By now, I was completely buzzed and rising higher with every sip of tea. Vera guided me to a back bedroom. I stumbled a bit before gaining my legs. The room swirled then stopped, then swirled again. I closed my eyes to quell a wave of nausea that washed over me.
I stepped inside the room and thought Vera had the biggest bed I’d ever seen in my life. The large ornately carved bed took up the bulk of the space in the room. A picture of a blond, blue-eyed Jesus hung above the headboard, next to a picture of Martin Luther King Jr. The bedside table held a small lamp, a well-worn bible, and a basket of brightly colored yarn with slim blue metallic knitting needles. I didn’t know whether it was the tea or Vera’s protective presence, but the room had a cozy soft glow that made me feel safe, like I had arrived at some sort of refuge. Vera’s farmhouse was the closest thing to women’s health care anyone could expect or afford in a poor rural town in east Georgia.
Vera eased me into a chair. She pulled a long folding table from under the bed, snapped open the legs, and stood the table upright at the foot of her bed. I watched her, my head lolling about like a large stone as she moved around the room, fussing with towels and covering the table in a yellow plastic tablecloth.
“Drink every lick of that tea, baby. It’ll help things along.”
I did, growing foggier with each sip, until the room became a swaying kaleidoscope of furniture and pictures. The room was filled with music coming from somewhere, distant and muffled.
“Will it hurt?” I whispered.
Vera stopped her preparations and stood in front of me.
“Yeah, baby, it’ll hurt.” She moved in closer. “It’s gonna hurt a lot. But I can look at you and tell, you a strong girl. Real strong. Strong girls are brave girls. Always remember that. No matter what nobody tells you. So I’ma need you to be brave tonight, okay?” She gently rubbed my back. “Now I need you to slide your panties off.”
Again, I did as she told me. Vera went back to the busyness of table preparations. The table complete, she carefully lifted my thin limp frame to a standing position and led me to the folding table. My legs felt like thin twigs and I grew scared all of a sudden that they would break. All I could think was that my legs would break, and I’d never be able to walk again. Ever. I wanted to run, but the same legs I feared would break wouldn’t move now.
“Stay strong, baby. Remember what I told you. Be brave.” Vera held me close before carefully laying me on top of the smooth hard table.
I heard the music again, garbled sounds of a song that I couldn’t comprehend. The music was hypnotizing. My head spun as Vera gently bent my legs at the knees and spread them apart.
“My God . . .” she uttered softly as she rubbed her fingertips across the cigar burn scars on my thighs. “Lay real still, baby.”
I strained to make out the tune of the song. It was something slow, a male group harmonizing words, something about love and rainbows. The song didn’t make any sense. Everything seemed hazy, moving in slow motion. Vera carefully removed a slim blue metallic knitting needle from the basket of yarn. She wiped it gingerly with a washcloth before swirling it inside a bottle of alcohol. After, she swiped it through the air a few times like a conductor waving her baton. I turned my head toward the dresser. I found it. The source of the music—a wooden radio, the old-fashioned kind, with gold knobs and lines demarking the stations. The radio sat like a big brown guard in the center of the dresser, spilling music and lyrics of love. I focused everything I had inside of me on the huge gold knob—the perfect circle, the smooth, round orb.
I winced as Vera laid her hand against my thigh. I could feel the cool hard metal as she slid the pointed end of the knitting needle inside me. A few seconds later, a pain ripped intense and searing, like fire slashing through my body. I grabbed the sides of the table. The music grew faint as the pain ran hot and fast. The gold radio knob blurred through a rush of silent tears.
I didn’t scream. Not a sound. Not a whimper. Vera told me I was strong and brave, and I believed her. But more than anything, I didn’t scream because I was afraid Vera might stop and I would be forced to have a baby I didn’t want by a man I hated.
Everything was over just a few minutes after it began. Vera helped me get cleaned up before she wrapped a heavy blue quilt with bright yellow daisies around my shoulders.
Before we left the bedroom, she took my hand. “Did Willie Jay do this to you?” Vera whispered. “Tell me the truth.”
I nodded yes.
“Humph.” She gently rubbed the cigar burn scar and squeezed my hand. “Okay, we’ll take care of all that later. Don’t you worry none. You go on home with your momma. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”