"You and I are going for a drive."  Mother said in her matter-of-no-choice tone.  Ironically the place she chose, the beach parking lot, was the exact place I had gotten pregnant. It was August of 1966, and I only recently graduated from High School.  Telling her I was pregnant was the only reason we were on this drive together.  I could not remember her ever taking me anywhere alone, just to talk.  Knowing I was in "my" territory made me only slightly more comfortable, considering the circumstances.

We both sat in the car for what seemed like an eternity before she broke the silence.  "Do you realize you have ruined your whole life?"  I could see her in the dark, biting down on her bottom lip.  Knowing she was on the verge of tears did nothing to make this any easier.  Mother was one strong woman, so I know she was hurting bad.

"Did I ruin your whole life?"  I answered her question with one of my own.  Because I was not married it didn't seem to be justification for a statement of such insensitivity.  But that is mother.  Lately it seems almost everything she said was equally as biting. 

In her eyes I was a bad daughter.  Beginning with the day she snooped in my room and discovered I had been raped when barely thirteen, four years earlier.  I found myself thinking back to 1962...

I was a typical a thirteen-year old girl, laying on her Hollywood sofa-style bed blowing pink bubbles with her gum and scribbling the following letter:

 Dear Mr. DJ,

I listen to your station all the time!!  I just love, love all of the songs you play.  I was wondering why all the songs you play are about girls named Donna, Carol, Cathy, Sue or Marie.  Why doesn't anyone sing a song about Sheila?  Could you please ask them to?  I'd really, really love it if someone would.

Your faithful listener,

Sheila

At thirteen I was a hopeful, romantic young girl, like so many other little girls dreaming of becoming Miss America some day.  Already I had written a book, so finding some kind of talent for a beauty contest did not seem unreachable.  Just like other kids, I wanted to be with the "in-crowd".  I never would, but I had hopes and dreams.

I kept a diary, one with a lock and key.  Most probably it was bubble gum pink with hearts and flowers and cool pictures of telephones.  It was the place I wrote about my crushes, hopes and dreams for the future.

I got my first bra (not that I needed one) but hey, everyone was wearing them in 7th grade.  I hated mine; the flat, no cup stretchy thing, the so-called "beginner bra". Yeah right, as far as I was concerned it was the beginning-of-the-end at my shot at boobs, convinced it held them in, instead of allowing them to grow.  I suppose the main purpose was twofold; to make sure those small "buds" were being controlled, and also gave boys the opportunity to snap the back of it, one of their favorite pastimes.

Within my own 7th grade junior high school circle of friends, we girls took to wearing necklaces with a gold basketball charm hanging from it.  It was supposed to symbolize our "cherry", the fact that we were virgins.  I  am sure we never really understood much about what it meant, only that it was what the "cool" girls all wore.

February 22, George Washington's birthday.  I had a babysitting job for a Colonel's family.  They had two children.  It was not my first babysitting job with them.  The kids were no trouble at all.  After their story time and an ice cream cone they both went to sleep. 

I would rather have been at the Teen Club, I was old enough, but since I was not I did the next best thing, I called it.  You never knew who would be answering the phone, but when it was Larry B. I was happy someone I knew was there.  He was a few years older than I, but we knew each other.

"Hey...what's going on there?"

"Not much."

"Who’s there tonight?"  I needed to know what I am missing.

"Well...it's really quiet, just me and Buzz, shooting some pool...nothin' much really.  Where are you?"

"I'm babysitting about three blocks away.  The kids are asleep so I'm bored."

"Want some company?"

Hm-m-m-m, the Colonel and his wife said they would be gone until about midnight...it was only nine.  "Okay, for a little while."  Cool, two of the most popular, older guys wanted to come hang with me!

A few minutes later the doorbell rang.  I got up from the couch, straightened up my magenta and avocado-green plaid skirt and let them in, "Hi!"

The two guys went straight into the kitchen and began opening the cabinets, presumably for a snack.  "Hey guys...what are ya lookin’ for?"

"Where's the booze?"

"I don't know.  Hey--if you want a Coke or something I know where those are." 

"Nah.  Never mind."  Buzz slammed the cabinet door shut.  Buzz whispered something into Larry's ear.  Both of their faces lit up.  "Let's go see what's on tv."

Relieved to have them stop the search I led them into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Larry.  Buzz reached up and turned off the lamp.  I reached up and turned it back on.  He turned it off and laughed. 

"Hey, leave the lights on you guys."  By now both of them were up going around the living room shutting off the lights.  I was getting mad.  "Stop it."

Larry lunged in an effort to kiss me.  He grabbed my arm when I turned away, pulling me back, holding me close to him.  "I got her."  He said to Buzz, as he pushed my little body down on the floor, pinning me down with his knees and covering my mouth with his. 

I struggled, but he was much larger and stronger than me.  I was aware of Buzz slamming cabinet doors again.  I felt Larry pulling my skirt up.  Panic set in.  I struggled to get him off, rolling side to side, one of his hands suddenly muzzling me.  There are two small children asleep down the hall...please God, don't let them walk in on this I prayed.

"Goddamn it Buzz, she's a fighter.  Come help me for crissakes..."  Buzz came back into the room, knelt down, grabbed the flailing arms pinning them with his knees and took over covering my mouth.  Larry unbuckled his pants and pulled down my underpants. 

That is when I realized what was about to happen, the tears began to snake their way down my cheeks.  I pleaded with my eyes.  "Don't do this."  I fought harder to keep pulling my legs together.

"Goddamn it...she's tighter than a drum."  Simultaneously while hearing those words I felt the weight of him on top of me.  In one big thrust he ripped into me.  The pain, the tears, then it was over.  I blacked out for a moment.

When I could focus, I lay there crying, whimpering really, as they scrambled up leaving me lying there.

 "Shut up and get dressed before somebody sees you."  Larry zipped up.  I sat up, pulling up my underwear, still feeling pain, but wanting to get them out of there as soon as I could.  I stood up and straightened my clothing, wiping the snot and tears on my hand.

"Let us out the back door."  Silently I walked them to the door, shaking like a leaf, hoping they would not touch me again.  Buzz grabbed a bottle of whiskey he had put on the counter as I opened the back door.  Buzz went out first.  As Larry walked out he turned back to my face, reached out and grabbed my necklace pulling it in a hard jerk until the chain broke.  "I guess you won't be needing this anymore.  You breathe a word of this to anyone and we'll kill you.  Understand?"

I blinked back more tears and nodded yes. I slammed the door and locked it.  I felt dirty, ashamed and scared but my first instinct was to go immediately and check on the sleeping children.  They were blissfully unaware so I continued on to the bathroom.  I got a wash cloth and ran it under the cool water.  Still in some pain but when I pulled down my panties and saw blood I got ill.  I had nothing to throw up though.  I scrubbed myself very hard, the pain was nothing compared to what I was feeling inside.  I was shaking when I looked up and into the mirror.  It really hit me then.  I realized Larry and Buzz had just taken something from me I would never recover; my innocence and trust in men. 

That night as I lay in my bed listening to my radio a singer, Tommy Roe, had finally reached out to answer my letter.... "Sweet little Sheila you'll know her if you see her....."  Only it was too late, the little girl who wrote that letter was gone, forever.

 Three months later I came home from school.  Mother wanted to speak to me, so I followed her into my parents’ bedroom.  There she sat down on the bed, livid with anger, and began shaking a piece of paper in the air.  The paper she shook was a personal letter I wrote and had hidden in a drawer.  A confidence about my rape to a friend.

"Why?  Why didn't you tell us?"  She demanded to know.

I tried explaining to her the rape had taken place an entire three whole months earlier. 

I was afraid to tell my parents.  The two boys, Buzz and Larry, threatened my life if I ever told anyone.  Why shouldn’t this have scared me?  Hell, if they raped me, who knew what they were capable of?  So, I kept this secret, this pain, living inside of me for so long, until I felt I would burst.  I wrote to my best friend sharing this horrible secret I needed desperately to share.  I knew she also had been raped.  She would understand the feelings.  I was sure of it.  My mistake was never mailing it, in letting some of the pain be dissipated by the mere act of writing it.

"Afraid?"  Mom screamed.  She picked up one of her slippers and began to hit my legs repeatedly.  With each strike, the print of the slipper caused a red and smarting welt.  "You've ruined your whole life."  Slap, slap...the sound of the slipper grew louder.  She just kept hitting and asking, “What were you afraid of?” 

Exactly this reaction.  She was out of control.  I remembered my father sitting on the other side of the bed.  Maybe he was speechless, but he never asked her to stop.  That hurt much worse.  Oh, he asked their names, but I never told him.  I was being a "good military brat", knowing the fathers of the boys would pay for their sons’ sins.  My dad was an officer, theirs were not.  Mother had certainly drilled into our heads we children were a direct reflection on our fathers.  She told us if we were to do something horrible, dad's rank, and therefore salary, would be cut.  This "threat" was always hanging over our heads.  I wanted no public knowledge of what they did to me.   I was way too young to understand the ramifications it would have on my life from then on.

I was brought back to the present situation by the waves slapping at the shoreline, the moonlight dancing across the water.  I looked over at my mother, she was crying now.  I sunk even lower into the seat as I heard the most incredible words come out of her sobs, "If abortions were legal...I would get you one."  Then she looked straight ahead, and started the car.  We were finished talking as far as she was concerned.