FIVE
* * *
I look at Kevin now. A man, a handsome man, is my brother. I can see why silly, jealous Lucy Camden wants him. I know what kind of girl she is and I envy her. For all your world to be your love for a handsome man, what must that be like? For all your world to be your family, your big, strange, silly family, without a care in the world? What is your life like, Lucy Camden, that you can afford to be such a ditz?
What is your deepest shame, Lucy?
"She deserves to know," I tell him. "She is going to share your life, your bed. She has a right to know what happened."
"No!"
He stands. His hands are balled into fists as he glares down at me.
I watch him back. He says nothing.
In time he sits down again.
"You love her," I say softly.
He nods.
"But she won't love me," he answers. "Not if she knows."
I do not answer. I do not know Lucy Camden; I have seen her all of twice in my life and each time she behaved like a child. But Kevin loves her; he has seen something in her that I do not.
"Why?" I ask. "Why won't she love you?"
He looks at me now, and his eyes are wet with tears.
"Look at her family, Patty Mary. Her father's a Minister. They don't even like to say the word 'sex' in that house. I heard one story that they once completely freaked out over a condom. Don't you see? Lucy's innocent. She doesn't know the world, the way things are. How could a girl like her ever love me, if she knew what I've done?"
#
They say, you know, that you can't blame the victim. They say that it is wrong to point your finger at someone who has been raped or molested and say that it is their fault. And they're right, but actions speak louder than words. If your car is stolen, you are the victim and the robber is the perpetrator. Simple. But when it is a sexual, intimate crime there is always the stain, the unspoken mark that you will wear forever, that you were broken, violated, used. There is always the sense, even among the most well meaning of people, that you are dirty somehow, that you are now a wrong thing in the universe.
Even in pity, this is strong.
It is stronger still in the silence of shame.
* * *
I look at Kevin now. A man, a handsome man, is my brother. I can see why silly, jealous Lucy Camden wants him. I know what kind of girl she is and I envy her. For all your world to be your love for a handsome man, what must that be like? For all your world to be your family, your big, strange, silly family, without a care in the world? What is your life like, Lucy Camden, that you can afford to be such a ditz?
What is your deepest shame, Lucy?
"She deserves to know," I tell him. "She is going to share your life, your bed. She has a right to know what happened."
"No!"
He stands. His hands are balled into fists as he glares down at me.
I watch him back. He says nothing.
In time he sits down again.
"You love her," I say softly.
He nods.
"But she won't love me," he answers. "Not if she knows."
I do not answer. I do not know Lucy Camden; I have seen her all of twice in my life and each time she behaved like a child. But Kevin loves her; he has seen something in her that I do not.
"Why?" I ask. "Why won't she love you?"
He looks at me now, and his eyes are wet with tears.
"Look at her family, Patty Mary. Her father's a Minister. They don't even like to say the word 'sex' in that house. I heard one story that they once completely freaked out over a condom. Don't you see? Lucy's innocent. She doesn't know the world, the way things are. How could a girl like her ever love me, if she knew what I've done?"
#
They say, you know, that you can't blame the victim. They say that it is wrong to point your finger at someone who has been raped or molested and say that it is their fault. And they're right, but actions speak louder than words. If your car is stolen, you are the victim and the robber is the perpetrator. Simple. But when it is a sexual, intimate crime there is always the stain, the unspoken mark that you will wear forever, that you were broken, violated, used. There is always the sense, even among the most well meaning of people, that you are dirty somehow, that you are now a wrong thing in the universe.
Even in pity, this is strong.
It is stronger still in the silence of shame.