MY MOTHER HAD BEEN DILIGENT in making sure that my life was as miserable as possible. I was never allowed to leave the apartment for anything other than school. There were no trips to the mall or skating rinks for me—nothing that would help me fit in with the other kids. Still, I eventually started to make friends in my new home of Tampa, to do some activities and have some fun outside the confines of our small two-bedroom apartment.
When I turned thirteen, I found a best friend, Charlene. She was wonderful, and my mother, to my surprise, liked her. She was able to talk my mother into letting me go with her to the mall. Charlene told her that her mother would be picking us up afterward. I couldn’t believe that I would be pulling up and walking around without an adult. This was a new, liberating feeling and I liked it. I finally felt normal.
We spent three glorious hours window-shopping, talking, and walking around the mall. Charlene’s mother was scheduled to meet us out front in less than three hours. We waited for a while, and then finally, a car slowed to a stop in front of us. I stepped toward the end of the sidewalk, grabbed the door handle, then stopped. It was not Charlene’s mother, but a car full of boys I had never met. When I turned to look at Charlene, she was smiling. She greeted each one of the boys by name. They were apparently her friends.
Charlene introduced me to them as she got in the backseat of the car, pulling me along beside her. There were three boys, obviously older than we were, and totally out of my league. That’s when it hit me. The story about her mother picking us had been a lie. She had planned this all along without mentioning a word to me. So without any protest, I slammed the car door behind me and we drove off. I trusted my best friend.
Charlene was one of the more popular girls in school. She dressed in the latest fashions and had a confident air about her. I looked up to her and wanted so much to be like her. Her mother would let her do almost anything she wanted and she always told me stories about the places she went and the people she hung out with. Jealous of her life, I did everything I could to be around and fit in with her. Charlene also wore a lot of makeup. I was mesmerized because I wasn’t allowed to even wear clear lip gloss. And she knew all about the hottest music. Charlene even gave me my first nickname and we called ourselves sisters. That’s what she was to me.
We drove with these boys for what seemed just a short time, but I was unclear about where we were. I hadn’t spent a whole lot of time out and about, and even though I lived in this city, I didn’t know my way around. We ended up at the apartment of another guy, and in addition to the three who were with us, there were two more guys in the apartment.
After hanging out for a bit, I began to like one of the guys. His name was Roni, and I knew he liked me, too. Everyone in this room was seventeen and older, except for me and Charlene. The boys made me feel comfortable and accepted. So when Roni asked me to follow him, I did, right into the bathroom. It was tiny and cold. He asked me if I had ever had sex before, and I hesitantly answered no. I wasn’t sure if this made me cool or not. I was hoping it wouldn’t deter him from doing what I thought both he and I wanted to do. To my surprise, I was ready and definitely curious. I stared into his deep green eyes and ran my fingers through his curly black hair. He spoke to me in Spanish as he hoisted my naked body onto the bathroom sink. I was shivering with fright, but also with anticipation.
I felt a rush of adrenaline come over my entire body and I began to sweat. I had never been touched this way before. I couldn’t understand how or why I felt so prepared to lose my virginity to this person I had only just met hours before, in a strange bathroom, in a strange apartment, but I was. Somehow it felt empowering. I was drunk with the power of freedom. I wanted to stay out all night and didn’t want this feeling to end. It did, though, when the piercing pain of penetration made me realize what I was doing.
Roni placed me on the floor in an attempt to gain better entry, but to no avail. The pain was excruciating, and the pressure from his body crushed me as I became pinned between him and the floor. This was not the romantic scenario I had always envisioned. This was not right. Obviously, Roni had the same feeling because after about fifteen minutes of trying, he gave up. I was relieved, to say the least.
We returned to the living room, where everyone had been drinking and talking during our little experiment in the bathroom. Charlene instantly sat down beside me to get the details. After I told her that nothing really happened, she seemed pleased. What I couldn’t have known then was that she had a serious secret crush on Roni and was angered that he liked me. In her mind, I had somehow crossed the line.
There was another guy in the apartment. Everyone called him Rodney. All I can remember about him was that he had extremely dark skin, was not very attractive, and had soulless eyes. After I came out of the bathroom with Roni, I could see in Rodney’s eyes that it was now open season on me. Rodney stared at me intensely for a while and I became nervous. I turned to Charlene to ask her if we could leave, and just then, Rodney called Roni into one of the back rooms. I was uncomfortable. I knew that something was terribly wrong.
A few minutes passed, and my legs began to shake. It was getting late and we were supposed to be home by now. If I didn’t get home soon, there would be big trouble at my house, and as I expressed this to Charlene, she just blew me off. She didn’t understand what kind of trouble went on at my house; she didn’t have those kinds of worries and fears. I couldn’t go into details about the sort of consequences I would face. It was too embarrassing, so I pretended not to be worried. I managed to keep my legs from shaking and began to drink alcohol along with the rest of the crew.
When Roni and Rodney emerged from the room, the look on their faces was unmistakable. Rodney had given the order, and from that moment on, Roni didn’t say another word to me or even look in my direction. Rodney sat down next to me on the sofa and my knees began to knock. For the first time ever, I just wanted to be at home with my mother.
Even though the sight of him was making me sick, he said the words I wanted to hear. “We’re going to take you girls home.”
It wasn’t long before we all piled into the car. It was late; the sun had gone down. I knew I would be in big trouble when I got home, so I began bracing myself for the worst. Whatever the punishment would be, it would be better than being out with these people. As we drove toward my street, I began to feel a bit relieved. Finally, I could see the two-story structure I lived in becoming larger and larger still. Yet as we got closer, the car moved faster. And we sped right past my apartment. I alerted the driver that he had missed a stop.
“My apartment was back there!” I yelled.
Everyone in the car was silent. I was sandwiched between two guys—one of them Rodney—in the backseat. Charlene was pinned against the back right door, and when I looked over at her, she stared out of the window as if everything was going as planned. I stared out of the window, with my eyes welling with tears.
Then Rodney ordered, “Let’s go to the house.”
I felt a sense of relief. I could just get out of the car, I could get away. I could run to a public place and get help. I was growing increasingly terrified. I was particularly scared of Rodney. He had that look in his eye. He was harsh and abrasive and the other guys seemed afraid of him. He was in charge and no one in that car would dare stand up to him. I was in trouble and apparently had no allies—not even my best friend.
Eventually, we pulled up to a house. Rodney grabbed my wrist with all his strength and pulled me out of the car. The house was a monstrosity. It was a puzzle of brown boards in a sort of hexagonal shape and its frame stood on top of fifteen-foot stilts. This house had obviously once been someone’s dream; now it was abandoned. We had a lot in common, that house and me.
The street we were on was darkened by the lack of working lights. I looked around for a place to run, a house that looked friendly and inviting, a house with no gate to fumble with and no dog to deter me. I was planning my escape.
We ascended the wooden stairway carefully. It seemed as if every other step was missing. The house was rotting with termites, and at the front entrance there was a big gaping hole in the floor, through which the ground fifteen feet below could be seen. As the crew moved past the dangerous obstacles almost without looking, it was clear they had all been there before.
Rodney took me to a corner of the house away from the others. My heart was beating so hard and so loud that I couldn’t hear a word he was saying to me. What was clear, though, was the strong hold he still had on my wrist and his slimy tongue wandering around my neck and face. I wanted to throw up on him. He licked and kissed my shivering frame. He lifted my shirt and roughly fondled my underdeveloped breasts before he began to unbutton my jeans. My right hand became numb from the grip he had on me, and I was beginning to cry. I cried silently, and to my disgust, my tears excited him. He began to ravish me, tearing the stitching of my shirt and scratching my skin as he tugged at my pants.
The neighborhood dogs had been barking from the moment we pulled up to the house, and by this time, the neighbors were in their yard. I could hear them talking, wondering what was going on. My silent cries grew louder and eventually turned into a scream.
“Call the police!” I heard from outside. Rodney loosened the grip on my wrist and relocated it to my neck. “Let’s go!” was the order and everyone barreled out of the house, down the stairs, and back into the car.
It must have been extremely late because there were no people anywhere as we drove around the city looking for a place to finish the evening. Rodney took hold of my wrist again and now he was mad as hell, with a fire in his eyes.
I could tell by the conversations in the car that Rodney, allegedly only eighteen years old at the time, was a criminal and had spent time in jail. I was terrified and had become almost numb at this point. I stared blankly into space, my breathing slowed, and I went to another place. I was back home on St. Thomas, at my grandmother’s house. I was picking the fruit from the trees—bananas, papayas, guavas. I was young again and safe. I could smell my grandmother’s fish and rice. I was loved.
The car stopped abruptly when Rodney gave the order. I opened my eyes and saw the motel. I was never going to get out of there, I thought. Rodney got out and unscrewed the bolts of the air-conditioner of a courtyard-style motel room. He pushed the air-conditioning unit into the room, crawled in behind it, and unlocked the door for the rest of us. I just stared into space, a zombie. Exactly what happened after this remains a mystery to me because I was gone, back in a happy place.
I do remember there were two beds in the room—Rodney and I were on one; Charlene, Roni, and the other guy were on another. They were talking and laughing among themselves, as if what was going on in the next bed was not disturbing. I was trapped under the covers by Rodney. As he lay on top of me, his right hand was around my neck, his left hand pulling off my pants.
My next memory is of him inside of me, tearing away at my insides. I screamed and cried simultaneously. I clawed and kicked, tirelessly. He took the hand from my neck and covered my mouth with the same forceful grip he had applied to my wrist. I could feel his hot, moist breath as he panted over me. A puddle of murky sweat pooled under my rib cage and in my navel. He was dirty. His body carried the odor of devious determination. I could feel my virgin skin ripping and the pain sent strobes of light shooting through my head as I overheated from the panic. I couldn’t catch my breath and I couldn’t fight anymore. He was winning, and I was losing much more than my purity.
My insides weren’t as inviting as he would have wanted, so the next memory I have is of him giving Roni the order to hold my legs down while he went to the bathroom. I was shaking and the look in Roni’s eyes was pitiful. He knew this was wrong, but he wasn’t man enough to face Rodney. A few short seconds later, Rodney returned with something in his hands. He began rubbing his hands together and lather began to form around his rough black fingers. He rubbed soap into my torn flesh in order to gain lubrication. I screamed in agony. It burned as if it were acid being poured directly into my lacerated cavity.
Exhausted and relieved when it was over, I fell asleep. The very next morning, Charlene, who was now no longer afraid to be on my side, and I were the first to awaken. We quietly got dressed and planned our escape. Just then she pointed out to me the hideous hickey Rodney had placed on my neck. That man had thought of any way he could to mark and scar my body, to scar my spirit. Just as we were trying to leave, the others woke up and stopped us from leaving. Rodney didn’t try to restrain me from this point on. I guess he had already achieved whatever it was he’d set out to do, and now he was simply hungry. A McDonald’s was directly next door, so the plan was for us to walk over for breakfast. Charlene and I looked at each other and knew this would be our only chance to get away. We just needed to run as fast we could. And that’s what we did.
As the guys walked toward the counter to order their breakfast, Charlene and I slipped into the bathroom. We took about fifteen seconds to come up with a game plan and immediately put it to work. Opening the door and peeking into the restaurant, we could see that the guys weren’t facing in our direction. They were off to the far right of us, in line, and to our near left was the door through which we’d just entered. So as not to bring any attention to ourselves, we calmly walked out of the door to the sidewalk. Then, without saying a word, we both started running as fast as we could.
The guys saw us through the window of the restaurant and began to give chase. By the time they made it out to the sidewalk, we had already hit the first corner. Our hearts stopped when we realized that we had just turned onto a dead-end street. We could hear them running and calling out to us. We had to do something and do it fast. Next to us were a few cars parked along the sidewalk. Again, without saying a word to each other, we instinctively crouched down and slid under one of the cars. Seconds later, the sound of their feet stopped, followed by whispers. I couldn’t hear what was being said over the sound of my heart beating, and in an instant they just gave up and walked back toward the McDonald’s.
Charlene and I didn’t trust the situation, so we waited a few minutes before we moved from under the car, then ran quickly toward the nearest pay phone. Charlene called her mother and told her to pick us up at the corner. When she slammed the phone back onto the receiver, I felt this part of the ordeal was over. But I knew that there would be something just as traumatizing waiting for me at home.
The ride to my house was surprisingly calm. As I sat in the backseat of the car, Charlene and her mother were deep in conversation. What was so surprising was the tone of the discussion. Although her mother was obviously disappointed, she was still kind and loving. She listened. And when it came her turn to speak, she did it with more concern than anger. I wondered if Charlene understood how great she had it, and then I thought about what would happen when I walked through the door at my house. My heart began to race and I was having difficulty breathing.
From the ride in the car to the long walk to the front door, I was blank. I don’t remember everything clearly during that short stretch of time, but I do remember my mother answering the door. Without even blinking, she grabbed me by my hair and threw me to the ground. She began to punch and kick my head, neck, and chest.
She screamed, “You smell like sex! You’re disgusting! Go take a shower!”
I was waiting for Charlene’s mother to jump in and save me, but she and Charlene stood in our front doorway with shocked looks on their faces. Charlene’s mother had worked for the child welfare and protection department, so I knew she was accustomed to helping children in my situation. Off duty now, she did nothing as my mother beat blood out of my face right there before her.
My mother never once stopped to ask what had happened. She never once expressed concern or worry about me. Never asked if I was all right. She automatically attacked me and made me feel dirty and low…the same way I had felt in that hotel room.
The next thing I remember is being thrown into a scalding shower. There was no punishment that could compare to what I had just endured—being held captive and raped. The near-boiling water hit my skin and I blacked out. I slid down to the floor of the tub and curled into a fetal position. I was so drained and so empty I didn’t even cry.
The water washed away the physical evidence of what happened the night before. But the emotional scars would remain. Later that day, I was looking out of my bedroom window, watching the other kids play. Things were back to normal and I was not allowed outside except to go to school. I turned on my radio and there was Patti LaBelle singing “Somebody Loves You.” I listened closely to the words of the song. It was the first time I had heard them and it touched me to the core. Oh, how I wanted Patti to be right.
I cried as I watched the kids outside. I wanted to be one of them, happy and free. I wanted to be able to play, to be without worry or fear, but I knew I was different. I was not happy and I would never again be a child.
I did not mature the way I should have. I was always nervous and always afraid. I had no confidence in myself and largely withdrew from everyone. I was so nervous I wet the bed and sucked my thumb constantly up until high school. The bed-wetting happened every night, without fail. Again, my mother was never concerned with the reasons why; she just made me feel bad and disgusting because of it. She verbally attacked me every morning when I woke up in a pool of my own urine, which only made me more nervous. This was a vicious cycle and I wanted out.