What May Brings

Today I awoke with a start again. Not because of a dream this time, but I was troubled my mind thought it was Monday. I had to get up! Go to work! Prepare for the salt mines! Slowly I replayed the weekend to calculate what day it was, and then I realized it is mothers' day! And yesterday was the annual brunch that the women in the neighborhood organize. I missed it again. I couldn't bring myself to be in such close contact with neighbors.

Our closest neighbors, Paco and Dolores, were the street "elders" when we moved into our little house. They had lived here for almost fifty years, and had stories about all of the people who had ever lived on our block. We revered them as patient and wise onlookers of our inexperience. Needed a gardening tip? They had it, and they shared with us their crop of hot peppers that Dolores transformed yearly into her famous salsa. They fastidiously tended their little plot of ground in the summer, Dolores attempting to dwell in a little piece of Mexico with her whitewashed trees and colorful flowers. Paco bought vodka, and social butterfly that he was, sometimes drank it with us. We were good friends. I had lived in Mexico, which made the connection even deeper, and we would talk about San Miguel de Allende, about the small villages around Oaxaca, where Paco grew up, about life, neighbors, personal things. We trusted him, we had been friends for ten years, and he had a key to our house, easy entry to feed our fish and cats when we were gone.

It was one day toward the end of the school year, that high-tension time in May, when Paco called me over to the fence gate. I was hanging up clothes, and we often talked and kidded across the fence. When I got there, he said, "Are you alright?" He gave me a hug, which was not unusual. He was like a comforting grandfather. He loved me. Then I felt his hands fumbling on my breasts. I stepped away and asked him what he was doing. He said, "nothing, nothing". I was off-balance, startled, and I told him he couldn't do that, didn't he know? He apologized and I glanced around, wondering if the neighbors were watching. "It won't happen again. I'm sorry. Really. It won't happen again. Come in. I want to show you something." Thoughts raced through my head. Is he OK? Was this just a mistake? Should I go? Should I trust him? I felt compassion for the old man. Had he suffered a moral lapse in judgement and needed to make amends?

We had been friends for ten years, and I wanted to give him another chance. I didn't want to believe he would try to touch me again, but when we got into the house he tried to lead me into Dolores' bedroom, touching my breasts again and saying, "Just take it off. Just let me see. Please." He made a motion, as if to lift his shirt. I pleaded, "You didn't have anything to show me, did you? Paco, stop. This is not going to happen. Don't ruin our friendship!" I quickly walked toward the door in disbelief, with Paco still begging me, "I won't ruin our friendship. Just once. What do you want? I will give you anything. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything." I walked out the door and back into my yard with my heart beating out of my chest. Of course I had to tell Steven, and AJ, who was often home alone. Eventually the close neighbors found out. We changed the locks on the house and I haven't talked with Paco or Dolores for five years. I don't even like to go into the back yard, which was like a paradise when we moved here. I can go back there, I can force myself to take what is mine, but there is discomfort there. I avoid it.

The experience took its toll. Huck was furious. AJ was hurt. Paco and Dolores had always made her feel special, brought her gifts from their trips to Mexico, celebrated her birthday. Steven left soon after, although there were many reasons for his departure. Once, in marriage counseling, he tried to engage me, "Do you know why Paco targeted you? Do you know?" I stopped him. I didn't want to know why he thought I was guilty. I just wanted him to comfort me. I wanted to hear him say, "You didn't do anything to deserve this. Paco has a problem. You did nothing wrong."

Marilyn, who lives across the street and is a practicing Buddhist, came over to talk to me on Friday. She is "working on" her "stand-offishness". She realizes that she is not approachable, and wants to take steps to change that. She wanted me to know that she thought I should come to the womens' brunch on Saturday. She believes that since Tony molested me, the neighborhood has suffered. It caused a breach. He did something horrible, and the people need healing. "Community is so important. You can provide the opportunity for healing."

"People in this neighborhood have known Paco forever," I said. "They think I am guilty. They love Paco." Marilyn said, "Paco admitted what he did to you." I was stunned. "He did? I didn't know that." Why hadn't someone told me before?

Inner turmoil. Pacing. Needing to get out, walk, run, scream. I lashed out at Steven. "You blamed that whole episode on me!" Steven looked at me evenly and replied, "I just couldn't understand why you went into his house after it happened."

In the gardens I sought solace. You know, Bridget Jones is right. Like her, I want someone who will love me "just the way I am." Of course I know that in relationships there must be give and take, things must be ironed out. But to feel adored, totally liked just the way you are...now that's special.

Clicking pictures with my camera, I looked intently at a flower, sunlight on water, clouds dotting the blue sky and squirrels cavorting in the trees. I began to see something outside myself. Or was it inside myself? It didn't matter. It brought peace.