Oct 30, 2010

Twas a dark and lonely night...many of them, too many of them. First in Jamestown, N.Y. I remember walking downtown to the YMCA, yes, for swimming lessons in the evening on Wednesdays.
I enjoyed the walks. My hair was wet sometimes and, after swimming, my body was loose. I'm not sure why I was alone, for, theoretically, my twin sister should have been receiving these same lessons. It was probably because she caught on during the regular lessons in school-time. I don't know. Or, maybe, probably, yes, more probably, she walked home with a bunch of her friends.
I have always been a loner.
It's not as though I like being a loner today. It's just that I don't find people who are compatible very easily.
Anyway, I loved the windstorms when I walked home. And the dry leaves that had fallen off the big maple trees. The town I grew up in, Jamestown, NY, still had many red brick streets lined with big maple trees and single family two story houses (with an extra attic floor). Most had their own driveway as I recall.
It was about a thirty minute wak to the Y. Every new turn brought a new vista. There were the "apartments" and the "church" that played the carillon every evening, noon, and morning I think. On the third block was a strange theatre, innocuous enough, but different too. All these things were innocuous, unlike the trip to the library where the fourth block brought me past the "pink" house, pinkish asphalt shingles, wherein lived the bully-- no matter. He's long gone to jail, probably.
Back to my trek to the Y. I could either turn down the sleek wide Fifth Ave., past mysterious and elegant apartments and boutiques until I finally reached the corner of the street with the Y on it where I'd turn down, or I could go past the struggling and over-priced downtown grocery store and turn on Third Street and up to to the Y: life was full of choices then!
As I sit at my desk today I realize I still don't always take the same route when I travel today.
I had one horror at the Y. Yes. Charlotte was there with all her friends. So I did keep to myself. The other girls tried to take my towel away--strip me naked. They scared me to death. Similar to being raped, in terms of my dignity, for even back then, it was one of my few possessions, but indeed, a valuable one.
I was thinking last night, no kidding, that I wished I didn't have this wall around me that prevented me from whoring myself. But there was a time when I didn't, which I'll tell you about as it comes up. Or now. And as it was growing back, I resented the man who struck his big claw through the lucite barrier and touched my breasts--too many times.