Tuesday, December 12, 2006
The Thing That Hurt The Most
As an undergraduate in a modern dance class, I had to watch my rapist perform a solo dance number to the sound of dolphins crying. He himself was portraying a dying dolphin and the idea if you will was that the other dolphins were trying to save him but he could only save himself and he did not and instead screamed the last minute of the performance, a minute being a very long time under such circumstances. This is the kind of bizarre scenario that people mean when they say, You can't make this shit up or It's a small world after all. The other students gazed in a state of shock and/or awe and wondered if they were witnessing genius or lunacy. Most of the others in the class had chosen to work in groups for the final, dancing to painful medleys off of tapes like The Best of Kenny G! I had signed up for the modern dance class because it would fulfill my physical education requirement (we had four), and I thought it might be fun in that Martha Graham/Twyla Tharp sort of way. As they say, it's a free country and my rapist must have thought the same thing.
Said rapist was an ex-boyfriend of mine who had broken into my parents' house with my one pair of pantyhose over his head, fed our German Shephard a Gainsburger to ensure her silence, stole some electrical tape out of my dad's garage and attacked me as I stepped out of the bathroom after taking a shower. I did not know it was him until it was over, and he pulled the electrical tape off my mouth. That, oddly, was the thing that hurt the most. I could feel the tape for years. Nobody knew what happened, and we had many of the same friends, so I was, upon occassion, in his company by chance. The strange thing about the attack was that I didn't fear him but I began to fear everything else. When something traumatic happens to you, you may understand it, but your body never does. The chemicals change as a result of shock. So there I was in class, surrounded mostly by women and the one asswipe on the dance floor, twirling like a dervish to portray his death as a dolphin. You cannot make this shit up. I clapped at the end like everyone else, not because I had enjoyed it, but because it was over.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"It is when power is wedded to chronic fear that it becomes formidable." Eric Hoffer
Drinking music suggestion: Turn Out the Stars Bill Evans
Benedictions and Maledictions