Read Online The Elegant Gathering of White Snows by Kris Radish - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kris Radish
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it. “Don't tell anyone about this, Joanne. Just let me talk to your father about this.”
When my first daughter was born, sliding so easily from inside of me I knew for sure that birth was a miracle, I held Jess tightly, so close, I could not imagine anything or anyone ever coming between us. I promised her that second, the first time she looked into my eyes, that I would never let anyone hurt her, and if someone ever tried, they would pay a high price. They would have to face me. A mother. Her mother. Now my daughters are women themselves. Jess is seventeen, beautiful and wise, and Caitlin, at fifteen, has a glow of confidence and life that makes me stand back in amazement. They have made my story more demanding, more urgent.
Maybe you can guess the next part of my story. After I was sedated with a white pill and lying in my bed, Mother went to tell my father what happened. My father was an executive in a large manufacturing plant in Milwaukee who relied heavily on his community contacts. I don't know what his reaction was exactly, but I can imagine—I know my father's work was more important to him than anything, even me. I found that out when my mother came back to me an hour later. She was crying as she got into bed next to me. She whispered, as if she were the child, “Your father believes we should just pray that you don't get pregnant. He told me this will pass and you'll feel better.”
My mother was right about the feeling better part, but not about things passing. This treacherous event in my life never passed. The rest of my high school days I spent in a shell, counting the seconds until I could graduate and leave everyone and everything behind me.
In college, I had a chance to forget temporarily what had happened. I found new friends, people who didn't know me in high school. I dated, though it was practically impossible for me to let anyone get physically close. While the rest of my friends were all sleeping with each other, I was hovering in the background wondering how I would ever be able to let anyone touch me. One night I simply picked out the nicest guy I knew, consumed a large amount of alcohol and let him take me to bed. From what I can remember, he was gentle and kind but there was nothing remarkable about the sex. He didn't hurt me, so I joked to myself that I'd saved several thousand dollars in therapy fees.
I remained cautious after that. It was so difficult for me to trust men that I could barely stand to go out with anyone more than once. In a different world I would probably have chosen the company of women. My friends then gave me great comfort without even knowing that I had this tragic shadow sleeping behind my eyelids. All those girlfriends who shared my dorm rooms, came home with me on the weekends, studied with me all night and shared the secrets of their hearts and souls gave me hope. Somehow their support and love kept me from falling completely apart.
Loving one of my girlfriends romantically might have been a natural thing to do, but it really never dawned on me. Still I did love them. I loved Sharon when she let me put my head in her lap to comfort me without asking questions. I loved Meg for talking to me one night for six straight hours when I told her I was afraid of the dark. I loved Debbie for letting me go home with her two Christmases in a row so I wouldn't have to face my own parents.
I loved those girls like I love the girls right now who are walking with me, who have shown me how to feel the power of my own legs moving me down a highway that is as new and wonderful as anything I have ever seen.
If I only could have known the magic and power in this personal performance of ours, the knowledge could have saved me so much trouble all these years. I have spent countless hours reading books and articles about the lasting effects of rape on its victims. I have scanned the television listings for all those goofy talk shows where women talk about their own rape experiences,
When my first daughter was born, sliding so easily from inside of me I knew for sure that birth was a miracle, I held Jess tightly, so close, I could not imagine anything or anyone ever coming between us. I promised her that second, the first time she looked into my eyes, that I would never let anyone hurt her, and if someone ever tried, they would pay a high price. They would have to face me. A mother. Her mother. Now my daughters are women themselves. Jess is seventeen, beautiful and wise, and Caitlin, at fifteen, has a glow of confidence and life that makes me stand back in amazement. They have made my story more demanding, more urgent.
Maybe you can guess the next part of my story. After I was sedated with a white pill and lying in my bed, Mother went to tell my father what happened. My father was an executive in a large manufacturing plant in Milwaukee who relied heavily on his community contacts. I don't know what his reaction was exactly, but I can imagine—I know my father's work was more important to him than anything, even me. I found that out when my mother came back to me an hour later. She was crying as she got into bed next to me. She whispered, as if she were the child, “Your father believes we should just pray that you don't get pregnant. He told me this will pass and you'll feel better.”
My mother was right about the feeling better part, but not about things passing. This treacherous event in my life never passed. The rest of my high school days I spent in a shell, counting the seconds until I could graduate and leave everyone and everything behind me.
In college, I had a chance to forget temporarily what had happened. I found new friends, people who didn't know me in high school. I dated, though it was practically impossible for me to let anyone get physically close. While the rest of my friends were all sleeping with each other, I was hovering in the background wondering how I would ever be able to let anyone touch me. One night I simply picked out the nicest guy I knew, consumed a large amount of alcohol and let him take me to bed. From what I can remember, he was gentle and kind but there was nothing remarkable about the sex. He didn't hurt me, so I joked to myself that I'd saved several thousand dollars in therapy fees.
I remained cautious after that. It was so difficult for me to trust men that I could barely stand to go out with anyone more than once. In a different world I would probably have chosen the company of women. My friends then gave me great comfort without even knowing that I had this tragic shadow sleeping behind my eyelids. All those girlfriends who shared my dorm rooms, came home with me on the weekends, studied with me all night and shared the secrets of their hearts and souls gave me hope. Somehow their support and love kept me from falling completely apart.
Loving one of my girlfriends romantically might have been a natural thing to do, but it really never dawned on me. Still I did love them. I loved Sharon when she let me put my head in her lap to comfort me without asking questions. I loved Meg for talking to me one night for six straight hours when I told her I was afraid of the dark. I loved Debbie for letting me go home with her two Christmases in a row so I wouldn't have to face my own parents.
I loved those girls like I love the girls right now who are walking with me, who have shown me how to feel the power of my own legs moving me down a highway that is as new and wonderful as anything I have ever seen.
If I only could have known the magic and power in this personal performance of ours, the knowledge could have saved me so much trouble all these years. I have spent countless hours reading books and articles about the lasting effects of rape on its victims. I have scanned the television listings for all those goofy talk shows where women talk about their own rape experiences,
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