Harp's Song (13 page)

I’m incredibly stunned right now. The woman who has been telling me to stop playing “that racket” just openly admitted to playing the violin, the piano and to singing. I always wondered where my musical ability came from, and had assumed it was from my dad. Since we were never close enough to talk about family, I had also assumed she didn’t have parents or anyone else. I do remember asking her once if I had grandparents after we celebrated Grandparents appreciation day in elementary school, but her “No!” scared me enough to never bring it up again.

“I was always a little quieter than Ginny,” she continues. “She was popular and beautiful and despite the difference in our ages we were really close. She was my best friend. By the time she was a freshman in college, I was a freshman in high school. Ginny looked just like mom—she had shimmering blonde hair and piercing blue eyes combined with a lighter shade of dad’s olive skin. I took after Dad with his dark hair and dark eyes, but I have my mom’s smooth, porcelain white skin. If you looked at the two of us together it was impossible to think that we were sisters, which made us laugh sometimes.”

She pauses now and I have so many thoughts and questions running through my head that I’m trying to push them away, just so I can process what she’s telling me. I wait for her to speak again while curling myself into a ball on the couch.

“When I was a senior in high school, Ginny was finishing up at Michigan State and had a steady boyfriend, Alex. They had been dating seriously for about a year and a half. They were the perfect couple. His looks complemented Ginny’s and he was smart. His dad managed his own law practice in Michigan and Alex had been accepted to law school at Northwestern in Chicago. Ginny and Alex found an apartment close enough to campus for him, yet close enough to the train so they could still come see us. My parents were thrilled—Alex was a good catch. He was handsome, on the road to success and very respectful and conservative. That summer, after they had graduated and moved into their apartment I heard Ginny and my mom talking about whether or not Alex was going to propose soon.”

She shakes her head and holds her mug so tight I can see her knuckles turn white.

“Are you ok? We can take a break,” I tell her.

She looks up at me and I see her eyes are filled with salty water and when she blinks, fat tears roll down her face.

She shakes her head, “No … I need to tell you this so you understand me a little more. And, I need you to know so that we can move forward.” She pauses, but quickly continues, “I hate the way I’ve been with you. I can’t even call myself a mother because I know you’ve raised yourself. You are so beautiful and strong and talented and I hate myself for all these years I’ve …” she succumbs to tears and can’t finish talking.

I nod my head and after setting her mug down, she brushes the tears from her face with her hands and takes a deep breath.

“At the end of June, my parents hosted their annual summer BBQ at the house. It was a yearly tradition for our neighbors and family friends. The younger neighbor kids were playing, while the rest of us older kids were hanging out. The adults congregated around the grill and picnic tables eating and drinking. Ginny and Alex were there too and after I had eaten, I decided I was tired of the party and went to my room. I was never a very social person. I didn’t have any close friends. I was so focused on my music and entrance to college, that I spent all my free time practicing or at music lessons or studying. It wasn’t unusual for me to disappear into my room even with a house full of guests. Once I got to my room, I put on one of my favorite classical pieces … Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov. I’m sure you’re familiar with it … ” she looks at me.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” I agree.

“I was listening to that with my headphones on to help drown out the noise and music coming from outside. I sat on the floor and was halfway through a quiz in Cosmo magazine, when I looked up to see Alex leaning against my closed bedroom door. He and I had never been alone before, and I couldn’t figure out why he was in my room instead of outside with everyone else. I was getting ready to pull my headphones off, but stopped when he walked to my stereo and pulled the headphone cord out of the stereo jack. The music filled my room while he sat down on the floor and pulled my headphones off. I watched his eyes roam over my face, down to my chest, and back to my eyes. I finally found my voice and asked him what he was doing in my room, and he said that he was there to see me. The way he said it, it was like nothing out of the ordinary. But, it felt weird so I told him he should leave and he laughed … he just laughed. Finally he asked me why I wasn’t happy to see him?”

“I didn’t know what to say so I just told him I thought it was weird that he was in there with me. Next he asked me if Ginny and I shared our things. I was so confused that I just shrugged my shoulders. He laughed again and said, ‘Well, I’m practically family and will be soon, so I think we should share something …,’ she starts crying heavier now and there’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Mom, are you saying …” I can’t even finish my sentence because I think I know what happens next and my thoughts are not coherent anymore. I wait for her to expel the emotion that’s overcome her before she looks me in the eyes and begins again.

“I was seventeen years old and so naïve. I asked him if he wanted to borrow some music and he chuckled at me. He reached for a piece of my long hair and tucked it behind my ears and said ‘no, I think I’d like to share you.’ And … then, he leaned in and kissed me. It took me a few seconds to realize what he was doing and as soon as I did, I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away from me. I asked him what the hell he was doing and he said ‘we’re sharing.’ I told him I didn’t want to share like that and he brushed me off. Since we were on the floor, I moved away from him and got on my bed. Stupidly, I was sitting flush against my headboard when he got on the bed and caged me with his arms,” she pauses.

“I tried to push him off my bed but he was too strong. He grabbed my legs and pulled them down away from my chest. Suddenly he was on top of me with his arms restraining me. I was so shocked with the speed and strength that he used to pull me down underneath him that I wasn’t aware of him kissing me until my lips felt like they were being bruised. I shook my head from side to side trying to release him and when I got away from his mouth, I begged him to stop … over and over again. But he didn’t.”

The look on her face tells me everything I need to know. There’s sadness, hurt, anger and remorse flashing through her eyes and I know how the rest of this story goes. I’m not sure I want to hear it. I’ve almost convinced myself to leave when she stops me.

“Harp, I know this is a horrible story to share with you and I know you probably think I’m being selfish right now by telling you this, because Lord knows you don’t deserve the pain this is causing you. Honestly, I need you to know these things about me so I can fix myself and fix us. I’ve been such a horrible person, mother and I want that to change.”

“I …,” I don’t know what to say, “Go on.”

We sit in silence for probably ten minutes before she takes a deep breath, steadying herself so she can continue.

“Once he was on top of me and I couldn’t get away from him, he pulled my arms above my head and held them there with one hand while he used his other hand to rub different parts of my body. Foolishly, I was wearing a dress that day, so when his hand moved up under my dress I knew he wasn’t going to stop. He pushed my dress up and pulled my underwear down. I remember him saying more crude, disgusting things. All of it made my stomach curl and I thought I was going to vomit. When I caught a breath from his brutal kisses, I screamed. After that he hit me across the face and threatened me. I was your age—and so scared. I was supposed to trust this man who was living with my sister and who was probably going to be my brother-in-law. My parents loved him and so did everyone else, so I obeyed him even though I was terrified. Besides, no one had come to check on me after the first scream so I knew it was useless to keep doing it. My whole body stiffened when I heard his zipper, and then I started sobbing. In between breaths, I would beg for him to stop but he didn’t. The pain was …” she pauses to catch her breath from the tears that rack her body at the memory, “I’ve never felt anything so horrible. It felt like millions of tiny needles pricking my insides. He clasped his other hand over my mouth and said some revolting things about me being a virgin. I couldn’t do anything but lay there stiff as a board crying, waiting for him to finish. When it was over he smiled at me sweetly, and told me this was our little secret and that no one else needed to know. Of course if I did tell anyone they wouldn’t believe me, but he didn’t just leave it at that. He also threatened to hurt me again if I did try to tell anyone and he found out.”

“Once he put himself back together he left me in my room. I remember curling into a ball, shaking and crying. A few hours later, I heard people leaving and realized my parents would be up to check on me. I couldn’t have them come in and see me like this.”

“When I got up, I looked at my bed and there was … there was blood all over my comforter and I freaked out. I pulled everything off my bed and threw it in a ball inside my closet until I could throw them away. I wiped my face and got new sheets from the hall, put them on my bed and then got in the shower. I hurt so bad that I sat in the tub for a long time, letting the hot water pour over me while I cried and cried. I knew I could do that safely in there since no one would hear me over the water. Once the water started turning cold, I got out and dried off. I looked at myself in the mirror and made a decision right there—to never think about what had happened again. I knew it would be hard for anyone to believe me since everyone loved him, but also because he was going to be a lawyer and his dad was a big shot attorney that would defend him no matter what. He knew that too and had used that to his advantage. I …”

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick …” I interrupt her to run to the bathroom. After depositing the contents of my stomach into the toilet, I hold my knees to my chest and process everything she just said. When I get it together, I return to the couch, I curl myself into a ball and face her.

“I can’t believe he did that to you,” I tell her. “He’s an asshole who deserves to be locked up.”

“You want to know the worst part?”

“I think I’ve already heard the worst part,” I replied.

“No, the worst part is he ruined Scheherazade for me. I can’t listen to it anymore since it was playing through my room the entire time he was there,” she says harshly.

“I could hear it in the background and I tried to focus on the notes floating in the air to separate myself from what was really happening, but it didn’t work and now … well, now it haunts me and makes me remember. I’ve spent so much time trying not to remember.”

A lone tear escapes as we share that loss … something we can relate to. The power of music is a mystery. It can make you feel so many emotions … it can make you happy, somber, angry. It can make you want to stop what you’re doing and dance, it can make you remember people and moments in your life that were special. It’s a wonderful, crazy and powerfully beautiful thing and sadly, I understand exactly what she is saying.

“I’ve been living with this by myself for so long. When I decided to get help, I knew I would have to tell my story before I could move forward. Are you ok? Are you ready for the rest of it?”

I nod.

“Since it was already the end of June, I told myself I could get through the next month or so before leaving for college. Once I was gone, though, I wasn’t turning back. I was going to stay as far away from him as possible. That night I tossed and turned. Every time I fell asleep, I would wake up sweating and crying from a dream where I remembered everything he did. It felt so real. I spent the next days in my room drifting between sleep and crying. I told my parents I wasn’t feeling good so they would give me some space.”

“But, by July fourth I couldn’t pretend I was sick anymore because there was no way I could miss going to Navy Pier with my family. We’d gone every year for as long as I could remember. The unfortunate part was that we were meeting Ginny and Alex there, and I was a basket case preparing myself to see him again. When we met them, he acted as if nothing had happened. Once the fireworks started, everyone’s attention shifted to Ginny and Alex as he got on one knee and professed his undying love for her, and asked her to marry him. She said yes, of course and everyone was hugging except me. I couldn’t stand to be touched much less held in a hug where I felt trapped, so I let everyone else gush over the happy couple.”

“The only thing I didn’t think about was my Dad. Even though my mom and I had always been close—because of our shared love of music—my Dad was my hero. I loved him and I was a total Daddy’s girl—more so than Ginny. We just had a special bond. When I withdrew from everyone after Alex’s proposal, he noticed and asked me to take a walk with him. I didn’t want to, but I knew I couldn’t avoid him without raising more suspicion.”

“As we started to walk away, I looked back at my sister and mom. I saw them hugging and knew they were already talking wedding plans. But, what caught me was Alex. He was watching me with a smug, satisfied look on his face. I immediately turned around and focused on my Dad. We got some ice cream and sat on a bench, and then he asked me what was going on. I played it off—spouting things like change and college and missing everyone. He nodded and told me all the right things, but when we got up to join everyone else, he turned to face me and told me that he loved me and reminded me that I could always come to him. He hugged me and the floodgates opened. I couldn’t look at him but promised that I would let him know if I needed him.”

She looks into her mug of now-cold tea with a distant look in her eyes, “I skated through the next month or so. I endlessly listened to wedding crap from my mom and Ginny, but I spent most of my time playing the piano or violin or listening to music in my room. I had started a countdown to Vanderbilt on my calendar to keep me focused. One night, I was crossing off the day feeling hopeful because I was leaving soon. But when I crossed that day off, I realized that I had missed my period …” she stops and looks at me and it hits me like a quick, hard punch to the gut.