General Fiction posted October 5, 2014 Chapters:  ...16 17 -18- 19... 

This work has reached the exceptional level
Lucille recalls her first, and last, week at college

A chapter in the book FRIDAYS

Friday, October 13th (Part Two.)

by Fridayauthor

The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.

Please see Author Notes for a summary. Thank you.
            Friday Number Nine, October 13th (Part Two.)
            By some strange luck of the draw, Barbara Stinson and I were tossed together in a stuffy twelve by twelve cubicle, that was to be our living quarters. We could not have been more dissimilar if someone wrote a script. Barbara, a parochial school graduate, introduced herself by leaping on the bed and yelling, at the top of her lungs, “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I'm free at last!” In the next few days she wailed to anyone who'd listen that she was a virgin and damned sick of it! She vowed to grab the first good looking guy she met by the you-know-what's and roll with him naked on the quadrangle lawn at high noon!
            With Barbara it was impossible to know when she was serious, if ever. But I didn't doubt for a minute chastity was not an important attribute in her eyes. She scared me and thrilled me and constantly left me bewildered. Here was someone who didn't care a hoot about what she said, who heard her say it, or what the world thought of her actions. She exuded self-confidence while I was a baffled child, tagging after her as she smiled and laughed her way around the campus. The school was only open to incoming freshmen, but Barbara knew everyone before the first four days were over. She would tug my arm to jump in to any gathering, especially of the opposite sex, and in minutes be leading the conversation.
            Back at the dorm, she couldn't sit still. “Let's find a party!” she'd yell. “Come on, Lucy. The world is crying for us! Let's have some action!” No one had ever asked me to join them! But much as I wanted to, little Lucy was far too embarrassed to accept.
            “I hear there are some sophomores coming on campus early. They've got their own house!” she'd say. “Let's go! What are you waiting for? They're only boys! We'll knock 'em dead!” but I'd just smile and mumble some excuse.
            At first I felt some hidden need to be faithful to Paul's memory, but our time together had come and gone so fast I wasn't sure what I should feel. I longed to tell Barbara about my “experience” but I never dared to do so. Then there was the fear any boy I even spoke to would somehow discover I was no longer pure, so to speak, as silly as that sounds nowadays. Lucy the bad girl. But the overwhelming reason was my natural shyness. I was scared witless! But all that changed, less than a week after I arrived, my first Friday night.
            “You've got to go, Lucy! I found out his name, it's Gary Foley, the one who was giving you the eye in the cafeteria. It's a fraternity party for God's sake! Think of it! It'll be a blast!”
            Barbara and two other girls wouldn't listen to any of my weak excuses and insisted I tag along. I hadn't been to a party of any kind since my ninth birthday and I was petrified. But it wasn't near as frightening as I had supposed. It was fun; loud and rowdy but everyone was laughing and it was like nothing I'd ever experienced! More and more fun as the evening progressed! Fruity, sweet tasting drinks were thrust upon me, making everything bathed in a wild blur of laughter. I even danced! Conversation wasn't near as difficult as usual. Then things started to become baffling, little lapses began to occur.
            “How did I get in the lady's room?” I'd laugh and so would everyone else. “I don't remember coming in here!” Someone would ask me a question, calling me by name but I didn't remember meeting them. I'd have another drink. I would be dancing, then I'd be sitting, talking seriously to someone I didn't know and then forgetting what I said. I remember talking in an unaccustomed babble, spilling out my life story, probably even my secret time with Paul, but later, time itself became a blur. Then I couldn't see Barbara and the others I'd come with but someone took my hand and led me back when I went to find them. And we'd have another drink. Then there was a long time I didn't remember anything but low lights and incredibly loud music.
            But later, much later, I gradually became aware something was incredibly wrong! I awoke with a start to find Gary Foley on top of me, ripping at my clothes, both of us wedged behind a sofa pulled out slightly from the wall. The music was so loud and our position so muffled my cries and screams were simply part of the mayhem, muted by his face pressed on mine. One of my legs was twisted beneath the sofa and I could hardly move. I felt ripped and torn and there was a mass within my body and I screamed, but he blocked my mouth further with his and wouldn't stop. He held my arms above my head and I couldn't move; I was trapped beneath him, my legs spread open by his kneeling body between them as that part of him jammed deeper and deeper inside me! And then, as I fought and struggled to be free of him, I saw the others, four boys standing on the sofa above us, bouncing up and down, yelling and laughing and cheering him on! Suddenly he finished hurting me and with a silly drunken smile crawled away, pulling up his pants as he stumbled to his feet.
            “Next!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as everyone laughed and cheered while my head spun in dizziness as I struggled and crawled away on hands and knees.
            I remember staggering to my feet and slapping at someone who tried to stop me, and then running from the room, tear-stained, gagging, ripped and mortified, my hands to my face so as never to see a one of them again. I dashed out the open door, across the lawn, stumbled, tearing my clothes further and cutting my arm. I vomited all over myself, and urinated into my shoes.
        When I reached my dorm, I ran directly to the shower, and stood there, fully clothed and sobbing, and tried to soak the evening away in a torrent of tepid water. Then, stripping away every stitch I wore, I stuffed them into the trash and ran, naked, down the hall to my room. With the door slammed and braced-closed by a chair, I sobbed and sobbed until there were no tears left to shed from my aching body. Finally, with the first light of dawn, I managed to bring myself to some semblance of composure. I stuffed my suitcase, clean and dirty together, dressed, and staggered to the bus station. Six hours and two transfers later I was back home at Sea View, less than a week after I'd left.
            The time in transit enabled me to further compose myself and I tried to think of a logical answer to why I had fled my Bendix scholarship and the university. I concocted a story I would tell and resolved to answer none of their questions. But when my mother opened the door that Saturday noon, all reason sank away in tears and anguish.
            I reached for her through the blur of my tears but she stepped back and looked at me sternly. “I told you,” she said, as if she had been there, somehow knowing. “Good girls don't do it!”
            She grabbed me by the shoulder and marched me to the bathroom where she sat me on the open toilet. From the closet she brought what I despised while I shook my head in protest. As usual, I dared not stop her and could only sob a contrition for a sin I hadn’t committed.
            She pulled off the rest of my clothes and sat me, like a child, in a scalding bathtub for most of the afternoon, as if gallons of water would wash and drown away the pain within me. She didn't even bother to close the bathroom door as I sat huddled there, unable to move myself to give this shamed and trembling creature a little privacy.
            My father, who was in the house all the time, said nothing, although I overheard him later mumble as he passed by, “I hope to God the stupid girl's not gotten herself pregnant. All we need is a little bastard running around the place.”
             Later, mother made me dress and we marched to church and Saturday afternoon confession.
            “I was intimate with a boy,” I blubbered, for a second time in my life, though intimacy played no part in what had happened.
            Father Hammond tried to question me but my wracking sobs became louder and he had the decency to stop. A quick ten Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers later I was absolved, from what I was never sure. I have not been to confession since.
            I forgave my parents much in life, but not the lack of understanding that weekend when I was a limp rag, incapable of thought or motion and more in need of their love than anything in the world. Here was their daughter, torn and hurt, crying for help, and they treated me as if I were the campus harlot, having sex with anyone who asked and laughing about it afterwards. I never sought an ounce of comfort in that house from that day forward, as long as either of them lived, and, I pray to God for forgiveness for it, but I gave them little or no comfort in return.

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Lucille, age thirty-seven, is a school teacher and a near-recluse. After her mother's death, she remodels her lifetime family home, to rid it of ghosts of the past. At the suggestion of her priest, she records her thoughts and feelings in a diary. She has developed a strong interest in old letters found in her mother's dresser. She has reluctantly agreed to weekly Friday evening dinners with a shy church acquaintance, Mr. Anderson. She had grown comfortable with his company, but recently she reacted abruptly when he kissed her. Part of her, whom she calls Amy, is pushing her to stop fighting any hint of intimacy. She is recalling troubled times in her past.
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