Memories
I had spent forty-five minutes in the shower that morning, scrubbing my skin until it hurt. I had taken one last night, too, but I never seemed to feel clean. Sometimes, I just stared up at the showerhead and let the water pour over my eyes, trying to rinse away the image of him in the doorframe and the feeling of unnamable dread that had entered me then. It had been too much to bear, and no amount of washing could get his smell off me.
I called in sick that day to my teaching assignment. The English department secretary had been a little worried - it's not really like me to miss class - and I assured her I'd fill her in when I could. Now John wanted me down at the squadroom for more questioning. I was barely able to sit down and he wanted me for more questioning.
There was a lesson to be taught him here, and I had put on a pretty skirt and blouse over the bandages on wrists, not too low; I wasn't ready for that yet. It was ahrd to arrange my sling without wrinkling. He seemed quite surprised to see me so cold and formal with him: I suppose he hadn't been expecting that. But, damn, was I supposed to just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back? Not on his life.
So here I was now, in the interrogation room of the Special Victims Unit of the New York Police Department, sitting across the table from a psychologist, supposedly to profile my attacker. I could feel John's eyes on me from behind the one-way glass.
"How are you doing with this, Cara?" the doctor asked me, a small but attractive Asian man with a nice smile. "How are you feeling?"
"How am I supposed to feel?" I replied. "I was raped. I feel dirty."
He nodded. "You'll feel that way for a while, but eventually it'll pass. You'll stop seeing him on every street corner, in the face of every man you meet. Eventually you'll start dating again. Are you dating anyone right now?"
Quick to the point. I liked that. "Not right now," I said, trying to forget who was listening. "We, ah, broke up about week before the attack."
"And what do you remember from the attack?"
"Where do you want me to start?" I asked. "I went to bed around one, and around two I heard someone in the kitchen, fumbling around. I thought my roommate had come home drunk or something, so I just ignored it, until my door opened and this guy came in. I already told all this to the police. Is this really necessary?"
"I'm afraid it is. I know it's hard."
"And he jumped on me before I could do a damn thing, tied my hands to the headboard, and he raped me. Twice." I rubbed my wrists through the bandages where they had been cut by the twine "Between, he laid down next to me like we were . making love. Played with my hair. He . fondled my breast. It was all really surreal."
"What do you remember about him? Any physical description?"
"My heart had pounded but my hands had been remarkably steady, like I was forcing myself not to panic. I had tried to remember him, but eventually I just closed my eyes and waited for it to be over, you know?"
"You tried to remember him? What does that mean?"
"Well, I know you're supposed to try to notice him, what he looks like, but he had on a ski mask."
"Well, there must have been eyeholes in it. Close your eyes now and try to picture his eyes. Can you tell what color skin he has?"
I did as I was told. "White. He was white. But I could see that because of his hands."
"He didn't leave any fingerprints. Are you sure he wasn't wearing gloves?"
"No gloves," I affirmed. "That's all I can remember. It was dark, you know?"
"Okay. This ex-boyfriend of yours: did you two part on good terms?"
"No, but he didn't do it."
"How are you so sure?"
"He's been cleared. He's . he's a cop. Besides, I know how his hands feel, how he walks when he enters a room. I know how John makes love. It wasn't him. And when the door opened, I could see him in the doorframe . this guy was too short."
"Too short?"
"Yeah. John's like six-one, but this guy didn't come up that high on the jamb."
"Are you sure?"
"John is the only man I've had sex with since I came to New York: he's the only man who would have been in my bedroom, whom I would have seen in that doorframe," I said, forcefully. "This guy was too short . five-ten, maybe."
"Okay. Good." Dr Huang was nodding. He glanced quickly over at the glass, as if to make sure the detectives behind it - John and his captain, I could only imagine - had taken notice of that little detail that had surprised even me. "Why else wasn't this your ex-boyfriend?"
"He had blue eyes," I said, almost before the doctor had finished his question. "I could see that he had blue eyes. John's are brown."
"Excellent. Thank you, Cara. You've been very helpful."
"Is that enough?" I asked, still breathless from my revelations. I hadn't been aware that I knew those things, I'd been trying so hard not to remember.
"Perfect. If you need any counseling, this is the number of one of my colleagues. She's especially good with victims of rape."
"Doctor," I said, leaning forward, willing the detectives not to hear this. "I'm going to be okay. This is just something that happened to me. It happens to a lot of women. Just make sure they catch him, okay?"
He smiled, very warmly. Yes, a very nice smile. "Okay. Thank you, Cara."
"Thank you." I left quietly, with a subversive glare at John. I hated that he had heard that, and that thoughts of him had been the impetus for my memory. I left quickly, and caught the subway back to my borrowed apartment.
I had spent forty-five minutes in the shower that morning, scrubbing my skin until it hurt. I had taken one last night, too, but I never seemed to feel clean. Sometimes, I just stared up at the showerhead and let the water pour over my eyes, trying to rinse away the image of him in the doorframe and the feeling of unnamable dread that had entered me then. It had been too much to bear, and no amount of washing could get his smell off me.
I called in sick that day to my teaching assignment. The English department secretary had been a little worried - it's not really like me to miss class - and I assured her I'd fill her in when I could. Now John wanted me down at the squadroom for more questioning. I was barely able to sit down and he wanted me for more questioning.
There was a lesson to be taught him here, and I had put on a pretty skirt and blouse over the bandages on wrists, not too low; I wasn't ready for that yet. It was ahrd to arrange my sling without wrinkling. He seemed quite surprised to see me so cold and formal with him: I suppose he hadn't been expecting that. But, damn, was I supposed to just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back? Not on his life.
So here I was now, in the interrogation room of the Special Victims Unit of the New York Police Department, sitting across the table from a psychologist, supposedly to profile my attacker. I could feel John's eyes on me from behind the one-way glass.
"How are you doing with this, Cara?" the doctor asked me, a small but attractive Asian man with a nice smile. "How are you feeling?"
"How am I supposed to feel?" I replied. "I was raped. I feel dirty."
He nodded. "You'll feel that way for a while, but eventually it'll pass. You'll stop seeing him on every street corner, in the face of every man you meet. Eventually you'll start dating again. Are you dating anyone right now?"
Quick to the point. I liked that. "Not right now," I said, trying to forget who was listening. "We, ah, broke up about week before the attack."
"And what do you remember from the attack?"
"Where do you want me to start?" I asked. "I went to bed around one, and around two I heard someone in the kitchen, fumbling around. I thought my roommate had come home drunk or something, so I just ignored it, until my door opened and this guy came in. I already told all this to the police. Is this really necessary?"
"I'm afraid it is. I know it's hard."
"And he jumped on me before I could do a damn thing, tied my hands to the headboard, and he raped me. Twice." I rubbed my wrists through the bandages where they had been cut by the twine "Between, he laid down next to me like we were . making love. Played with my hair. He . fondled my breast. It was all really surreal."
"What do you remember about him? Any physical description?"
"My heart had pounded but my hands had been remarkably steady, like I was forcing myself not to panic. I had tried to remember him, but eventually I just closed my eyes and waited for it to be over, you know?"
"You tried to remember him? What does that mean?"
"Well, I know you're supposed to try to notice him, what he looks like, but he had on a ski mask."
"Well, there must have been eyeholes in it. Close your eyes now and try to picture his eyes. Can you tell what color skin he has?"
I did as I was told. "White. He was white. But I could see that because of his hands."
"He didn't leave any fingerprints. Are you sure he wasn't wearing gloves?"
"No gloves," I affirmed. "That's all I can remember. It was dark, you know?"
"Okay. This ex-boyfriend of yours: did you two part on good terms?"
"No, but he didn't do it."
"How are you so sure?"
"He's been cleared. He's . he's a cop. Besides, I know how his hands feel, how he walks when he enters a room. I know how John makes love. It wasn't him. And when the door opened, I could see him in the doorframe . this guy was too short."
"Too short?"
"Yeah. John's like six-one, but this guy didn't come up that high on the jamb."
"Are you sure?"
"John is the only man I've had sex with since I came to New York: he's the only man who would have been in my bedroom, whom I would have seen in that doorframe," I said, forcefully. "This guy was too short . five-ten, maybe."
"Okay. Good." Dr Huang was nodding. He glanced quickly over at the glass, as if to make sure the detectives behind it - John and his captain, I could only imagine - had taken notice of that little detail that had surprised even me. "Why else wasn't this your ex-boyfriend?"
"He had blue eyes," I said, almost before the doctor had finished his question. "I could see that he had blue eyes. John's are brown."
"Excellent. Thank you, Cara. You've been very helpful."
"Is that enough?" I asked, still breathless from my revelations. I hadn't been aware that I knew those things, I'd been trying so hard not to remember.
"Perfect. If you need any counseling, this is the number of one of my colleagues. She's especially good with victims of rape."
"Doctor," I said, leaning forward, willing the detectives not to hear this. "I'm going to be okay. This is just something that happened to me. It happens to a lot of women. Just make sure they catch him, okay?"
He smiled, very warmly. Yes, a very nice smile. "Okay. Thank you, Cara."
"Thank you." I left quietly, with a subversive glare at John. I hated that he had heard that, and that thoughts of him had been the impetus for my memory. I left quickly, and caught the subway back to my borrowed apartment.