I Don't Understand

February 28, 2012
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Sitting in the back of the class,
we listen to the soft hum of the air conditioner,
and I feel the awkwardness
in the air.
My stomach begins to clench.
She has a look on her face,
like she’s holding in a secret.
A secret that’s wrapped up in a small package
and is about to be placed right on my lap.

I see a small, glistening tear begin to form
and drip down her face
as she tells me her story.

“The moment plays over and over in my head…
like a movie,” she whispers.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” I try and reassure her,
but the fears she’s held in were surfacing.

The rage and terror begin to transform
my young, innocent mind
into a confused mature one.
I don’t understand
how such a bad thing
could happen to an innocent girl
or how someone, a person,
could do such an inhumane deed.

I sit
and listen
as Kristine –the sweet,
fun-loving little girl–
confides in me
about how she was
raped.





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