Written 20 October 2024
2009
“Woooo!” Anthony shouted in his 1999 red convertible mustang driving home to San Francisco from California State University East Bay. In two weeks he would be volunteering in Ghana for his summer internship. But tonight he was attending an all white Summer party at 440 Castro in San Francisco with his besties Laurence and Zeek. He lowered the volume on Musiq Soulchild’s song ‘Special’ as he searched his car for cash to pay the toll bridge worker who looked slightly older than his mother and had a prominent scar over his right eye.
Hours later, Anthony and his friends were throwing back gin and pineapple cocktails screaming Beyonce to the top of their lungs in a crowded sea of people dressed in all white.
That guy is totally eyeing you. Laurence shouted over the DJ.
“He’s probably looking for the restroom.”
“He’s coming over. Zeek warned.”
“Can I get you another drink?” he smiled seductively.
“I’ve got one, thanks. But a dance would be cool.”
“Anthony.”
“Kerry, nice to meet you.”
Three songs later Kerry kissed Anthony in the middle of the club surrounded by bouncing beach balls and strobe lights.
“I think I’ll take that drink now.”
“Coming right up, handsome.”
Kerry was moderately attractive, 5’11” with a short haircut mostly covered by his yarmulke, blue eyes and a shy smile. He said he was studying entertainment law at San Francisco State University and hoped to move to NYC after graduation. “Here, drown this, let's go get food at Little Skillet’s.”
Anthony grabbed Kerry’s arm, he looked around for his friends- but everyone and everything seemed to be a blur.
“You okay?”
“I think so, I just need some air.”
Kerry grabbed Anthony’s lower waist and took him out the back door. Anthony stumbled, holding onto the cold brick wall to keep balance when Kerry forced him down.
He awoke the next morning in the hospital. His blood stained clothes were wrapped in a sterile ziplock bag. The doctors found heavy traces of GHB in his system and told him he had extreme tearing in his rectal lining. They would run tests for diseases, but the results would take a week or so to come in. Anthony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wished he could talk to his mother, Alisha who was serving time at San Quentin State Prison. He felt violated, as if no place were safe, he felt broken and as if he was wearing this invisible stain people would see and judge.
1981
Alisha, 16 attended Archbishop Riordan Catholic High School. Her mother was indelibly religious. She often resorted to changing clothes in the neighbors bushes when she would say she was going to the library but was really meeting her friends at the drive-in movie theater or roller skating rink. Since their father died her mother became overprotective on top of her being over-religious. In her early 40’s, Carol-Ann was still a beautiful woman. She had a diamond shaped face with high cheekbones she inherited from her mother who was of Cherokee descent no doubt. Even with strands of gray peeking through her sleek bun Carol-Ann easily passed for a woman 15 years younger. Sometimes, Alisha wished she had light skin and was pretty like her mother and elder sister. She took after their father, a Geechee man from the Carolina’s. She was dark in complexion and had a broad nose and round face like his.
Walking home from school Friday afternoon she was stopped by Johnny, a family friend.
“What are you doing here Johnny?” She asked, seeing him ride up in his brand new red pontiac trans am he used to attract all the girls.
“Your sister told me to pick you up. Hop in.”
She grinned knowing all the girls in school would be jealous. If only they knew he was like her brother. Their parents were both members of the women’s social club and friends since before she was born. They sped off down the hill and hit a left near the corner store on Market Place and passed the old closed down church she went to as a little girl. Johnny played with the radio, showing off the sound system, stopping on Janet Jackson’s ‘The Pleasure Principle’ and then made a right.
“Hey, you were supposed to go left.”
“I know. I have a surprise for you.”
“For me? My birthday isn’t for another two weeks.”
“Well you deserve a present.”
“You got me a present?”
“Yeah. I see you out here acting all grown. You deserve to be treated like a woman now.”
“Finally, someone who understands.” She exhaled with a big smile.
Twenty minutes later they arrived in the Fillmore District. He opened the car door saying he had to pick something up from his cousin. Johnny knocked on the door and his cousin opened it eyeing her up and down. When she entered there were 3 other boys there she didn’t recognize.
One of the guys who wore a red bandana over his head and carried a cigarette above his ear asked if she wanted a taste of his colt forty five beer.
She declined and sat on a single chair covered in plastic. Johnny rolled and lit a doobie and passed it around. She took a few puffs and eased into the chair. It was either good weed or the sweat accumulating on her thighs had her sliding off the plastic. Johnny and his friends noticed her lackadaisical demeanor and began to touch her.
“You out here looking like a woman, I figured we should make you feel like one.”
“What are you talking about?”
As the words escaped her mouth the boys all surrounded her and began pulling off her uniform. She tried fighting back and even managed to scratch one above his right eye with her charm bracelet that had a pendant of the golden gate bridge. He slapped her to the floor. Her vision blurred, the boys carried her to the bedroom and held her down. They took turns violating her. She tried screaming, but no sound escaped. She focused hard on a photo of a boy and his mother sitting in a wicker chair, the golden gate bridge as their backdrop, their faces smiling from ear to ear until what seemed like hours later when they finished and left.
Johnny tossed the bloodied condom in the trash bin.
“Shit, I guess you were a virgin. You know you liked it though. Get dressed so I can take you home.”
That night she cried in a tub trying to wash away the sin. She could never tell her mother, she couldn’t tell anyone. She blamed herself, maybe it was her fault for wearing short skirts and too much makeup? She found herself pregnant and went to an old creole lady for an abortion. As the months progressed Alisha’s mood became worse. She switched out the Newport cigarettes she snuck behind the bleachers for marijuana. When that stopped making her forget she turned to crack cocaine and dropped out of school altogether. That always made her forget. She would spend the better parts of her 20’s running the streets until she became pregnant with Anthony. She wasn’t sure who his father was, but he looked like any number of men who could have taken advantage of her.
1955
Carol-Ann finished Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 to a resounding applause. She had just moved to San Francisco from Mississippi to study at SFU’s School of Music. Her family, having barely survived the Great Depression, had to restructure their cotton gin into a textile brand. Carol-Ann was different. She was destined to be a musician. Since childhood she had a great ear for music. Carol-Ann enjoyed sharing her gift. She would give lessons in her spare time to girls at her church, elementary schools and affluent families in Sausalito. Her favourite pupil was Lily Beckford. Lily’s father’s family came to San Francisco during the gold rush and invested in railroads. Every Friday she would play on the exquisite white Steinway grand piano with ivory keys in the sunroom with views of the tulip gardens and pacific ocean. The music was an accompaniment to the colours of the flowers in the lush green garden and cerulean ocean. After Lily’s lesson she was whisked off to her French lesson and Carol-Ann found herself reeling in the new life she carved out for herself. She became carried away playing when Mr. Beckford came in clapping in full admiration.
“Brava, Carol-Ann.”
“Thank you Mr. Beckford.”
“I hear you are one of the music conservatories finest students.”
She politely nodded.
He soon was sitting beside her. Carol-Ann moved from the piano’s bench to retrieve her purse and scarf.
“You are a very fashionable young woman.” He said as she gathered her things.
“Sir?”
“I mean look at you, exquisite form in your cream pencil skirt, white silk blouse and stilettos.”
“My family is in the textile business.” She said holding her purse firmly against her body.
“I should probably get going. I must have lost track of time.”
“Why the rush? You know I’ve been thinking of taking lessons myself. Maybe you could teach me?” He played a few keys hitting a sour note.
Carol-Ann quickly moved towards the French doors when she felt his hand grab her left arm and ripped off her blouse. He forced himself on her against the wall, the maids opposite the door too afraid to enter.
She screamed out in pain, but there was no one there who would help her.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and threw down his monogrammed handkerchief as he left the room.
Her white skirt now carried the blood stains of her innocence. She was ashamed. She later found herself pregnant. Disgraced, she went to a creole woman from New Orleans who lived in an apartment above a corner store on Market Place, girls would whisper about. Some called her the abortion Queen of San Francisco. She laid on the wooden table, undressed from the waist down with a blue floral sheet draped over her. Her legs were open and Madame Dupree etched towards her with a cigarette hanging at the corner of her mouth as she spoke and a wire hanger in her hands.
“Don’t be shy, love.”
“Is it dangerous? Will it hurt?” She stuttered.
“Drink some of this whiskey here and bite this rope. After this you won’t have no worries, cher.”
As Madame Dupree placed her hands on Carol-Ann’s thighs to spread them further apart Carol-Ann jumped off the table with tears running down her cheeks. She wrapped herself in the sheet, trembling.
“I can’t do this, Madame Dupree.”
“Cher, you gone have a tough road as a single mother.”
Unwed and pregnant, she was asked to leave school. With no place to go, Carol-Ann turned to the church for shelter and salvation. She would spend the remainder of her life in its pews as an usher. Her white uniform and gloved hands gave her strength and joy. Nine months later she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Two years later she met Walter, her husband. She had told him her husband died in a factory accident and that was that. They were married and she birthed three more daughters.
2009
“Are you okay?” Laurence sat at the edge of the sofa with a cup of tea. “What did the police say?”
“Was this a hate crime?” Zeek mustered.
“I’ve scheduled an appointment for you with my therapist over on Market Street.” Laurence said watching Anthony peer out of the window.
His friends surrounded him in his Uni apartment near the football field with a view of the pacific.
“We completely understand if you need time to adjust. You can go volunteer next year or something.” Zeek hugged him.
“I’ll be fine. I won’t let this stop me.”
“Look, people are sexually assaulted everyday, including my mother when she was younger. To be honest I think that’s what ruined her life. She makes that the excuse for everything and it was hell growing up with her. I won’t let this get to me. It’s nothing.”
“Anthony, this isn’t nothing, I mean your mother never received help for what she went through which led to her drug abuse. Not dealing with this could ruin you.”
Anthony had to parent his mother his entire life. He knew that if he thought about it too much it could potentially handicap him like it did her. He would just have to bury this. In the distance he looked out to the ocean, the water once cerulean now a dark murky gray, the bridge neither red nor golden. Just a shadow from the sun setting.