| 13 jun 99. | |
|
spinning: |
mike oldfield, far above the clouds (vince's voice of innocence re-edit). |
i turn up the mike oldfield remix and sit down on the carpet, sifting
through pamplets and flyers in my backpack.
the booklet is entitled "Armed With Words" -- a zine i received yesterday
at fiesta filipina, published by
san francisco women against rape. the pages contain poetry and
writings from teenage girls of all ethnic backgrounds, many of them
survivors.
my eyes catch an entry written by Mariko, 17:
Halfways down the block... the sound of a car engine behind me.
I turn around to see the a**holes sticking their heads out of the
windows following me in their car at about 5 miles per hour...
"HEY B*TCH! You're gonna get F*CKED!!!"
her words stop the air in my lungs. the music spins
and swirls around me,
the fragile child's voice in the mix becoming an apparition, taking shape,
and i'm transported,
to a street in the city, dark, nighttime, walking home ...
A faint voice, sobbing, pleading with someone ... "stay away
from me ..." The sound of powerlessness, with muted tones & stifled
fear, the withered voice of someone rapidly draining of will, the
voice of someone losing hope. It chills my bones, stops me dead in
my tracks.
"no ... help ..."
I'm already walking down the alley toward the assault. I can see
the assailant, bathed sickly in the residue of a dimmed streetlight,
a body's width away from the prey, moving toward her, as she backs
away awkwardly.
I have a few seconds granted to me. For him, there will be no
warning. He will be blindsided, traumatized.
My feet lightly pad the nighttime asphalt, each foot touching and
springing off of pavement like a gazelle bounding across a clearing.
Silently, purposefully.
The image of the two of them floats closer, as he begins reaching for
her wrist. She stumbles back, moving toward a dark wall.
Both of them too focused on the urgency of their situation to notice me.
My feet close the gap silently, dutifully. Rational thought has left
me, my mind running on instinct. I know instantly how many
seconds away I am from him -- contact will be made at precisely the
right moment, before her fear crosses over into violation, before
purgatory becomes hell. I can see five seconds into the future.
4...
3...
2...
1 ...
My arm snakes around his throat, crushing his esophagus and
his airflow. The hair on my arms bristle with goosebumps and
adrenalin. With a snarl, I yank him out and up by his head,
wishing I could dislodge it from his body,
sending him sprawling & skidding across dirty pavement.
He lifts his head up --
Scenes are now blazing madly, out of control ... of bone-solid elbow arc'ing across his face like a nightstick,
splintering cheekbone &
these images feed me, the rage building and building, plunging me
deeper into the dream ...
He staggers back, drops to the ground. With a
burst of adrenalin I take his arm and TWIST
as if cracking a massive crab leg. The joints along his elbow
& shoulder snap and break in rapid
succession, and he is engulfed with pain, with retribution.
Air is sucked out of his lungs and he cannot scream. His white-hot
agony, his panic and terror radiates outward and passes directly
into me like a wall of unstoppable electricity.
the sudden unexpected turn jars me out of my trance, and i
find myself back in my room, holding the pamphlet limply.
i realize where i was just a millisecond before.
ashamed, i collapse into tears ... the mike oldfield track is still
playing, the child's voice echoing innocently, the church bells
reverberating throughout the room.
for an instant i saw myself as some kind of horrible vigilante.
this city is beginning to feel comfortable in the wrong way. this cannot be healthy.
look what i've become. i am reduced to having my own brand of
evil inside me, fantasizing unspeakable pain and cruelty in the name
of protection, of justice.
this is my rape fantasy, unleashing my rage-energy into yet
another neanderthal male, dispensing mandatory education,
forcing him to evolve millions of years in an instant. the predator
becoming the prey.
this is my rape fantasy, based on everyone's collective wishful thinking,
of rapes only happening by strangers in deserted dark alleyways.
this is my rape fantasy --
-- far less unspeakable than the other,
reserved for the one who did this to me, so long ago.
Fourteen... walking home from the bus stop... passed by a dark blue
car parked by the side of the road with five guys piled into it.
They start looking me up and down with sleazy smiles and nudgeing
eachother like f*ckin idiots ... Tired, I ignore them and
continue walking my usual route, turning left onto a smaller
street.
Clasping the prey by the wrist, he pushes her off-balance and she falls
onto the curb ... Her eyes are clenched shut, her
face turned away from him.
He kneels over her, his back to me ...
He fumbles with her blouse, her skirt ...
His hand reaches to pin down her other wrist.
Time goes from present to past. - Dogen Zenji
