Ripples in the Water
© 2001...Rory V. PascualPrologue:
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was supposed to be posted on Mother's Day. But since I already finished it, I might as well post it early. The credit for this story should go to HLM listsib, STACIE FERRENCE. We got into a discussion about the trauma that sexual victims go through and the effect it has specifically on their loved ones.This is for all the mothers out there and especially my Mom, Carmen. Love you!!
Copyrighted April 10, 2001 by Rory V. Pascual
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------No one knew her real name. Everyone called her by the name she arrived with at the nursing home. If anyone should bother to find out, they'd have to check the thousands of files in the office of the director. But such a thing as one's real name was not important, especially if there was another one that already sufficed. A rose by any another name, after all, was still a rose. Besides, no one needed to call her. With the notable exception of meal and pills time, she mostly kept to herself, sitting beside the window of her room, even at the old home where she transferred from. The doctors and nurses thought she was suffering from the late stages of Alzheimer's Disease or even schizophrenia. Then again, many of the elderly have lapsed into this state of unresponsiveness, this catatonic stupor, when realizing that their loved ones had abandoned them.
Maybe it was indeed more of Alzheimer's. She was having difficulty keeping her mind clear. At first, she thought it was the drugs. But then, she realized it was because of her advanced age. How old was she anyway? Even that she could not remember. Strange, that she could not remember a simple thing as her own age. However, her mind could clearly visualize rolling hills and majestic mountains and a cold breeze blowing against her face. Ironic, that during her long life, she had never been to the country at all. Certainly not the hills and mountains. As a child, she had gone to the beach. But never the highlands. So where did this memory, if she could call it that, come from? Still, she found comfort in that beautiful place she has dubbed Camelot, a sharp contrast to the harsh surroundings of this, her new home.
Take for example the decrepit three-storey building standing beside the nursing home; the only thing separating the two buildings was the narrow alley in between. From her solitary seat beside her Fifth Floor window, she could see everything that was going on in that filthy establishment.
What was this world coming to? That coherent thought surprised even her. Life was so simple back then. Before, people, especially the young ones, were taught to treat each other with respect. Before, honor was upheld above all else. Even the music was beautiful, so full of joy that one would enjoy singing or dancing to it.
Everything that was wrong with the world lay inside that dilapidated building. Drug dealing, sometimes gun running... everything that was ugly existed within those rooms.
Just like now. As she watched in silence, she saw six rambunctious men run inside a room on the Third Floor, laughing. With them was a woman with beautiful long hair, wearing a coat. They were pushing her back and forth between them, like a ball. The men surrounded the woman, egging her on, clapping their hands. At first, the girl did not move. But the men were insistent, poking her body with greasy hands. Then, the girl slowly peeled off her coat, dancing as she did so.
A stripper, she thought in disgust. A harlot, like Salome.
Strangely, this stripper was fully clothed, wearing a black sweater and tight jeans. One by one, her clothes came off, revealing a fine graceful body. When nothing was left, the prostitute hesitated to relinquish her coat. She held it over her bare form. One of the men became impatient and snatched it from her. He pulled her close to him and gave her a bruising kiss on the lips. When the man released the hooker at last, she gasped in surprise, seeing that the stripper was not female at all but another man.
Things started to get rowdy. Again, the men pushed him back and forth between them, like a rag doll, eager to cop a feel of those firm buttocks and kiss those lips. Their banter led them into the next room, for a moment, disappearing from view as the lights were closed.
In the next instant, they were inside the bedroom. The stripper was standing on top of the bed, teasing the men surrounding him by evading their grasp. One man could no longer resist, grabbing the prostitute by the waist. Another man stood before him, plundering that luscious mouth with his lips.
A grimace of disgust formed on her face. She had never seen anything so shameful in all her life. Sodomy was one thing, but an orgy? It astounded her how the stripper could handle all those men. At one moment, he was on his knees, the next he was lying on his back. And the things they did to him, not to mention the things they put inside him... Somehow, she found the will to shake her head in abhorrence.
Quietly, she watched everything, although she wished she hadn't. Her eyeglasses were a bit blurry, but she could see just fine. She clearly remembered the faces of those men. However, she couldn't make out the stripper's face, hidden as it was in shadows. Most of all, she wanted to see the face of that sodomite.
It was the wee hours of the morn when the foul orgy ended. Yet, she was still awake. The coupled interest and disgust in the perversion that took place in the opposite building was a powerful stimulant that countered the effects of the tranquilizers that were given her.
As she gazed down, the door to the building opened and the stripper stumbled out, clutching his coat tightly around his body. One of the men threw a bundle of money at his feet, waving a hushing finger before his lips. At first, the stripper shook his head, but later, he bent down and picked up the money. The man even kissed him on the lips.
She watched as the stripper slowly made his way down the alleyway. To her surprise, he paused before the bonfire made by some winos. With a weak cry, he threw the money into the fire. A curious act indeed.
Then, the prostitute looked up and her heart gave a lurch. That handsome, tear-filled face...it was someone familiar to her. Her heart told her that it was someone she had loved, and still did.
They looked at each other for a moment, she unable to move. In the end, the stripper gave a forlorn shake of his head and ran out of the alley and into the dawn streets of the city.
Even when he had gone, she was still badly shaken. She tried to probe her diminishing supply of memories for that face, but this image from the past was denied her.
Just as well, she concluded. Taking out her rosary made of crystal beads, she made the Sign of the Cross and kissed the gold crucifix. She didn't want to have anything to do with a filthy sinner.
