THE GIRL IN THE PURPLE DRESS by Elizabeth Hipwell

Months of saying, "No."

Listening to that wise voice inside,

Saying, "Stick to your guns. Don't give in."

Then,

One day,

Six or seven months later,

A crack in her resolve,

Vulnerability on display,

Opens wide

Letting in the vermin.

The persistent one creeps in,

Inserting himself,

No longer taking "No" for an answer.

This girl convinces herself

To be flattered,

Giving up being appalled,

Interpreting his crass nasty talk

As being modern,

Not being uptight and prudish

As she had convinced herself she is.

After a few cringe inducing

Dirty talking phone calls,

This determined man asks her to dinner.

She thinks, "Finally, a real date."

This young woman goes to her favorite

Vintage shop,

Buys a purple sundress.

On THE night

She bathes

Sprays

Dresses

With care.

A girl in a purple dress.

Full of anticipation

Hope

Feeling good about herself

Waiting

He shows up an hour late,

Ringing the bell.

Upon entrance

He peruses her scantly furnished studio,

Obviously with disdain

Remarks about her lack of cable.

The girl's confidence falters.

I sit

He sits,

Handing over a lukewarm bottle of California White.

'Not my favorite,' she thinks.

'I prefer Red, but I will settle.'

After glasses have been poured,

We sip.

I'm nervous.

"Are we going out soon?"

He takes my glass away.

Swoops in.

Attacks with tongue and hands.

Scratching

Pulling

Holding down.

My beautiful purple dress,

Pushed aside and up.

I float away,

Hoping and waiting for it to be over soon.

Head hanging over the futon,

Bobbing in the air with nowhere to land.

'I'm a modern girl now,' I tell myself.

When he's done

I run

In my purple dress

To the bathroom.

Red and Brown

Running down my legs.

I gasp.

"Are you okay?" He yells.

"Uh...I'm...fine..." I say.

Embarrassed

Frantically trying to stop the flood

Stepping into the tub

Lifting the purple dress

I crouch.

Wash

To stop the endless flow,

Brown and red.

Minutes later

It finally stops.

Guilt and shame

Come in to settle.

She walks back out to him.

He says, "You all right?"

Stunned,

In a quivering voice,

She answers, "Uh...yeah..."

He pulls IT out,

Asks, "Is this the best you've seen?"

She notices he wore pants sans underwear,

Obviously ready

Before he got here.

Tremendous cramping

Pulsates through her body.

He wants her to show herself to him.

What was once covered

By the torn new underwear

That now lays soiled and bloody

On the bathroom floor,

Lonely, ripped and battered.

She has no defenses.

He looks with disdain,

Announcing that he has to leave now.

'No dinner,' she thinks.

"You don't have cable," he tells her,

“And I want to watch the game."

"Okay..."

He's gone.

She sits in the dark,

In the scene of the crime.

Her insides feel like they are falling out.

She's afraid to stand up.

Sits silently.

From far away,

Outside herself (or within)

She hears a deep rumble of sound

Unlike any she's heard before.

A quake begins,

Teeth chatter

Torn apart

Rocking back and forth

Not a modern woman.

'If this was sex for sport,

I don't want to play.'

Feeling foolish

For hoping

For anticipating

For being the girl in a purple dress.
-Elizabeth Hipwell