were in middle school, but was back for this party. Once we were alone, David told me how awesome he thought I was and how long he had wanted me.  I thought we were becoming a couple for sure!! Our makeout session grew steamier and then sloppier and then just plain yucky.  This gorgeous guy was a lousy kisser!!  I tried to extricate myself by telling him I wanted to go back to the party and hang with my friends. I thought we could announce our new "going out" status! But he was stronger than I was and he fought the idea.  We wrestled for five more minutes before my girlfriend knocked on the door to make sure I was ok. Another voice from outside the door answered "she's fine!" It was Peter, Dave's minion. I moved away from Dave and told Kristen to wait and that I was coming out.  With that, he let me go.  No longer did I want to announce anything to anyone. I just wanted to be as far away from David as possible. He felt peculiar, wrong...evil. My girlfriend lived on the same street as David.  So, we left the party and went to her house, where we sat in her kitchen snacking on junk food before I left to go home at 11:10 p.m. My curfew was 11:00 so I called my mom to tell her I was on my my way home. My mom was not happy, and so I knew I needed to walk quickly. 

To save time, I decided to take a short-cut away from the main streets, thru the back of the high school and across the football field. I had never done this alone; but I thought there was enough light. I saw some figures under the bleachers and decided to keep my distance because the kids who hung out under the bleachers...well...they wore *leather* even on hot summer nights! They scared me a little during the day; and after my mini-ordeal of narrowly escaping David's disgusting advances, I didn't need to be scared anymore that night!  I was sure I was going to make it home soon enough to appease my mom and thus avoid being dragged down the stairs by my hair the next morning for 7am Mass!  "Lucky!" I thought as a sauntered across the field. 

Then I heard laughing and the sound of running feet.  I turned but not quickly enough.  A big black plastic garbage bag was over my head and I was tackled to the ground. I was being squeezed tight around my torso and my arms were pinned.  I mentally cursed myself for drinking too much, which I thought had sapped my strength!  "Why oh why and how can they be stronger than me...these boys in leather," I thought.  They seemed so wirey and small, but I couldn't move underneath them. Every movement I made was met with greater strength and pressure and in a few seconds the pressure and the heat of the trash bag over my head was too much and I vomited in the bag.  "Didn't they care?" I wondered.  They had to have known!  I was heaving and heaving but they were continuing to probe and remove my clothes.  Once my white mini was off I heard "holy fucking shit look at her cunt..look at her fucking cunt!" There was another guy giggling...it was the minion. "Ok..there are 2," I thought.  "Fuck her! fuck her! fuck her! fuck her! fuck her! fuck her!" My top was undone but the bag was still around my neck.  I tried to fight and scream, but the minion had me by my throat.  He was so strong that I was being strangled.  I just wanted enough air to say "I'll cooperate, please just don't kill me."  I was sure I was going to die.  I was already being asphyxiated in that bag with all that hot vomit...and then the searing pain of someone chewing my nipple, severing it, my right one...in half down the center.  "Look at her tits! holy fucking shit! Look at her fucking tits!"  And then another "Let me fuck her!! Let me fuck her!!"  "There are three...I heard three," I thought.  Something went into me.  "Are penis's that sharp? are they that pointy? what is in me?"  "She's fucking bald! fuck her cunt!"  The minion was still giggling..."he's the one scratching me," I thought.  They were strong. I heard belt buckles and a release of pressure...they were off of me.  I got the trash bag off and I saw black loafers and sockless ankles and then BAM! the lights went out.

"Wait..they didn't just kick me in the head?!" I thought.  "No!! You can't kick someone in the head after you take a piece of their heart...it was accident, it happened as they tried to run away."  But I saw their feet...they saw me see their feet. It was on purpose.

The heavy bag was filled with vomit.  I tried to stand..but my popscicle stick legs couldn't bare my weight. I was like a newborn foal...stumbling...adjusting...crying...Oh My God!  I was about 6 houses away from my house...I almost made it home. I was so close.

I could tell by the lights that that my mother was in the front of the house waiting for me.  So, I went in the back door and up the kitchen stairs to my attic room.  Once there, I looked at myself.  My once bright green eyes were unrecognizable. They were swollen and blood shot and no longer the happy mirror to my soul. They were someone else's eyes...a picture of eyes. I was dirty and smelly...and bloody.  I called to my mom "I'm home!"  That was all she ever needed to hear...and she headed off to bed without checking on me.  I took off my clothes and put them in a bag deep in my closet.  I looked at my bleeding, damaged body and immediately started taking inventory of what was "hide-able."  I got in the shower to clean myself and then looked in the mirror again.  Nope, these were still not my eyes.  I look crazed...but I was alive...and I felt so ashamed.  "Nobody has to know how dirty you are now," I told myself.  "Nobody has to know your virtue is gone and you are a filthy disgusting girl."

I put on my favorite nighty and climbed into bed.   My rosary, my crucifix, and my Virgin Mary...were all present in my room to comfort me. I put my rosary in my hand and then curled into a ball and prayed "God, please keep me good, God please keep me good, God please keep me good."

The next morning, when I came downstairs later than usual, my mother asked "What's wrong with your eyes?"  

"Kristen's Cat mom...the thing won't leave me alone," I replied.  With that we headed to Mass. 

Years later, I saw one of my rapists at a high school reunion.  He wouldn't come near me.  He knew that I knew.  But he doesn't know that his worst fear has come to pass.  For twenty years I suffered alone in shame over the events of that night.  I told no one - not my mother, not my siblings, not my best friend, not even my husband.  But I am silent no more.