Central Park

It was the perfect day. Johnny had picked me up early, around 12, and he came with a red rose and a kiss on each eye. I couldn’t stop smiling as we held hands and walked to the train station near my apartment. We took the subway to the city, standing nose to nose holding on to the pole, staring in each other’s eyes, whispering love nonsense I no longer remember and have said to no one since. We got off the train at 59th street and headed for Central Park.

Along the way, we grabbed some sandwiches from a deli and a couple of beers, a habit I’d begun the previous year, my first in college. In Buffalo, it was the only thing everyone did: drink. I don’t anymore. It was a warm day, late June, but the humidity was low, surprising for New York. There were a lot of people about, but not as many as one might expect. Being summer in New York, the natives were probably in Europe or some exotic island and the tourists were seeing the sites. We found a secluded spot and sat in the grass under a tree. Johnny had even brought a blanket. Perfect.

“Did they put any napkins in the bag?” he asked as he took a bite of his sandwich.

“Let me see,” I said, looking in the brown bag. “Yep, here you go,” I said, taking the napkin and wiping his lips. He smiled and kissed my fingers.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” I said, kissing the tip of his nose.

I took my sandwich from the bag and started to eat. He opened one of the beers, and poured it into two plastic glasses, putting the can back in the bag. Looked like ginger ale. Sort of. He handed me one and said, “to us,” clinking his glass against mine.

“To us,” I echoed. We stared into each other’s eyes as we sipped. Gulped. Finished off the glass and opened the second can. I finished my sandwich and then the second glass of beer. I lay back looking at the sky between the leaves as Johnny finished his lunch.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” I said almost to myself.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Johnny said. He put his garbage in the bag and then said,“come here, you,” pulling me on top of him.

We kissed like that a long while, oblivious to any joggers, bikers and families who might have traveled the path below our tree. We had eyes for no one but each other – as the young and in love often do.

That’s probably why we never noticed the silence of the empty path or the noise of young men with nothing but time on their hands. By the time we became aware of them, the perfect day had already gone sour.

“Yo, Mikey, look. I want me some of that!” I heard from too close by.

I jumped to the side of Johnny just as some kid, some teenager reached a hand toward my ass. “What the hell?” I yelled as Johnny rolled over and jumped to his feet.

“Yo, big guy,” said another kid with a steak knife in his hand, “don’t make me hurt you. We just want a little taste. You don’t mind, do you?” he smiled, showing dirty, yellowing teeth, one missing in the front. I thought, so young to be so uncared for. What a thought to have had, I think now, in that moment before my world fell apart.

I looked around, side to side, looking for someone, anyone to scream to, to ask for help. Where was everyone? Why did we have to look for and find the most secluded tree in the park? What were we thinking? This was New York, after all.

“Look, guys,” Johnny started, trying to keep me behind him, but failing because there were five of them, “we don’t want any trouble. People are walking by all the time, you don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t you tell me what I want to do!” screamed the dirty, yellow toothed guy. “I know what I want.” He leered at me. “A piece of that ass. Grab her Monty,” he said and one of the kids behind me grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me to the ground.

Another one pushed Johnny down and held him down although, when I think back, he didn’t actually try to get away. He never tried to help beyond his ‘Look guys.’ I might as well have been alone. I was alone. I am alone.

Monty held my arms above my head while whispering in my ear, “if you scream, he’ll hurt you. Don’t move. He’ll do it. He’s done it before. The last time, he sliced the girl’s face. You don’t want that to happen to you, do you?”

I whimpered, tears rolling down my as yet undamaged face. A nameless kid ripped at my tank top and grabbed my breasts.

“Looka these, Mikey,” he said, smacking at them, then taking a nipple in his mouth and biting hard. I screamed.

Mikey dropped to his knees in front of me and said, “scream again and I’ll cut your face. Sit her up, Monty.”

Monty pushed me up, holding my arms behind me so tightly I thought they might pop. Mikey opened his pants, removing his vile member, erect and throbbing. I turned my head.

“Pull her hair, Willy.” The nameless kid, now Willy pulled my hair.

“Open up, baby,” Mikey said to me. “And if you bite me, you know what will happen, so don’t even think about it.”

I looked sideways at Johnny, prostrate on the ground, his captor watching, eyes sick with joyful anticipation, Johnny not even daring to open his eyes and look at me. At them.

“Don’t be thinking he’s gonna help you, bitch. I’ll kill him first. Now open up and suck, bitch,” he said, putting his knife to my cheek. It acted like a key and I opened my mouth, choking on him, doing for him something I hadn’t even thought about doing for Johnny, yet. Johnny and I hadn’t gotten beyond heavy petting. I hadn’t ever gotten beyond heavy petting. Not even the night of the prom a year ago. And now. This. The tears of revulsion coursed down my cheek as Mikey pumped his member in and out of my mouth, never moving the knife more than an inch away from my face.

“Oh. My. God,” he said as something wet and warm spurt into my mouth and then on my face as he pulled out and squirt the rest on me. “She’s a keeper, boys. Who’s next?”

They took turns holding me and fucking my mouth. And then I lost my virginity to five boys, on the grass, under a tree, in Central Park. Of course, Mikey was first. As he forced himself inside me, his eyes opened in surprise and then delight. He looked at Johnny. “What the fuck is your problem, man? You gay or something? Don’t worry, we’ll break her in for you. She’ll give you a good ride when it’s your turn,” he said, pumping away, grunting until he finished. Johnny lay on the ground, his eyes still closed. His face wet from his tears of…frustration? Humiliation? I never did find out. We haven’t spoken since.

One after the other. And then it was done. They were gone. I was left stripped of everything, clothing as well as dignity, self-respect, hope, love. As they ran off laughing, I threw up, retching on the grass next to me. I curled myself up in a ball that wouldn’t disappear no matter how I tried. Johnny in what seemed like slow motion grabbed the blanket and covered me. He whispered in my ear, I’ll get help, and left me there, a pile of inconsolable flesh and bones.

He didn’t see one police officer in his run to the edge of the park. It was 1986. He called the police and my mother from a pay phone. No such thing as cell phones yet. And crime was still high in the New York of those days. Any victim of a crime will say it still is I’m sure.

The police arrived as well as EMTs. They took me to the station. What a walk of shame from our tree, the tree, to the road where the police cars and ambulance were. They did what amounts to a rape kit, I think, in the ambulance, cleaned me off, and then took me to the police station. My mother arrived some time later with tears and clothes. And recriminations – what was I thinking of being in the middle of nowhere in Central Park? Am I crazy? You’re asking for trouble when you do something like that. You’re lucky they didn’t kill you. And Johnny. Poor Johnny. He’s beside himself. He feels so responsible. You should know better, Nina. You’re from the city. What does he know, bumpkin from upstate New York? You should know better.

“Mom. Shut. Up. Please,” I said from within the wall of pain I was sure she would not ever understand.

“Nina,” my mother said in a hurt voice.

“Sorry, Mom,” I muttered.

She looked away hurt, but sat next to me while we waited for I don’t know who or what.

A lady officer came over and said, “Would you like to call someone to come be with you?”

I thought that was kind of funny since my mother was sitting right there, but then figured she heard how supportive she was and I smiled without really smiling and said, “Yes, please.”

I walked with her and called my friend Gabrielle. She had been my best friend since freshman year of high school and was the best person to have around in times of trouble. She was a good listener and really funny. What she couldn’t fix with good advice, she made you forget with laughter. I dialed her number.

“Good afternoon,” she answered the phone.

I never understood why she always answered the phone as if it were a job or something.

“Gabrielle?” I said.

“Hey, Nina! What’s up? How’d the big date go? How long did you say Johnny was visiting his cousins? Will you get to see him again? Are you going out tonight? Can I tag along? I’d love to meet him. Nina?” Silence. “Nina, are you crying? What’s wrong? Did he not show up? Did he break up with you? What’s wrong? Nina? Talk to me.”

“Gabrielle,” I whispered. “I really can’t talk about it. But, could you meet me at the corner of 60th and Madison in about an hour?”

“Be there sooner. I love you, Nina!” she said, hanging up the phone.

I hung up and sat back down on the bench with my mother.

We filled out some forms, looked at some pictures, wrote a statement of events. Johnny was always somewhere on the edge of everything. I’m sure he had to do the same thing, but it was separate from me. The one time he came over, I could barely look at him.

“Nina? Um, I have to go now? My aunt and uncle came to pick me up and, um, well, they’re waiting outside, and, um, I’m really so unbelievably sorry and, um, well, I’ll call you, okay?” He looked as if he were going to lean over and kiss me, thought better of it with a look mixed with sadness and disgust, turned and walked out the door. He never did call. I don’t think I would have talked to him anyway.

“Such a nice boy. What a shame,” my mother said, shaking her head.

I stood up. “Can we leave now?” I asked the officer at the desk.

“Two minutes, sweetheart. We just have to check with the hospital and make sure they have everything they need. Hon, here’s a list of hotlines, self-help groups, people to talk to, you know, who’ve been through rape, too.”

Rape. The first time I heard the word tied to me. ME. I had been raped, violated, used, abused, cast aside like a piece of trash. I felt like a piece of trash. Who could ever love me now, I thought. Johnny couldn’t wait to run away. The tears started to well up but I wouldn’t let them fall. I took the list and said, “Thank you.” I sat down.

A few minutes later they told me I could go, they would call me if they made any arrests. They called just before I left for college. They caught four of the five in the act at some park in upper Manhattan. Would I testify? I said I was going back to college. I wouldn’t have time. I’m sorry. I hung up. I just wanted to forget.

But that day, my perfect day turned black, it was too soon to forget. My mom and I walked to the bus stop where I was going to meet Gabrielle. She was already there. She ran to meet me, and grabbed me in a bear hug, not an easy thing for a 5 foot 3, 90-pound girl, next to my 5 foot 7 and 120 pounds. But she did. And I let her although my first reaction was to push her away.

“Mom, you go home. I’m going with Gabrielle,” I said.

“What? I came all this way to take you home,” she started.

Gabrielle looked at us both with a question she didn’t ask in her eyes and said with her endearing smile, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ross. Don’t be angry. Nina and I haven’t had a chance to get together since we got back from college. Please let her come with me,” she said in her little girl sing-song-y voice that got on my nerves but seemed to generally get her what she wanted.

“Of course, of course,” my mother said, smiling at Gabrielle. “You go on, girls. I’ll take the bus. Call me if you stay at Gabrielle’s tonight,” she said, not smiling at me.

“Okay, Mom. There’s your bus,” I said as it pulled up to the curb.

She got on without looking back.

“Whew. What was that all about?” Gabrielle asked, hooking her arm through mine. I started to sweat, but I didn’t take my arm away.

“Let’s go to your house,” I said.

“You want to go out to eat or something?” she asked.

“Can we order pizza or Chinese or something?” I whined.

“Sure. No prob. Nina, what is going on?”

“Let’s just get to your house, please,” I said.

“Alrighty then,” she said and we headed for the subway in silence.

An hour later, we had ordered Chinese and were sitting on her bed in her room waiting for it to arrive. Her mom was out on a date, her parents were divorced, so we had the house to ourselves. I had said barely a word the whole way so I had gotten an earful of Freshman year at Georgetown, the basketball players, the long hours in the library, the hot Spaniard whose pants she couldn’t get in, and I cringed at her desire, and finally the summer job at a big law firm in lower Manhattan

“Okay, Nina. I have told you everything about me. Now please, tell me, what is wrong?”

“I, I, well, Johnny and I went to the park today.”

“Yeah, I know that. Where was he anyway? Why was your mom there?” Her eyes widened, “Were you guys mugged? Is he okay? Did he get hurt trying to defend you? Oh my god, how romantic,” she said running away with her own story. “Did he have a gun?” She stopped smiling. “Did Johnny get shot?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God! Is he dead?” she looked at me expectantly.

“What an imagination you have, Gabrielle. No. We were not mugged. No, Johnny did not get hurt.”

“Thank God,” she said, relieved.

“I was raped.”

“What? Oh my God! Oh Nina,” she wailed, pulling me into her arms. I pulled back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking at me with sorrow, yes, but I couldn’t help feeling there was a certain amount of, I don’t know, judgment?, as well. The bell rang.

“Chinese!” she said, jumping off her bed and running down the stairs to the door.

Saved by the bell, I thought.

I ate dinner in relative silence with Gabrielle trying to make conversation but not really knowing what to say. What do you say to your friend who has just been violated in such an intimate way? So, what was it like? How do you feel? She was smart enough not to be so stupid, but she kept talking and trying to make me laugh. Of course, that’s why I loved her. That’s why I called her. Even so, I finally said, “Gabrielle, please, shut up.”

“I’m sorry, Nina,” she said, hurt but with an understanding look in her eyes.

“Me too,” I said.

After dinner, I called my mom to tell her I was spending the night at Gabrielle’s house.

“Okay, Nina.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Nina?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” I could hear the tears in her voice. As well as the several glasses of vodka she’d probably had by that point.

“I know, Mom. Good night.”

“Good night, honey. Call me if you need me.”

I hung up.

I took a very long, hot shower, scrubbing my skin until it was red. I couldn’t wash away the feeling of being covered in filth as I slid down the wall of the shower and bawled silently. Gabrielle found me there. She turned off the water, and leaning over the tub, she wrapped me in a towel and dried me like a child. She wiped my nose and made me blow in a tissue. She dried my hair and put me in a nightgown of hers. I cried still. She lay me in her bed and stroked my hair, softly singing some song I’m sure her mother used to sing to her when she was a baby. My mother never sang to me. I cried. I cried until there were no more tears for me, for Johnny, for anyone.

I was broken that day. Smashed into a million pieces I could never put together again, though I’ve tried.