Virginia and Her Fears

I'm sitting on a cement bench in front of the house. The bench is against a picket fence next to the sidewalk in the front yard. My twelve year old little sister is next to me. Her legs rock back and forth, with her hands crushed under her legs; she is crouching a little bit. She’s crying, and that makes me sad. 

Even though it's winter, we're warm, very warm, because of the heat coming from the house. The house is burning down. Nobody was home when the fire started, we just came back from school. I called my dad at work to give him the bad news.

I don't know why we ended up in this little town in the central valley of California, an agricultural region near Fresno. I don't know why we left our simple life in central Mexico. Things could have been so different. Who decides our fate?

My mom died last year, some say out of pure sadness. She died disappointed and ashamed in complete sorrow. She wasn't sick, she was defeated.

My dad’s name is Plutarco. Where we’re from, if the first born is a boy, the father names the boy after him, but in this case the boy was a girl, so he named her Plutarca. Ugly name for a man but ten times worse for a woman. 

My mom said dad cursed her with such an ugly name. She said she could see the word 'puta' in her name. And that's what she became, a 'puta', or whore in Spanish.

She lives in Las Vegas now. I heard she sells her body for money. I consulted the meaning of the word ‘prostitute’ in the dictionary, after hearing that word so many times in the house.

She's not completely condemned, she’s a whore, but she also goes to school. She pays for her tuition selling her body. She wanted to get out of this town, she loved having sex, and she wanted to study a career. To reach her goal, she combined her three wishes by becoming a prostitute. Now she does what she wants to get what she likes, or vice versa.  

My mom used to say that Plutarca was always horny, always in need of men, and they could smell that. My mom said Plutarca would change boyfriends more frequent than her underwear. Now, my sister is in exile, my dad kicked her out. One time, she sent money to mom, but she told me to burn it. She didn’t even touch it.

Other than that, she wasn’t a bad person, I still miss her. She was a good sister to me.

My other sister, her case is even worse. She’s still in town; she’s married. I've found her having sex with different men, many times. In the car, at school, in the house, in the backyard, even in the park. My mom used to say she could fuck anything that moved. 

My sister told me that our uncle raped her and that he took her virginity. Yeah, it’s always an uncle or a cousin, but I guess she liked it, because they still do it. Now, I don’t know if we can call her a whore, because she doesn’t do it for money. I guess she’s just addicted to it. My mom used to call her a slut. One time I heard my mom call her a nymphomaniac, (a woman with abnormal desire to have sex) I checked for the meaning of that word in the dictionary when I was eleven years old. 

She does it with co-workers, friends of the family, cousins, nephews and of course, uncles. She’s unashamed, maybe even proud. She doesn't discriminate, she flirts all the time with anybody, from gardeners to lawyers and everyone in between. What I can’t understand is how her husband doesn’t know about it, when everybody in the family does. My dad kicked her out too; she is not allowed in the house anymore, but she still comes when my dad isn’t home. She loves Virginia, but my dad doesn’t want her near her. He says she could contaminate my little sister.

Now, my little sister is sitting next to me, and it breaks my heart to see her sobbing as she watches her house go up in flames. My dad put the house on his and Virginia’s name after my mom died. 

Dad says my mom died of sadness, because of the enormous affliction my two older sisters inflicted on her. My mom used to call them ‘par de pirujas,’ pair of whores. At one point my mom decided not to go out of the house anymore because she said she felt the accusatory stares from the neighbors. Then she lost interest in life and became sad, depressed and joyless, then she fell ill. 

When mom was about to die, she made my dad promise her to leave the house to Virginia, so she wouldn’t become a whore. Her logic was, if she wanted to go to college she could sell the house or maybe a decent man would marry her, even if just for the house.

Before my mom died she called my sister Virginia to give her one last piece of advice. She told her that if the word ‘Puta’ was in Plutarca’s name, the word ‘virgin’ was in the name 'Virginia'. Then she told her to honor her name and not to mess it in the mud. And she begged her not to follow the example of the other ‘par de pirujas'. Finally, she told her to save her innocence and purity for a decent man, and to avoid sex until she got married.That was her only wish, her last wish. 

But I’m still worried about my little sister, because she's even more beautiful than my other two sisters. I knew that her breasts would attract lots of lustful desires. I saw my other two sisters naked, I don’t remember, or I don’t want to admit if it was accidental or on purpose, but I saw them naked a few times, and it was obvious they were going to provoke enough temptations.

My little sister was in deeper trouble than she could imagine. Just the other day she was trying to remove her sweater above her head, but she pulled it up along with her undershirt and I saw her small breasts, well, medium I should say. Hers, are tits that point to heaven but can take to hell, they don't obey the laws of gravity. She tries to hide them to avoid drawing the attention of men between the ages of fifteen to seventy-five. When I was her age I was always trying to hide my erections, I thought everybody noticed them; my crotch looked like a circus tent. My little sister is doing the same thing. She tries to hide her erected tits. She will attract lustful looks anywhere. She’s in trouble and she knows it.

With the house on fire, her options are disappearing too. Her college dreams would fade away. Her good grades will decline too. She would be afraid of needing money for any reason. She could also be afraid she might enjoy sex too much and turn into a sex maniac like her sisters. To other people this logic might seem like absurd preoccupations, but she doesn’t have other examples. What she's seen, is what seems normal to her. 

Of course, she'll be worried about getting too close to her only phobia . . .  becoming a ‘piruja’. With the house in flames, she feels like a step away from becoming one. 

The firefighters are losing the fight to the fire. Her hopes are fading away with the flames. The house is hers, but it is fast turning into ashes. With the house intact she could have pleased mom even more and become a nun. But now, she's probably thinking she's getting closer to graduate as a whore instead.

Our dad just got home, but what home? He's behind us, hugging us both. He knew we were safe. To our surprise, he tells us not to worry, “We had fire insurance.” he says.

He says he’s going to fix it himself. He used to work in construction, and he says we’re going to get a ton of money to fix it. He just needs to do it himself. He says he won’t give the job to unscrupulous general contractors or fraudulent companies and intermediaries that take huge commissions and profits out of suffering homeowners. 

He says he'll rebuild the house, and still have enough money left for a down payment on another house. I told my dad that I didn’t get in time to save our memories, family photographs, birth certificates or the family jewels that were so precious to mom. But he said he took care of all that yesterday. 

Hmm, in the back of my mind I had a little suspicion about that, but I erased it immediately. I knew my dad would do anything to save his last girl from perdition. He knew Virginia was his last hope to make mom proud. My dad too, was trying to make sure my little sister wouldn’t become a ‘piruja’ under any circumstances. He wanted to make a hundred percent sure that my little sister wouldn’t become a whore, a slut, or even a nymphomaniac. 

My dad says that we’re spending the night in a hotel. He tells us not to worry, and says that tomorrow we’ll visit our mom at the graveyard to tell her the good news . . .  Virginia is safe. 

Then, Virginia held my dad's hand, looked into his eyes and simply  said, “Thank you daddy.”

Edmundo Barraza 
Visalia, Ca. 01-27-2011

http://edbar1952-accomplishedignorant.blogspot.com/




 

I'M OUT OF HERE!

I’m in a hurry; I might not have enough time to finish writing this. I know this will be my last blog post. I won’t have time to revise it or to edit it. So pay no attention to insignificant mistakes. The only good thing about all of this is that I always wanted to write non-fiction. This is it.

I just killed a man. I just dragged his body to my garage. I know I’m not thinking clearly; my mind is very confused. If my writing doesn’t make sense to you, please forgive me. I’m nervous and I don't have time to organize my thoughts.

The most important thing right now is to apologize to the family of that man. I swear to God that I didn’t mean to kill him. I was defending myself. I killed him in self-defense. I’m sure that I am a pacifist, but at times when I see injustices I become violent. You could say that I’m a violent pacifist. 

Since I’m in a hurry and because of the urgent situation this will also be used as my will.

I need to start from the beginning, you just need to know that there’s not a single lie in all that I write here. So in a way this is my confession too.

One of my dogs had been sick for a few days. I knew he was gravely ill. In fact, I thought he was going to be dead at daybreak. He’s barely alive now. Last night I let him stay in the garage and I put my other two dogs in the back patio. In the morning, Dylan (my sick dog) had a big mess in the garage, a terrible mess. The smell was unbearable. 

I began to clean the cement floor with a water hose. I put my three dogs in the back patio. Since I was using the patio hose, I couldn't close the door, so the door was ajar. I was concentrating in cleaning the mess, when I noticed a man walking his dog, a big German Sheppard. We shared a friendly smile, and suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dogs parading by my side, barking and heading menacingly toward the man and his dog. 

What happened next it’s still confusing to me. I hope I can be impartially truthful and objective. First, the man kicked my smaller dog, Frida to the middle of the road; I thought for sure she was dead. Then, he kicked Dylan, the poor dog, he had been barely alive. He hadn’t eaten a thing for the last four days. Meanwhile, Diego, (an adult Husky) my other dog, was involved in a fight for his life with the German Sheppard. I must say that Diego is very strong and fierce, but nice and loyal at the same time. 

I’m positive that Diego would have killed the other dog. But the man, (a big African-American) started kicking Diego too, that’s when my blood began to boil. I ran to the guy I kicked him on his ribs as hard as I could. Then, he turned and punched me in the face; he almost knocked me out. I fell to the ground but I immediately stood up to ran to my garage and grabbed a piece of metal pipe that I keep in a  corner for occasions like this. I know the pipe is a weapon, a lethal weapon, if I’m mad enough. I went back and hit him with the pipe on the head several times as hard as I could, maybe too many times. I kept hitting him even after he was down on the floor, perhaps the last blows were unnecessary. 

Then, I struck his dog a few times too. When I began to reason and came out of my stupor I turned around to see if anybody had witnessed what just happened, but nobody was around, not a single person was in sight. Still shaking, I dragged the man to my garage, and his dog too. 

I picked up Frida from the middle of the road; she was still alive. Dylan, my poor skinny dog went back to the garage on his own, he could barely walk, but he made it. When I closed the garage door I thought my heart was going to explode. I could see my chest expanding rapidly as never before. Then, all my thoughts turned into a different kind of fear, the cops showing up and taking me to jail for the rest of my life. 

What I was watching was surreal. The bloody sight, the disfigured man’s face and the dead dog, it was all too much. Today, was supposed to be just a typical day. Then, I realized that my three dogs were staring at me, startled like me, as if saying, “Now what boss?”

I need to get away from here, right away, I need to disappear. But I can't think. I feel deeply sorry for the man’s family, I feel miserable. What happened today wasn't supposed to be a part of my life.

I have to be selfish for a moment. I need to find a solution to save myself from this terrible predicament.

I’ll go back to Mexico, that's what I'll do. I don’t want to spend what's left of my life incarcerated. I'm lost either way, if they put me in jail, or if I disappear in Mexico, I won't see my family or my friends anymore. 

The man I just killed won't suffer anymore, but I'll be suffering for the rest of my life. I just killed my future too. It feels like I'm a dead man too, but I’d rather be a lonely free man than a lonely miserable man in prison.

I want to leave the pool table to my son, the flat TV to my sister, and my three dogs to my daughter. I don't care what they do with the rest. I feel terrible it ended this way. I'm glad I won the fight anyhow, this is better than a permanent visit to the cemetery. I hate funerals. 

I love you all, and I will totally miss you very much. I’m sure God witnessed it all, He knows I'm not lying. It was all in self-defense. I wish I could write better and be able to describe properly how bad I feel.

What bothers me the most is that today is my daughter’s birthday.

Wait, someone's at the door . . . 

Edmundo Barraza

Visalia, CA. 12-07-2112

 http://edbar1952-accomplishedignorant.blogspot.com/

A Girl from Orosi

Graciela

Whatever plans you have for me, please God, just don't let me die in this little town. 

I was born seventeen years ago in Orosi, a tiny town in the middle of California. Half the population are illegal migrant workers, including my parents. About ten thousand people live in this town. The nearest city is Visalia, with a population of 130,000 people. 

My parents came from Durango, a northern state in Mexico. They've been farm workers all their lives. My mom works as hard as my dad, sometimes I join them to pick all kinds of fruit. And believe me, it's hard to keep up with them.

I know the world is too big to remain in this little town for the rest of my life. Nothing remarkable has happened in my short life, but I hope to change that one day. I'm not planning to have a boyfriend because I don’t want to be attached to Orosi for too long. I’m still a virgin and I’m just fine with that. I'm in no hurry to ruin my life.

I’ve been begging my mom to register me in a Visalia school for the last two years, and before I started high school she finally agreed. One of my dreams is to move to L.A. or even better, to New York. Eventually, I will accomplish my goals. I hope. 

My current goal is to be the best in my track and field team, I know  a scholarship could get me out of this town. My dad enrolled me in a soccer team when I was eight years old, that could also get me out of this hopeless town. I don’t hate my life I just dislike my present options. I love my family and friends but the lack of opportunities in the area makes my future bleak and narrow. Sometimes I feel claustrophobic and bored.  

The bus takes fifteen minutes to get to Visalia, and it comes every two hours. Even though Orosi High School is only a few blocks from where I live, I'll be attending Redwood High School in Visalia.

My friends say I’m pretty, and I'd like to think they’re not lying. They also say I have a nice pair of legs, but in my opinion, they're a bit muscular. A few boys keep chasing me, but I’m not interested. Sometimes dogs chase me too, but so far I’ve run faster than them. One of them almost bit my rear end, but then I turned around and shouted at the top of my lungs. I swear he skidded for at least ten feet while trying to pull back. It was funny.

I play soccer with the boys in the park, sometimes they don’t play rough because they think I’m a weak girl, but once they see I can play, they play their normal rough way. 

I enjoy riding the bus. I love feeling the air in my hair while doing my homework. I organize my thoughts on the bus and most of the time, I dream my dreams and see my future while riding the bus. Sometimes I feel romantic, and I daydream that I am on a streetcar in San Francisco, where I meet my Romeo, and . . . oh well.  

Hector

I have to do it. I’m fifty feet above the ground, it's a little bit scary but I know I have to do it.

The judge gave me twelve years. I’ll be 35 when I come out. On top of that, I’ll be deported to Mexico after I’ve done my time. I’m contemplating my only way out, my only escape. It doesn’t seem easy. There’s a palm tree, taller than the building. I need to make a long jump and if I don’t grab that tree after I jump, certain painless death awaits me, but if I stay and don’t jump, it'll be a slow and painful death behind these bars.

I was seven years old when my parents brought me to this country. We came here illegally, my dad found a job as a gardener and my mom started a clandestine child care center.

At school, I was always in trouble. I was a bully in every grade, I was taller than the rest of the kids; even the teachers were afraid of me. When I was twelve years old I started touching every girl that got close to me. I used to lift their skirts or grab their breasts. Most of them didn’t complain, they were probably afraid I'd become more aggressive. By the time I turned thirteen I was masturbating several times a day.

Around that time, I was always thinking about girls, naked girls, naked women. Sex was always on my mind. I had sex for the first time before I turned fourteen with a sixteen-year-old neighbor. The older I got the more sex I wanted. 

When I was sixteen I raped my eighteen-year-old cousin. She didn’t say a thing to anybody because, I guess, she enjoyed it too. I raped one of my aunts too. I still have sex with her whenever I want, even though she's married.  

Some of my victims didn’t get too upset about it, others just disappeared from my sight. I knew there was something wrong with me, but since I wasn't getting in trouble I kept doing it. But I never used violence. Well, up to that point.

If any of them were insistent enough I would agree to stop. But it was weird how some of them switched their attitude in the middle of it, from hating it to loving it. I found amazing how some of them returned for more because, after I raped them I was still insatiable. If the first time they didn’t have an orgasm because I was too fast or too rough, they knew they would get a second or a third chance. 

People can say what they want but I know some of the girls I raped, enjoyed it too. I know I shouldn't glorify rapists, but two of my victims mentioned that being raped had been one of their sexual fantasies.

When a girl formally accused me of rape, the judge cleared me of all charges for lack of evidence. She didn't have any bruises and there were no witnesses. Another time, I was caught in the act. I ignored her cries and kept insisting until the cops showed up. That time the judge gave me a six-month sentence, a restraining order, and three years probation. I was twenty years old by then.

For a while, I behaved properly and stayed out of trouble. I was almost done with the probation period when a young lady moved near my house. I was tempted to sin with that woman in the most horrendous way. She was married and had a child. After stalking her for a week I learned  her entire routine. The time she left home, the time she came back and the time her husband left for work. She was so hot, I really had to do it.

She lived in an apartment building, behind her unit was a small patio with a six-foot fence. Across the driveway, two workers were fixing another apartment but they were rarely outside.

The worst mistake I made was not covering my face. But when I'm horny my brains don't function. And living less than a block away it was obvious she was going recognize me. 

One morning, as soon as her husband left, I made my move. 

The fence was easy to jump, the sliding door was unlocked. She was asleep in the bed and the sheets were on the floor, she was topless and was wearing black panties. Her kid was asleep in a crib across the room.

I've never been so excited. I had an immediate erection. In an instant, I had the pants down to my knees. I covered her mouth and removed her panties at the same time, but the moment I touched her, she woke up and kicked me in the chest extremely hard. I wasn't ready for that reaction. I was still in shock when I fell on my back, her screams were deafening, the kid started to cry and I panicked. I wasn’t expecting such a commotion. I got up and ran out to the patio and shut the door behind me. Amazingly, her screams were barely audible outside. The workers saw me jumping the fence but they didn't say a thing. 

What a pathetic pussy I turned out to be, running out like a coward. But later, in my prison cell, while reenacting my failed attempt, I was convinced that I would have had to strangle the lady and her kid if I had wanted to carry out my evil intentions.

That afternoon, when I came back to my house, the cops were waiting for me in an unmarked car. There was no need to resist or to claim innocence.

The judge sent me to a county jail, where I was told I'd be transferred two days later to a federal prison. My temporary jail was on the top floor of a four-story high building. 

From the roof, I was contemplating the two choices I had, my freedom or my death. I knew I could never find a better chance to escape than that moment. It was getting dark and the rest of the inmates had gone back to their cells. The guards had gone too. They probably thought that an escape from there would have been impossible. There were two palm trees next to the building, I was considering the skinny one, the other one was too fat.

I began to run from one end of the basketball court. I picked up speed in the middle of it because I had to jump over a four-foot metal railing. While flying in the air, I thought I'd taken a stupid decision. I was fifty feet above the ground when my heart stopped beating . . .

After my body hit the tree I couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I remained immobile for an instant.  

I could see the freeway down below. I was holding to the dark side of the tree; I caught my breath and started to climb down. Except for a solid pain in my chest and a few scratches I was okay. As soon as I touched the ground I got rid of my shirt. On the back, it read . . .  "Property of The Tulare County Jail". Well, I’m not your property any more fuckers! 

I walked away from the bright street lights and headed for the Saint John’s River, where the homeless people gather under the bridge. I could spend the night with them, and probably get a change of clothes. Maybe they could offer me a drink that I was sure I highly deserved for my daring ‘impossible’ escape.

Graciela

                                                        

I enjoy watching from the bus the hustle and bustle of people on their way to work. I know most of them work in the fields, most of them come from Mexico, and most of them seem happy. Not much to do in this town where even the bus ride seems like fun. Hiking in the Sequoia Mountains is another thing that I enjoy very much.

There's a tree I like a lot, near Avenue 336. They trim it every year, but only from the highway side. They shave it to avoid the branches to make contact with the electrical wires. I guess, because the branches carry water and if they touch the cables they can cause an electrical outage. It looks like the tree is afraid of the wires, and it grows away from them, it is ugly and beautiful at the same time. 

Out of town people always complain from the smells around the area, the cows, the manure, fertilizers, recycled irrigating water, even the city dump. I always defend my city and deny it all. But I know they're right.    

At school, I get along with everybody. My favorite teacher is Miss Nunez, my Art class teacher. I consider her my friend, she's patient and caring. Life is slow and peaceful. A little boring is what I mean to say. I was born here, and I had no choice over that, but I just don’t want to die here.  

I have big plans for my future. I’d like to have at least two different careers; I want to be a writer and maybe a doctor in medicine or something like that. I know it’s not that hard, I just know it.

To go back to my house I have to take two buses, one from school, at the edge of town and another one that goes straight to Orosi on road 63. After waiting for ten minutes at the bus stop I decided to get a soda from the liquor store across the street. On my way back, I watched with resignation the bus passing by. Darn! Now I have to wait for two more hours.

I’m tempted to hitch a ride, but I don’t like the idea very much because there’s a lot of weirdos in this town. One time I got a ride from an old man. He seemed to be a decent family man, but when he offered me a hundred dollars for a ‘good time’, I got out of his car at the first stop sign without saying a word.

Hector

                                                          

My plan is to hit the road as soon as possible, I need to go to another state, Nevada is my first choice. Hitchhiking or taking the Greyhound bus in Visalia was out of the question. I need a car to go north to Fresno or south to Bakersfield. Visalia is going to be a hot spot for the next few days. 

If they catch me, I'd be facing at least twenty years. That's too long for an attempted rape. I don't even want to think about it. All I know is that I'm too horny right now, but tomorrow I'll find some pussy, that's for sure.

There were about a dozen people under the bridge. An old pickup truck was parked at the edge of the road, finding the owner was my main priority. With a twenty dollar bill in hand, I told them I needed a ride to the liquor store to get some wine. A guy stood up and said, "I'll take you buddy, but you drive, I'm a little fucked up already."

Around midnight, we made another trip to the liquor store, but this time, when we came back I kept the keys. It wasn't too complicated. Now I just need to wait for them to fall asleep.

 

Graciela

Frustrated, I decided to ask for a ride. Right away, a young guy in a pickup truck pulled over and I asked him if he could take me to Orosi, and he said, “Yeah, get in, I’m going that way.”

I knew immediately that I had made a big mistake when he put a screwdriver against my ribs and said, "We're going for a ride, and you better enjoy it."

Damn! It's unbelievable how fast a life can change. I thought that if I got out alive I was never going to make another stupid mistake like that. I was scared to death, but I was determined to survive whatever was coming my way. But I knew that whatever his intentions were, I would never allow him to rape me or kill me.  

As the truck picked up speed, I saw my chances disappearing. 

There was an old gas station at the corner of Avenue 328. After that, there was nothing but an empty road for the next ten miles. If we went past that gas station my chances to escape would be minimal. 

My plan was to provoke an accident. I could die too, but I had to risk it. I was in great danger anyway. So, I went for it with lightning speed.

First, I pushed the button to unlock his seat belt and grabbed the hand that held the screwdriver. Then I turned the wheel toward the gas station, and then I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. 

The entire action must have taken all but three seconds.

When I opened my eyes, the windshield was broken and the driver's seat was empty. My astonishment increased when I saw him all twisted and mangled next to the gas pump. He couldn't be alive. We crashed into another vehicle, but nobody else got hurt. I came out unscathed, unharmed, and very happy to be alive.

 

Graciela

Frustrated, I decided to ask for a ride. Right away, a young guy in a pickup truck pulled over and I asked him if he could take me to Orosi, and he said, "Yeah, get in, I'm going that way."          

“There's a lot of crime in the area, you shouldn’t be asking for rides, it’s not safe,” he said as I entered the vehicle.

“Yes, I know, but I don’t want to be waiting for the bus for two more hours, it’s boring,” I replied. He appeared to be in his early twenties; his hair was tangled, disheveled and a little dirty, he probably had just gotten out of work or out of bed.

“Well, we can have a little fun before I take you home." he said.

“No, I need to pick up my little brother from school and I need to do my homework,” I said, but he kept driving.

"No, no, I said we're going to have some fun. I'm not giving you any options," he said, as he pulled a screwdriver, and pushed it against my ribs.

I couldn’t see a stop sign or a stop light anywhere near, so I could jump out of the vehicle like I did with the old man. We were about twelve miles from Orosi. And not a soul insight.

“No, I want to get out, please stop,” I said, as we approached a dairy farm. It would have been useless to scream, the area was deserted. After he passed the farm, he made a right turn on a dirt road. Then he stopped the truck behind several trees. 

He grabbed me by the hair while pulling me out of the truck. And as he held the screwdriver on his right hand, he added, “I said we're going to have some fun," then he pushed me to the ground, still pulling my hair. As I lay there, he climbed over me, and said,  “My name’s Hector, what’s yours, baby?”

I needed to escape, and the only way to do that was an out of body experience. So, I transported my body to another area, to a place I loved . . . I found myself hiking up along the stream in the Sequoia Mountains, where I was admiring the centuries-old beautiful trees . . . ouch! I just felt a stinging pain at the center of my body . . .  now, I'm walking in the middle of the shallow river, looking up, to where the trees connect to the sky. It appears that all trees point to heaven, the place where I should be.

When I returned, I inspected my 'unintentionally' abandoned body. I found it complete, and except for a little blood on my private parts and some pain, I was 'unharmed'. 

As I reached the main road, I began to think about Miss Nunez, because I needed to ask her for a favor. I’ve heard about a pill you can take the following day after you had sex to avoid pregnancy. I’ll ask her about that, not as a teacher, but as a friend, because I think of her as my friend.

                                              Graciela

Frustrated, I decided to ask for a ride. Right away, a young guy in a 
pickup truck pulled over and I asked him if he could take me to Orosi, and he said, "Yeah, get in, I'm going that way."                                          
“Hi, how you doing, my name’s Hector, what’s yours?” he asked.

“I’m doing fine, my name’s Graciela.” he looked a little dirty but he seemed to be a decent person. 

“I’m from out of town, just passing by, but I can stay if you show me around. You know, we can have a good time,” he said.

I had a strange feeling about that. “No, thanks, but I have to go home, now if you stop at the next light I’ll be fine,” I answered trying to sound casual, but I was very nervous indeed.

“I don’t think so," he replied, "I said we're going to have a good time, and we will,” he was doing fifty miles an hour.  

There was a stop light up ahead, and I was hoping it would turn red by the time we got there, so I could jump out. But the damn light remained green for an eternity. Then, all I saw ahead of us was an empty and desolated road. I knew I was in deep trouble. And I didn't deserve any of it.

“Okay, Graciela, today’s your lucky day, we’re going to have sex. You can enjoy or you can suffer, it’s up to you. I would recommend you to enjoy it, but if you don't, it makes no difference to me.” he said, while slowly getting his hand between my legs.

My body began to tremble. I was confused and mad at myself, I wished it was tomorrow already, so I could forget about today. How can I be so dumb? My fists were tight and my knuckles white, I felt so helpless and vulnerable. 


“You don’t look like a bad guy, just pull over and let me out please, I beg you,” I said while trying to hold my tears.

He turned on a dirt road and went to a shed behind an abandoned house. Then, he dragged me to the shed and told me to take off my clothes, threatening me with a screwdriver on his right hand.
 

I suddenly remembered about a rape case I heard on the news. The victim faked enjoying the whole episode, and when the rapist finished he gave her his phone number, so she could call him any time for more sex. But she called the cops instead, and they got him. I considered doing the same thing but I couldn't give him that satisfaction.

I thought I would ignore him instead. I would just remain immobile down there on the ground like a log. I wouldn't show any emotions. I just didn't want to get hurt or get killed.

We were naked on the ground. I was on my back. He was holding me between his legs. That's not how I planned to lose my virginity. After he finished, he turned me around and did it again, then again and again. Then he rolled me over, like a sack of potatoes, and said, “You bitch, say something. Scream, hit me, cry or do something you stupid bitch!” then he said, “I think you deserve to die.”  

And then, he lifted the screwdriver with both hands above his head and in a blink of an eye, and with tremendous force, he inserted the screwdriver on my chest. The last sound I heard was . . .  ‘thump’. 

I felt my soul escaping my body. I could see myself lying there with the screwdriver on my chest. I could only see the handle protruding from my breast. I thought about my mom, about my dad, and about my unfulfilled dreams and my future. It was all cut off abruptly and without a warning. It all belonged to the past now.

How could you do that God? I only asked you for a little favor, "I don’t want to die in this miserable town," It was a simple favor, easy for you to concede. Why did you allow this horrible ending, Why? 

       Graciela
         

Frustrated, I decided to ask for a ride. Right away, a middle-aged man in a pickup truck pulled over. Oh shit, it's my dad! I'm in real trouble now.

“Graciela! What are you doing asking for a ride? I can’t believe it. Don’t you know how dangerous it is?” he said in a very alarming voice.

“It’s not dangerous dad; it’s daytime, there’s a lot of people around,” I replied trying to minimize the gravity of the situation.

“No, Graciela, I would die if something bad happens to you. You have to promise me you'll never do it again.”

“Yes, dad, I promise,” I responded sincerely. And as I got in the truck I kissed him on the cheek. “I promise you, daddy,” I repeated and kissed him again.

Edmundo Barraza 

Visalia Ca. 11-17-2010.   

http://edbar1952-accomplishedignorant.blogspot.com/