Safety in Community

****references to sexual assault ****

“I said no!”

Kate’s words shot a lighting bolt through her heart. Kate’s next sentences were muffled, buried in her heaving sobs, and insulated behind her bedroom door.

Samantha dropped the laundry basket in her hands, oblivious to the pressed and cleaned Church tablecloths falling to the floor. She knew evil stalked her, had it broken into her house?

She leaned against her daughter’s door, hand on the knob, turning, ready to burst in. Was someone in there, someone hurting her daughter? She flattened her entire body into the door to feel the danger she couldn’t see.

"He did it anyway. Emily!” Kate wailed, “you don't understand!"

Samantha breathed out and pulled her hand off the doorknob. Kate was on the phone to her best friend. Samantha had approved Emily, a friend from Church. But she should never have given in and let her have that cellphone. What was she talking about?

“...I drank that punch, and you know what Sam put in it! But I couldn’t tell anyone!-” her sentence dropped into an unintelligent murmur.

Samantha yanked out her earring to allow her to press tighter into the door. Kate would scream if she knew her mother was eavesdropping again. But, better she hate me than be hurt. Samantha had to hear this.

“You wouldn’t believe what he did to me…his hands… he had my dress off… You can’t tell anyone…” The rest of the conversation fell into mumbled vowels and shrieks.

Samantha whole body grew numb with fear. Kate had come home late from the Youth dance at the church. Something terrible had happened, someone hurt her. Kate had wild swings of emotions, but she’d rarely heard her like this.

Can a Mother be too noisy? Can a mother be too concerned with her only child?

Kate, 15 going on 30, needed someone to watch out for her, needed someone to make sure she's not on the wrong path. Samantha checked Kate’s texts only when necessary, only for her safety. God knows Samantha needed that when she was her age. She needed someone to watch her, to care. That’s why Samantha had invested herself in the Church community. Volunteering her time, going to all the events, no matter how tedious. As a single mom she needed everyone in her world to watch out for her daughter. It had worked, all her friends were from the church, all her hairdressing clients as well.

She had no life, other than this community. But that was her job, to care.

The next morning Kate refused to speak to her before school, so Samantha did what she had to do. While Kate was gone, Samantha stepped into her room. Clothes covered the floor. Was this mess a sign of her pain? There was the dress from last night. She fingered the white, crusted stain. She stepped through to her bedside table, pulling back the lower drawer. She looked past the hidden bags of chips and candy. Normally this would be cause for punishment, but for once Samantha didn’t care. She found Kate’s diary. She flipped through it, all the pages she had read before. No new entries for more than a month. 

The tap of guilt she usually felt at invading her daughter’s privacy was gone. Now this information was life and death. Better she hate me than be hurt. She flipped through other notebooks on her desk, then loose papers. She had to have left some clue of what had happened. Finally, she found it. A spiral notebook, but in the wrong place, hidden under the stacks of novels, the horror and fantasy books which Kate loved and Samantha didn’t understand.  

 What she read shocked her. In her daughter’s round and swirling hand, a horror story of molestation poured out of the pages. Cute pink ink outlined a vivid recounting of belts and rope tying Kate down, of her being muffled with tape, starved by lack of food.  

More degrading acts were hinted at, but not explicitly mentioned. 

Samantha could read between the lines. 

She fell over onto the bed, her heart thumping out her chest, her breath short and tears streaming down her face. 

Skimming the terrible words, memories of her own overwhelmed her. Of being held down, of her pants being ripped off her. Even during the attack, through the pain she had worried more about how to explain the ripped pants than the violent assault. She could smell the cigarette smoke, feel the abrasive cloth of that back seat against her skin. An experience she had buried deep, tried to drown in cheap vodka, floated back up like a dead corpse out of a pond.

Her hands shook so hard she dropped the journal. Samantha looked around Kate’s room, a child’s room, and then out the pink curtained window. Somehow the sun was still shining, the birds were still chirping, and the Church still stood across the street. But a hole had opened up in that room, and she had fallen straight to hell.

She picked up the journal and reread the pages. It took place in a basement! It must be the Youth Room of the Church. The Pastor had to know, had to know the cruelty of his son. His name stood out, mentioned over and over again, flashing like a neon sign. Sam.

Along with a plate of cut veggies, she waited at the kitchen table for her to return.

Kate landed home after school like always, a raging, hungry tornado. Tossing her bookbag on the floor, she hurled herself onto the couch. 

“I hate school! I have so much homework! Is there anything to eat besides those, ick carrots? Emily wants to go see the new Spiderman Movie this weekend. Please can I go? I know you said the superhero movies are from the devil, but the whole Youth group is going. I need money for the tickets, and for dinner. I promise I’ll just get a salad and-”

“Kate.” Samantha’s hands clenched together into a mass of fingers, fear and anger.

“We need to talk.” She took a deep breath. ”You came home late on Friday from the Youth Dance.” Her lower lip quivered. “Did anything, happen?” 

Kate’s eyes popped open, her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’, then she fell back into the cushions. Samantha read her familiar expression as easily as a picture book. Guilt.

“Mom! Again? It was a stupid dance at a church. Nothing happened. It was so boring. Emily and I just hung out after. We did not go to get ice cream-”

“-What about Sam, was he there? Something happened right… You can tell me, I understand-”

‘Why are you asking?” Kate had pulled out her phone, her eyes locked on its screen as if it was a wall she was hiding behind. Samantha wanted to rip it out of her hand. She refused to get on any social media, and her daughter’s rejection of the real world was the main reason.

“How old is he?”

“Sam, Pastor Bob’s son?” Kate didn’t look up only thumbed through videos. “He had his birthday last month, 18. He was there but. Too busy hanging with the lacrosse boys to talk to me, or any of my friends. They follow him around like puppies ever since he won the league MVP.

“God he’s an adult! I wanted to know because…” Samantha couldn’t reveal how she had the information. “Kate, you know you can talk to me, about anything, about-”

“Mom! You never trust me! You don’t know anything. UGGHH!”

 Kate stormed off down the hall. The thump of her door slamming shut echoed through the house.

What should she do? 

 She dialed the police line. When the deep man’s voice answered she hung up. She couldn't go to the police. Samantha remembered the hard plastic benches, the huge mustached officer who asked her if the drink the man had bought her, unasked, could be considered a ‘date’. How many drinks did she have? What was she wearing? She had been violated all over again.

Should she have worn a coverall, a suit of armor? What would have stopped the monster from taking what he wanted from a girl half his size?

Samantha knew about fathers too. Sam’s father would only protect him. Blame Kate for asking for it, for being too easy.

No! Her daughter wouldn’t suffer twice, not like she did.

She looked down the hall to her daughter’s shut door. Should she try to talk again, find out more?

It would be too painful for Kate. Samantha knew those feelings. Of being violated. Of shame. She closed her eyes and those pink curling words of horror played in her head. How could she expect Kate to talk about that trauma!

 Samantha knew about no one understanding, or of even listening. Her experience that one night had dyed the fabric of the rest of her life. 

Samantha pressed down hard on the table to balance herself from falling into the hole at her feet.

She knew what she had to do. She had found safety in this Church community, but it only took one person to rip it all apart.

She had to stop that predator, make sure he would never think about touching Kate ever again. Protecting her daughter was all that mattered.

She went back into Kate's room. Better she hate me than be hurt. She collected photos of Kate’s journal. From the internet she found pictures of Sam, and Pastor Bob playing volleyball with the high school girls. The Pastor dressed as Santa with little kids on his lap. God, did Pastor Bob know?

Samantha examined the photo, where his hand was, his laugh and his evil eyes 

He did. He was involved.

Probably taught Sam everything, how to groom young girls, how to molest them. So disgusting.

She would stop them!

Posting on Facebook, and Nextdoor was more complicated than she had thought. Finally she pushed send. An anonymous shotgun blast at the Church, the pedophile and his son. She sent it all to the police hotline too. Now everyone will know the truth!

It only took 10 minutes for the first person to respond.

“Mom!”

Kate ran in the kitchen, holding up her phone, tears pouring down her face. “What did you do! You, posted this? Please tell me someone hacked in, or-”

“I called evil to account.” Samantha stood up straight. A righteous fire blazed in her heart. She threw her arm out, pointing across the street. “ I exposed those predators for who they are!”

 “You posted photos of my story? You broke into my room! And what is this about Pastor Bob and Sam? What did they do? How can you call them pedophiles?”

“I know it’s hard to talk about. They hurt you, used you. No more! I showed the world who those people are. I posted anonymously, your name was not used-”

“Mom!” Kate screamed. “You posted under your own name. Everyone knows! What have you done. And that story is just, fiction, I made it up!”

“You can’t make that up! It was too horrible, too graphic-”

“-It wasn’t about Sam,” Kate whispered.

Samantha blinked. “Then who?”

“Someone who starves me, controls me, doesn’t let me say what I think.”

Kate wiped her face with her sleeve. “You really didn’t recognize yourself? You control every aspect of my life! You’re the monster in my horror story!”

“But Sam hurt you-”

“I’ve never even talked to Sam. He’s a senior, I’m only a sophomore. When I drank the punch with the jalapenos, he gave me water. We saw him at Fenton's Creamery and helped me clean ice cream off my dress. I don’t think he even knew my name." Kate put both hands on her head. "Oh, but he knows who I am now! You called him a rapist. God, you’ve ruined my life! I can never go back to school.”

Kate shook her head, backing down the hall, before she turned into her room, the door slamming.

 Samantha wrapped her arms around herself, and looked out at the church across the street.

People began to gather on the steps, she recognized every one, her community, pointing to their house.

 Kate was crying. Her friends, her clients might never speak to her again. A boy’s name was ruined.

Samantha nodded. “It’s OK.”

Better she hate me than be hurt. Her daughter now, was safe.