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Blogs > wickedeasy > wicked and that ain't so easy |
not a bad trade
not a bad trade The first time you feel that little clench in your belly, and your knees seem to lose all bone density. To remember that moment is to slip back 40 years or step sideways an inch and smell the flat iron of the Charles River in June. I worked then at the Window Shop in Harvard Square as a bartender and was called down to the tea room because someone had asked to speak with me. The Window Shop was a nonprofit, aiding Jewish immigrants and sold pastries to the very wealthy on Brattle Street in Cambridge. Birds flocked to the small terrace where people would gather for tea, snatching crumbs, until they could barely lift their bodies into the air….not unlike our patrons. Once a bird plummeted to its death on the table of a particularly obese guest…a cautionary tale. As he stepped into the tea room, he slipped and stumbled up the stairs and I recognized him. He was awkward and seemed so unlike the athlete I could see inside his body. We had met the Saturday before at a going away dinner for my lover who was leaving for Paris to write. I was seated next to this man at the table and while no one else deigned to speak to me, he was kind and funny. “You’ve been traded.” Those were his words when I sat down across from him. “He gave you to me when he left”. I stood and went back to work. The old man who kept the books for the agency and who gave me my first taste of e.e.cummings, was behind me as I took the stairs. He asked if I could come in on Saturday and I agreed. Funny, the things you remember. When I left work at 6:30, he was waiting for me at the gate that let out onto Brattle Street. He took my hand as though it belonged to him. I looked up at him and could see he was nervous . He wouldn’t stop talking. Or couldn’t. When we reached the Charles, the sun was lower and we walked along the river until the day faded. As light left the sky, I slid my hand from his, letting the sweat dry, sighing. He turned, taking me by the shoulders and bending his knees, he captured my mouth. He had no idea that I was in charge, that this was my game, my rules were in play and that nothing he could do or say would make any difference. But then, no man knew that. You see, since I was 15, I detested men. I lived to make them suffer. He saved my life that day. You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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when I was 15, 4 boys in a car pulled me off my bicycle and tortured me and since this site does not allow me to use the word that describes the crime they committed, I will simply say that after two hours, I wasn't a young pretty girl any more. I was small pieces of a person left to rot by the side of the road. so thanks site for being so appropriate......but honestly to make me change that word makes me feel like it just happened again. You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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Sad about what happened when 15 but later, good man changed you. Cum to my blog and respond. Have a great kissing fun time.
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Wicked, you write so beautifully. This reminds me very much of my wife's writing, and that's what attracted me to her in the first place- that she could write about such trauma so movingly. I think I understand the site's reasoning in prohibiting that word. But it makes talking about it that much more difficult when you can't call it what it is. So I'm torn- I'd like to see free discussion, but that's often taken advantage of by people. This is a wonderful and eloquent post. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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God bless the people who come into our lives and help us save ourselves...I know you said he saved you. I've always thought that we actually save ourselves, often with lots and lots of help from others. Not a bad trade at all. A very powerful story...like so many of yours. Always tell the truth Use kind words Keep your promises Giggle and laugh Be positive Love one another Always be grateful Forgiveness is mandatory Try new things Say please and thank you Say your prayers Smile ~Author unknown
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I hope you are keeping these vignettes, good and not so, together...you are on the way to a book. I would buy it. Yours words paint a picture, no, a movie, in such small entries. I look forward to the next unfolding.
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You are a beautiful wise woman and survivor and strength-giver. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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I just want to hug you. I love that you found healing in a most unusual way. I can feel you smile when you say..." this Man became my Sir and I knew Him in spurts for nearly 40 years before i sought my release. oh that was a dance i still dream of...". You should be able to say it. Too many people get away with too much by talking around such a horrific occurrence, like those people writing letters of support for the r from Stanford. Here of all places, one should be able to use the word. Something happened while at a frat house where my friend and I were sleeping over because it was too late to go back to the dorms. Stupid rules actually put us at greater risk. It wasn't until years later, I realized it for what it was. I had always blamed myself. I never told anyone because the guy was the boyfriend of one of my dear roommate's. I couldn't hurt her by telling her, but that also means I let him get away with it. Fortunately they broke up when she reconnected with a hometown boy. Knowing what I know now, I wonder how many times he's done something like that to other girls.
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