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
-Elizabeth Hipwell
