Evelyne died when she was five. There in the August cornfield with open blue skies above, her life ended. She was on her back, trying to catch her breath. Each short gasp bringing in the pungent smells of fear, dirt and him. Evelyne struggled as he easily pinned her tiny body between the corn stocks with his teenage frame. She wanted her mother. She wanted him to get off. Her cries were silent and not heard. Not by anyone. Not even the crows casting shadows over them as they scavenged for food.
“Don’t tell your mother, or she’ll spank you hard,” he said zipping up his Levi’s. Evelyne could still hear the sound of the stalks swishing and crackling as he walked away pushing them aside. She lay there in her rumpled play dress, sobbing in fear until his steps faded away and only silence was heard. It ends there. That’s all she ever would remember of that summer’s day while playing hide-and-seek with her cousins on Grandpa’s farm, and life as any little girl should be allowed to have, well, for Evelyne, it disappeared when she was five. I am Evelyne.
Copyright Sandra Hart 2018©️
All Rights Reserved
( Excerpt from work in progress Blue Daffodils by Sandra Hart )
7 thoughts on “I AM EVELYNE. I AM”
Very interesting. I have a similar story while visiting my grandmother in Weirton. Never told anyone.
I didn’t either. This happened in Hopedale. I finally told my daughters when the #me too movement started. I held it in for all these years. This is going to be my catharsis book, fiction based on truth. Visit me in Nashville!
Jesus, I just can`t stop crying for you. This is so aweful, no words can discribe the feeling I am experiencing of the horror of this crime! 5 years old!!!! I was a teenager when this happened to me, only 15. Then it happened twice again, later in my 20s and 30s. Date rape is the term they use. The 2nd and 3rd time I got pregnant of it and had an abortion! Years later I could here sometimes at night, little voices calling out at me: “Mama”. Then a friend told me of a priest (catholic church here in Germany) who could take my confession and babtize those children I didn`t allow to come into this world. I chose names and went ahead with the holy procedere. After that, the voices stoped. I made peace with that past. Sometimes I wonder though, what the rapists must feel or what fate they had to endure, for everything will resonate in life and what you sew, you shall reap. Love and Huggs to you Sandra, Christina
Christina, I held my memory of that event so far back into my subconscious for years, until I finally had to come to terms with what really happened to me. No child or anyone should ever have that experience etched forever into their life history. I’m happy that you were able to resolve your losses through faith. God bless and thank you for sharing your story with me. Sandra
So sorry you experienced this pain.
Thank you. It will be a part of who I am forever. ❤️
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