Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [50]
“I can’t pick it up while you’re holding my hands,” she said. Uncle Leroy released one of her hands, and when she reached for the pig’s foot, he pushed her hand into his crotch and held it there. He stuck his tongue in her ear, then gave her a sloppy, wet kiss on the mouth, pushing his tongue against her tightly clenched teeth.
“Don’t fight me, baby. We gonna have us a little fun, that’s all. Don’t it feel good? Take it easy. Your old uncle can make you feel real good, if you just relax a little.” He let go of her hands and pulled her face to his, but she turned away before he could kiss her again. He stuck his tongue deep into her ear and slid his hands under her blouse, fondling the nipples on her flat chest.
Rhonda was rigid. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t move. What was he doing? He told her she could call him Daddy; after all, he provided for her and her brother, he gave her piggyback rides and told her funny stories. Was he so drunk that he thought she was Aunt Nadine? He wasn’t supposed to be doing these things to her. She was sure of that. Did he think he could do the nasty to her because she stole his money? Did he think she wouldn’t tell on him because then he would tell on her? He had torn her blouse and now he was ripping off her panties. He was mumbling about fun and how beautiful she was. He was unzipping his pants. He was forcing her down onto her back and climbing on top of her. She was sorry for what she did. She had told God how sorry she was. His weight was crushing her, his rough, callused hands were scratching and bruising her private parts. She’d willingly give up the bubble bath if only he’d stop pushing his thing into her. He was hurting her. He was making her pay. There was nothing she could do but lie there while he grunted obscenities in her ear and told her he loved her.
The chill of the bathroom floor was coming right up through the towels and penetrating my spine. How many times? How many times do I have to live through that? As many times as necessary, until it no longer makes you sick to your stomach. I was freezing. Get in the tub. Get back in the tub and wash this crap away. Naked, I crawled over to the tub. The bathroom seemed to be filled with the stench of stale liquor on an old man’s breath. I turned on the hot water full blast. This time, I even put the Jacuzzi jets on. Reaching for the lavender oil, I fought the urge to vomit. Just breathe!
But I could hear Rhonda crying in my mind. I could see her lying there, mute, numb, violated, frightened, and guilty. I forgive myself! I forgive myself! I forgive myself! Why does it take so long for the tub to get full? I could feel Rhonda’s eyes piercing my heart. I could feel her pain in the pit of my stomach. She was waiting to see what I was going to do. Rhonda wanted to know if someone, anyone, was going to help her. To save her. To protect her. I am not a victim. I am not his victim! Not today. Not ever again! The words didn’t help. I was about to have a combination-tear experience. As my shoulders slumped and I lowered my butt onto the freezing tile floor, big, hot salty tears fell from my eyes, streamed down my face, and rolled down my breasts. I felt so bad for her. He had taken her innocence before she even had breasts.
When a little girl is being violated, her mind will escape from her body and wander randomly. She won’t smell the stench of liquor on her violator’s foul breath, she won’t feel his callused palms on her flat chest, nor will she suffer the pain of his grown-man’s penis ripping the virginal tissue of her vagina. Instead, she might wonder if her mother is really dead; she might wonder why her father didn’t have the time or desire to provide for her and her brother; or she might wonder how she would explain the grease stains on the sofa from the pig’s foot she still