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Authors: Michelle Bellon
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ra…”
At that, I spun on my heel, stuck my finger
in Sabrina’s face, and raised my voice through clenched teeth, “Don’t you say
that! Don’t you dare say that word to me! I didn’t say no. I didn’t scream. I
didn’t even struggle that much. It is what it is. Now just drop it!” I demanded
vehemently, my insides quaking with emotion.
Sabrina stared at me in the pale moonlight,
recognition and then sadness registering.
SABRINA: That’s when I knew. I could see so much raw emotion on her face
reflecting the violation of her innocence, the ripping away of part of her
youth that my throat closed up and I had to fight back tears. My voice sounded
meek as I heard myself whisper into the night, “Okay.”
I just wanted to reach out and hug her but
I was afraid of how she would react. She looked enraged and fierce yet somehow
simultaneously fragile to the point that she might crumble and break if touched
wrongly.
I stepped back. I sighed, “Thank you. I
just want to go home. All right?” I was counting on Sabrina to be the friend
that I needed her to be, whatever that required.
We stuffed away the hurt, the secret of the
night and walked on in the early morning hours, our friendship cemented in that
moment of bonded silence.
Chapter 7
SABRINA: I was consumed with worry for Roshell the rest of the weekend but
decided to give her space and feel things out on Monday morning.
I found myself lost in a never ending cycle
of guilt ridden thoughts as I envisioned multiple scenes of her nightmarish
experience and wondered how I might have prevented it. Where had things gone
wrong?
I’m berating myself for not following my
instincts. I had recognized that there was something wrong with the way Erin
behaved, the way he peered at you with his black troublesome gaze.
I am absolutely beside myself and fear for
how Roshell will hold up.
As I headed out to the bus stop early
Monday I hoped that Roshell would be out there early too, being that it was the
first day of the school year. This would allow us some alone time in case she
needed to talk. But as I neared the stop I noticed that a few other students
were already there. But not Roshell.
I started to feel panicky and looked
towards her trailer just as the front door swung open. Roshell bounded down the
steps practically skipping down the dirt lane and instead of feeling relieved
the sight only made me feel worse.
A part of me hoped I had mistaken the
events of Saturday night. But I knew that I hadn’t.
Roshell was obviously putting on a very convincing
act of “all is normal.”
I’m not comfortable with this at all but
have decided to follow along in this charade for as long as she needs me to.
I cannot describe to you how odd it felt to
listen to her ramble on about how much of a pain her cousins had been on Sunday
while she was babysitting and all the while I knew that she was aching and
screaming on the inside.
Over the next few weeks, she was truly
convincing and if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew the truth, even I wouldn’t
have noticed the slight changes in her.
To most, all seems well. She is still
sociable with our group, she is still dedicated to her dancing, and her humor
is just as sharp as ever. The changes are subtle, her acting ability is Oscar
worthy in my opinion.
But I’m not fooled. I’ve noticed that
Roshell’s appetite is suffering and she picks her way through lunch, stirring
things around so that it looks as if she’s eating. Oftentimes I will catch her
staring off into the distance with a disenchanted look on her face until she
catches herself and immediately re-engages, forcing a smile
It bothers me. I want to fix it. I’m so
used to being able to divert people from their pain by making a snide remark or
going off about some pointless subject, making everyone laugh. But this time,
none of my antics are appropriate. I’m at a loss.
The only time she ever mentioned anything
that even referred to that
At that, I spun on my heel, stuck my finger
in Sabrina’s face, and raised my voice through clenched teeth, “Don’t you say
that! Don’t you dare say that word to me! I didn’t say no. I didn’t scream. I
didn’t even struggle that much. It is what it is. Now just drop it!” I demanded
vehemently, my insides quaking with emotion.
Sabrina stared at me in the pale moonlight,
recognition and then sadness registering.
SABRINA: That’s when I knew. I could see so much raw emotion on her face
reflecting the violation of her innocence, the ripping away of part of her
youth that my throat closed up and I had to fight back tears. My voice sounded
meek as I heard myself whisper into the night, “Okay.”
I just wanted to reach out and hug her but
I was afraid of how she would react. She looked enraged and fierce yet somehow
simultaneously fragile to the point that she might crumble and break if touched
wrongly.
I stepped back. I sighed, “Thank you. I
just want to go home. All right?” I was counting on Sabrina to be the friend
that I needed her to be, whatever that required.
We stuffed away the hurt, the secret of the
night and walked on in the early morning hours, our friendship cemented in that
moment of bonded silence.
Chapter 7
SABRINA: I was consumed with worry for Roshell the rest of the weekend but
decided to give her space and feel things out on Monday morning.
I found myself lost in a never ending cycle
of guilt ridden thoughts as I envisioned multiple scenes of her nightmarish
experience and wondered how I might have prevented it. Where had things gone
wrong?
I’m berating myself for not following my
instincts. I had recognized that there was something wrong with the way Erin
behaved, the way he peered at you with his black troublesome gaze.
I am absolutely beside myself and fear for
how Roshell will hold up.
As I headed out to the bus stop early
Monday I hoped that Roshell would be out there early too, being that it was the
first day of the school year. This would allow us some alone time in case she
needed to talk. But as I neared the stop I noticed that a few other students
were already there. But not Roshell.
I started to feel panicky and looked
towards her trailer just as the front door swung open. Roshell bounded down the
steps practically skipping down the dirt lane and instead of feeling relieved
the sight only made me feel worse.
A part of me hoped I had mistaken the
events of Saturday night. But I knew that I hadn’t.
Roshell was obviously putting on a very convincing
act of “all is normal.”
I’m not comfortable with this at all but
have decided to follow along in this charade for as long as she needs me to.
I cannot describe to you how odd it felt to
listen to her ramble on about how much of a pain her cousins had been on Sunday
while she was babysitting and all the while I knew that she was aching and
screaming on the inside.
Over the next few weeks, she was truly
convincing and if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew the truth, even I wouldn’t
have noticed the slight changes in her.
To most, all seems well. She is still
sociable with our group, she is still dedicated to her dancing, and her humor
is just as sharp as ever. The changes are subtle, her acting ability is Oscar
worthy in my opinion.
But I’m not fooled. I’ve noticed that
Roshell’s appetite is suffering and she picks her way through lunch, stirring
things around so that it looks as if she’s eating. Oftentimes I will catch her
staring off into the distance with a disenchanted look on her face until she
catches herself and immediately re-engages, forcing a smile
It bothers me. I want to fix it. I’m so
used to being able to divert people from their pain by making a snide remark or
going off about some pointless subject, making everyone laugh. But this time,
none of my antics are appropriate. I’m at a loss.
The only time she ever mentioned anything
that even referred to that
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