Story
The Story of Beauty: Clarissa's tale (Part I)
This short series was inspired by true life events which occurred just last month (January 2014). It filled me with such rage and despair and helplessness... I had to write about it. So as you read this, keep in mind that there really is a Clarissa out there. And not just one either.
Keep that in mind.
** ** ** **
Clarissa knew what poverty was. She's always known it. She'd worn the hand-me-downs and sometimes gone without. Her best clothes were the ones without holes in them. But Clarissa wasn't poor. She had parents who loved her and a roof over her head. Wise at 16, Clarissa considered herself rich.
But it was January and a new school term was starting and though they'd managed to pay her tuition fees, Clarissa didn't have school shoes. She knew what would happen if she went to school without them. The teachers would threaten to whip her (and some times make good on the threat) and the other kids would laugh. The worst thing that would happen though was that the principal would send her back home. Clarissa liked school. She liked the learning and knew she was privileged to have parents who considered education a priority. Betty's parents didn't feel the same so Betty joined her mother in the market place everyday. Clarissa didn't complain.
Her patience paid off. The Sunday before the Monday when school would resume her father came home with the money for her new school shoes. Clarissa was ecstatic. And the very next day she went out to the market to get her shoes.
She never made it to the market.
A trio of boys that hung around the neighborhood invited her over to hang out. Though she really didn't want to, this had never happened to her and she felt lucky and honoured even that they wanted to hang out with her, of all people! She'd try it out just this once. Just for the novelty. They went over to the residence of one of the boys, they talked and even offered her a drink. It was just Fanta not some exotic drink she didn't know, so she accepted and drank her fill.
It was all so fast. One minute she was smiling at something one of the boys had said and the next she was tingling all over. The tingling got worse. Something was very wrong. When she turned to alert the boys of that fact, she saw their faces and realisation dawned. They'd done this to her. It was written in the expectant look on all three of their faces. Clarissa tried to move, to get up, to get out. But it was to late. Whatever they'd dosed her with had kicked in and her limbs weren't responding.
They didn't even have the decency to wait for her to pass out. She felt the hands that began pulling on her clothes, but thankfully, not for long. Whatever was in her system made her numb and unresponsive. She couldn't feel their groping hands or even the tear of her maidenhead. The last thing she saw was one of the boys switching places with the other so that he too could have his turn violating her. And then she passed out. Her shoe money still clutched in her hands.
She awoke to darkness. Fear wrapped itself around her like binds keeping her trapped. But then she began to hear faint sounds and then like the volume suddenly being turned on real loud, she could hear.. And there was a lot of noise. She tried opening her eyes but they wouldn't open and neither would her limbs move. So she laid where she was. She finally deduced that she was in a hospital. She could only hear foreign voices. She was so tired.
Darkness again.
-- -- -- -- --
Clarissa woke up again and this time she heard a voice she knew. One she loved. A quiet one. She heard her mother. And after a beat, she heard her father too. She tried to call out to them but she still couldn't speak. She realised that someone was speaking to her parents so she listened. She caught bits of the conversation:
"High concentration of Ketamine, a powerful horse tranquillizer"
"Raped.. Might be permanent damage even if she lives"
"Lucky she's alive.. Though unresponsive."
"Don't want to get your hopes up.."
"We will do our best.."
Unresponsive? She could hear them! And this time when she tried to open her eyes, they obeyed. For a long time she could only see white, blinding light and then the room began to come into focus. She saw her mother first and she saw when her mother saw her. Because though she didn't say a word, tears flowed like waterfalls from her eyes and then she reached for my hand. She squeezed and I tried to squeeze back.. But I couldn't. My mother sniffed really loudly and caught the doctor's attention. He came over to my bed and started checking my wrists and eyes. I didn't know what he was looking for but I hoped he could see that I was still in here. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him because he smiled faintly at me before leaving the room.
For days I couldn't move, talk, eat or even blink. The nurses and my mother would take turns dripping some solution into my eyes so they didn't dry up. The doctor would come to check me and leave. A lawyer and some police officers also came but my father spoke to them outside my room so I have no idea what was said. My mother never left my side. I noticed that she seemed to have aged 10 years in the 2 weeks I have been on admission. I wondered how my parents would pay for all these health bills and as I looked around the hospital room it occurred to me that they definitely wouldn't. This wasn't the hole-in-the-wall single bedroom house that passed for our local hospital. This was obviously a big hospital in the city. I felt shame at having caused them so much worry and problems and I reached out to touch my mother's hand... Wait, what? My hands were responding. Only slightly but they were moving. I touched my sleeping mother and she came awake instantly. She took one look at me and hugged me before running out of the room and returning with the doctor in tow.
-- -- -- -- --
Clarissa's mother, Hope, wasn't a particularly religious woman. But as she watched the doctor check her daughter's vitals she prayed very, very hard. Hope had always wanted kids but as Fate would have it she hadn't been able to sustain a pregnancy to term. Clarissa had been both a blessing and a miracle. She didn't want to lose her daughter. She couldn't. So she prayed again as she had, persistently and endlessly, over these past couple of weeks.
The doctor completed his examination and scribbled something on his chart, which when Hope tried to read, made no sense to her at all. The doctor said some more tests had to be run and left. I sat back down in my chair next to my daughter's bed and cooed her back to sleep.
Her father, my husband - Donald - came in a couple of hours later. I told him about Clarissa's earlier activity and for the first time since this nightmare begun, I saw life in my husband's dark eyes. I wanted to go to him. To hug and comfort him, and have him comfort me too but I knew that now wasn't the time. Oh my husband, my handsome hardworking husband. I love him today like I've loved him for 20 years. He is my One. Even though my mother disowned me for leaving to marry the man I loved.. I wouldn't have it any other way.
He turned weary, tired eyes to me and reached for my hand. We walked outside our daughter's room and he told me about his latest meeting with the lawyers. They wanted him to sue. One of the boys had been caught and for fear of life in prison, he had given up the identities of his two other comrades. One of whom was a cousin to the local Chairman. No one stood up to the Chairman and survived unscathed as he was both wealthy and powerful. As much as the police wanted to help, no one wanted to be the one to arrest a relative of the Chairman. And honestly all my husband wanted was peace and to have his daughter be better. Me? I wanted blood. Truck loads of it. However Donald had made me see that this wasn't a battle we wanted to fight or that we had a chance of winning. I guess I would have believed him if I hadn't seen my exact feelings mirrored on his face - no matter what words his mouth spewed.
In the back of my mind, I know that he's making sense. That what he is suggesting is the best and safest move. I just wish I could focus more on that than the violence running through my veins.
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