She's Not A Little Girl Anymore!

My crying was no good for business, 
so Larry, my "fiancee" and boss, 
let me wear a leotard instead of a bikini 
under red balloons I wore for his customers 
to bust with lit cigarettes while I danced.

One night some guy got real ugly 
after he paid and popped 
his way to my skin and found the leotard
instead, so he bent me over a table.   

When Larry tried to get him off me, 
I felt a slivery edge against my neck
*back off or I'll cut her*
and everything got real quiet 

except for the sound of my leotard 
being cut.  When I heard his zipper 
ripping open, I was grateful
that he was behind me. 

There was this thump and squishing,
like a truck tire on a kitty's belly --
only the driver keeps going, reverse
forward reverse forward
reverse.

I remember sitting on the cold plastic seat 
of a squad car drinking my first cup of coffee.
I felt the restless itch of blood drying 
as police drove me to the hospital.

They needed what was left of my costume 
and wanted pictures of my front,
with the hospital gown open, for evidence.
I only let them photograph my black eye 
from when my cheek cracked on the table.  
They said it wouldn't be enough and left.

As the doctor snapped on rubber gloves,
his eyes never stopped questioning me.  
He smiled, *Did he come inside you?*   
"I think so, well, I mean, he was."
He threw his head back in a laugh
that exposed every filling in his teeth,
*You don't even know what I'm talking about.*

How could he think I didn't know?
And he fingered my sores, hard, 
asking if they hurt.  

He patted my head and pushed me back
on the examining table's crinkly wax paper 
I confused with my skin.  Bones broke 
when he separated my knees.  

I felt hot light and a breeze as he whistled, 
his slippery blue-white fingers 
hurting me all over 
again.  I kept thinking 
*it can't last forever* 

Larry couldn't marry me knowing his friends saw what happened.
And no judge would convict the guy 
considering what I looked like 
and what I was doing with it.
Larry was real nice, said *that's a girl* 
when I smiled, told me to relax
and work in the kitchen. 

Mother's letter said work hard and don't worry,
men marry all kinds these days.  
She sent money in case I was with child,
said *you're as grown as a woman gets.*





copyright 1994 kathy jo kramer