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A solitary tear slipped down her cheek. Her grief was meaningless to him as his daughter stifled her sobs. "Shut Up Carlene!" He whispered hoarsely"You'll wake up your sisters next door!" The coarse sound of his pants zipper sent shivers of dread and relief down her spine. He turned away impatiently and wiped his shrinking penis clean of their juices. Her only clean cotton shirt for school that morning was now soiled and would stink badly. As her father stumbled drunkenly away, her ruined blouse became the focus of her pain and anger instead of her aching vagina. She turned towards the wall, pulling a soiled sheet around her naked body. When the pain inside her eased somewhat, she dozed off into a fitful sleep, some momentary relief from her stark reality.
She lay on a hand me down mattress deposited carelessly on the bare floor in a corner of her room. A few faded fan boy posters were tacked haphazardly on the walls in an attempt at normalcy. Their tacky images seem to mock her situation. The room was small but looked larger because of the scant furnishings. They were sparse with a chair of questionable use, a rickety table of poor structure, a ragged rug frayed around the edges and cardboard boxes for her meager belongings. Her bed clothes were strewn beside the mattress on the floor like so many old rags...
She overslept for school that morning so she threw on her shirt and pulled some worn jeans from a box. Her hand-me-down boots from a sister; scuffed and worn; had been kicked into a corner earlier that morning by her father's drunken stumble, and rushed down the stairs.
Her mother stood gazing out the window admiring the look of the cute blouses the other two daughters wore on their way to school. She turned and looked at Carlene in disdain. "You're late for school!" was her sharp greeting, as she took in her other daughter’s disheveled appearance. "Didn't you sleep well? feigning concern. Her face darkened as she remembered the bed springs squeaking the night before. She burned with anger…at Carlene! How could she have allowed her father to creep into her bed the night before?
She had lain very still in the darkness as he silently opened their bedroom door, although the squeaking floor seemed preternaturally loud. When she heard the intermittent creaking of the stairs being lightly trod, she knew...
"Why can't you be more like your sisters!" she said crossly, "We've already had breakfast and you can't expect me to fix you anything now." She looked at her daughter with thinly concealed contempt. "You look like somebody's morning after" sniffing at her odor. Carlene was crestfallen. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier? How come they have breakfast and I don't?" Her mother turned away and poured more coffee in her cup. "It's not my fault you were up at all hours and slept in." She said softly, turning towards her with disgust. "Best get your books and coat and get out...the door!" Her mother's sudden vehemence startled Carlene into action. "And at least brush your hair even if your clothes are a mess! Why can't you be more like your sisters..."
Mother contemplated her daughter's solitary figure running hastily down the street with a frown and shook her head. In spite of herself, repressed memories came at her in an unexpected rush! She gritted her teeth and let out a silent moan as she relived the night before. The humiliation of experiencing countless nights of debauchery by her husband burned like a fire through her soul. What if rumors got out about such an awful sin! All her good friends at church would snub her! They would have to sell their house in shame and move elsewhere! Why does that daughter entice her husband to such depraved action! It's her fault and I can't help it! Justified in her mind that she was still an unwilling victim and Carlene got what she deserved! She stacked her other daughter's breakfast dishes in the sink and daydreamed about the titillating characters in the next episode of her favorite soap opera. All her friends watched it and the gossip was so juicy when they got together on the phones afterwards…
The last scattered students disappeared into their classes as Carlene ran down the empty hall. The Assistant Principal; Mr. Duncan watched her from around a corner, stroking himself with mounting anticipation. When he suddenly stepped out in front of her, she was unable to stop in time. His groping arms pulled her close and she cried out in surprise! Holding her tight and leering at her suggestively, he said "Careful Carlene, we don't want a disturbance, I might have to take you in my office!" grinning arrogantly, he held her close long enough to allow his swollen penis to prod at her crotch. She turned away for help, but the halls were empty and she was alone again. His grip tightened as she struggled uselessly! "Late again, Hey Carlene?" sniffing at her soiled shirt, he leered "I can tell somebody got here first...That's okay, Sloppy seconds works for me!" Carlene went limp and compliant, knowing the pain was worse when she fought back...the past bruises could not heal! Without warning, her Art teacher Mrs. Thorne came around the corner with supplies from the storeroom. The Assistant Principal loosened his grip on Carlene and she broke away from his grasp. She looked gratefully at her teacher as she fled down the hall. Although Mrs. Thorne was well aware personally of Mr. Duncan’s proclivity for young girls, (Womanizing Freak) she feigned ignorance of the abusive scene and went to her class. After all, it was none of her business! What could she do when HE was in charge…
The popular girls tittered among themselves when Carlene walked in tardy for class. She had been so flustered by the assault in the hall that she had forgotten to get a note from the office! Mrs. Witte brooked no nonsense from her students. She met Carlene at the door. “What were you thinking of” her high-pitched voice cracking with irritation ”not only disrespecting this class by being fifteen minutes late but with no note and your clothes are filthy…what is that disagreeable odor?” Carlene blushed beet-red with embarrassment as the titters turned to full blown snorts and guffaws. The teacher realized what kind of scene the class was witnessing and chose to raise her voice theatrically “And before you come back with a note from Mr. Duncan, stop in the Ladies Room and “freshen” up” The entire class erupted in derisive laughter!
Carlene’s heart plummeted as she realized the note would require the Assistant Principal's signature. She slowly exited the room and turned towards Mr. Duncan’s office. The student’s careless laughter faded into obscurity as she thought of Mr. Duncan’s evil grin and lascivious ways. Should she tell the Principal; Mr. Thornapple; about the incident? She had overheard the principals while sitting in the bleachers making ribald remarks about some of the older girls. They both enjoyed the ‘titties' bouncing suggestively while they were jogging on the track. He might be abusive as abusive as Mr. Duncan and want more than her word to make it right. No one would understand her fear of sexual assault. Her truth was Worthless against a man’s lie. Could she trust them or were they like her father? What would Mother say…
The screen door slammed shut behind Carlene as she entered the back door to the kitchen ready to put this awful day behind her! The principals were nasty and suggested she perform fellatio to avoid detention. She had shook her head and stared at the squares of discolored linoleum tile. After Mr. Thornapple went back to his office, Mr. Duncan threw the wadded note at her feet and told her to keep her mouth shut! It’s got to get better. Oh Yeah, she would sneak one of her sister’s precious Pepsi Colas and go to her room and read her fan magazines! She had some new 45’s of Donny Osmond singing such dreamy songs and she couldn’t wait to stretch out on her mattress and relax. It would be alright then.
The refrigerator was stacked with her father’s cheap beer and the Pepsi was in the very back. When she stretched to reach for the can in the corner her butt was patted suggestively. Carlene yelped and bumped her head on the freezer door backing suddenly from the fridge. She smelled him before she saw him as the smell of nicotine and cheap liquor clung to her father like a noxious cloud. “Don’t be knockin’ my beer over, girl or I might have to smack that ass harder next time we get together!” His mouth contorted into his sick version of a fatherly smile, laughed, belched and grabbed another beer. She had forgotten her father would be home early that Friday afternoon. Her heart sank when she saw a half dozen empty beer cans strung across the coffee table and an ashtray near to overflowing with butts. Father’s eyes were already bloodshot and his words were slurred making her immediately wary. “Hey Carlene, Mama and the daughters will be late shoppin’ for their school clothes tonight”. He absentmindedly scratched at his crotch focusing on her miniscule breasts. “Maybe I’ll be up to see you after another beer or two.” Father licked his lips and pulled a nauseating grin around his rotting teeth…
Carlene’s refuge had become her prison. She realized this as she ran up the stairs to her room. There was now no escape from father’s pokin’ and proddin’! Her only hope was if he drank himself into a stupor and passed out.
The records didn’t seem as romantic now and her tattered “Tiger Beat” and “Teen” magazines weren’t quite as cool as she expected. She wanted to play the music louder but what if it made father mad and he wanted to ”punish” her for bothering him? If the music was too loud, she wouldn’t hear him mounting the steps.
After changing into some of her sister’s old torn sweatpants and a cleaner T-Shirt. The constant concern over the sound of creaking stairs sucked any joy from the room. She tried to relax but her stress mounted and her heart raced. Was that him! She clutched a soiled sheet around her body and strained her ears for…
Carlene vaguely realized that the water in the tub was turning a bright pink. It was of little concern to her except it was a pretty shade of fuchsia and slowly getting darker. Afterwards, she had heard her father stumbling down the stairs and she had heard the bedsprings protest as he threw himself on his bed. Huddled in the fetal position on a corner of her mattress, the smell of sexual rut and stale beer made her ill. She had shuffled unsteadily to the toilet and puked up her sister’s soda and finally a hateful green bile. She didn’t remember when she had made up her mind but the decision had given her a calm that was a sweet balm to her tortured soul. The water felt warm and comforting and she felt her heart beating frantically searching to circulate blood that was draining away. Her sluggish brain was whispering a comforting mantra “No more sexual abuse, no more humiliation at school, no more ruthless teasing by her sisters, no more ragged clothes and missed gifts. NO MORE PAIN. She felt so drowsy now…the razor blade had easily slipped out of her father’s safety razor into her palm and she almost dropped it. Involuntarily clutching the falling object, the sharp edges cut into her fingers and the crimson drops further stained her filthy clothes. Carlene felt little suffering when she dully wiped her bleeding palm on her greasy sweatpants.
Her clothes were puddled in disarray beside the cracked porcelain of the tub. The water reached her waist and covered her breasts and shoulders as she leaned back into the soothing water. Father had been louder and far rougher on her body this time since they had the house to themselves. The memories of his drooling drunken grunts and curses were slowly fading into oblivion, NO MORE PAIN. And when discovered, she was smiling peacefully…
The red lights flashed their pale faces alternating pink and white as the body-filled gurney was rolled towards the open ambulance doors. One arm slipped from the sheets and exposed the bloody bandages hastily wrapped around her wrist. A muted murmur raced through the curious crowd and all eyes turned on the mother. She stood at the head of the crowd wringing an embroidered hankerchief with newly manicured fingers. She was doing her best to feign tears while maintaining her mascara. Her face was pulled into an expression of grief she felt proper for the moment. Her daughters clung to her, careful not to wrinkle their new blouses. They matched their Mothers attitude carefully and mimicked her expression of anguish on display for the crowd's appetite for…
Consciousness was an incremental process. She first became aware of a low, monotonous cacophony of beeping; dragging her from a place of peace and NO PAIN! Sluggish memories drifting disjointly, were disturbing and repellent. Survival hung in the balance as another pint of blood drained into her depleted veins. Vivid scenarios played in her mind, causing sudden shudders, increased heart rate and a Doctor's attention. His concern was not only for the patient but his waning career in the hospital. A nurse was directed to add another pint of blood and the Doctor increased the medicinal drip hoping for a revival of his patient and his credibility.
Her body slowly buoyed her somnolent mind to full consciousness. She studied the light red shade of the inside of her eyelids curiously as the sun illuminated her room. The Doctor bustled in and leaned over Carlene with his stethoscope, with the sharp bite of the cold instrument her eyes flew open and her pupils became pinpoints in the glare. Memories solidified in her mind of the past atrocities committed against her body and mind. The Doctor was overjoyed his patient appeared to be on the road to wellness and his fragile ego was saved! “And how are we today, young lady?” with practiced professional courtesy. Carlene looked around the stark semi-private cubicle and saw no cards or flowers wishing her well, no family sitting close hoping for recovery and realized she was devoid of any support. She frowned and turned her face away from the bright light and to the Doctor's chagrin, he saw that a solitary tear slipped down her cheek.
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Hello Randy, Reedsy Critics put me in touch.
A terrible story you write. And when I say "terrible" I mean in the literal sense in the terror it causes your principal character (or protagonist or heroine). Because you write very well so it's certainly not terrible in the way the word is tossed around these days. And no she's not really a protagonist. She does very little; things are done to her.
It's a bleak story certainly and you also style it "creative non-fiction" so depending on what that means in the context of the story (which is none of my business) I hope that it did not cause you too much pain. That's rather wishy-washy on my part; what I really mean is that if something propelled you to write this, I hope the act of writing proved helpful and cathartic in some way.
The characters here are either inherently evil, the father and the two male teachers, or people unwilling, or at the very least unable, to help poor Carlene, and too preoccupied with their own external image. Her mother, from whom she should expect the most, clearly has an unhappy and brutalising marriage but despite all she knows of her husband she seems more concerned with what other people will think if bits of the tale seep out, and instead takes refuge in anodyne soaps. Oh and some church too. Indeed she seems to blame Carlene which can only be to absolve her and her refusal to even try to help,
The female teachers are no better, content to let the most awful of things drift. While the male teachers are simply despicable, more so one might feel than the father whose relationship with his family has perverted horribly where they are outsiders whom any youngster who comes under their care should be able to rely on and trust.
The mother at the hospital, presumably a safe environment, behaves no better than before. And the sisters are picking up their mother's policy of trying to make things look fine to the rest of the world. Strange how stories tend to feature three sisters, one the abused outsider contrasted with the other two. Think Lear, think Cinderella.
And then finally the doctor. He too is concerned only with his reputation and lacks any empathy, or regard for his Hippocratic Oath. Nobody is spared in this story. The men are all demonic but the women are not really any better. Though they might protest they effectively collude with their menfolk and excuse their inactivity with their lowlier station at home and in education.
Carlene has nobody. Her life is like a nightmare- perhaps (but more likely perhaps not) it is. There is certainly plenty of evil in the world, but plenty of good too. Somewhere there are people who will help. The problem is getting to them and telling them. For a long time a child's word counted for nothing against an adult's and to an extent at least a woman's against a man. That has changed, and for a while at least, until things find their new balance, perhaps a little too far.
This is a well-written story, Randy, vivid, horribly vivid (a statement not an accusation). This is after all a very difficult story to read.
All the best. Ian
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