Here, for our A Word from You writer’s showcase, is the third chapter of Marcella Maggio’s memoir-in-progress, The Teacher.  Before you continue, be strongly cautioned that Marcella’s descriptions are vivid and explicit.  What follows is not light bedtime reading, and is not for those of a delicate constitution.  I can’t imagine what was harder – to live through it, or to recall it in order to write it down.  But since she has written it down, Marcella asks that you review it as objectively as possible, and respond in the comments box with respectful suggestions, insights and strategies to shape her story into something as powerful to read as it was for her to experience.

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The Teacher

Room 3:  Sex Education

“I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you. I’ll be famous with or without you. Just wait and see.” I mocked as I stomped off in the reverse direction. “The band was my idea anyway!”

Since day one, The Big Mouth had been a thorn in my side; starting the riff between the other group members and me, giving orders about what kind of songs we should write and switching my lead vocals around every chance she could. I was skeptical about allowing her into the band; especially because she showed no interest in singing. The only thing she seemed particularly interested in was being the boss. I don’t remember who gave her that authority but she certainly ran with it and made changes almost daily. Two months later, the friendship that we five teenage girls had built over a year to create, crumpled to the ground. I wasn’t disappointed; I could no longer stand her or the band.

The thought of starting over again depressed me, especially because I would be starting all over in the same city and at the same school. It was April and since the entire freshmen class knew each other by now, it seemed virtually impossible. Still, I relished the days when I had no one to check in with or run to. I could do what I wanted, when I wanted. Not that I was closed off to meeting and making new friends. I had several acquaintances in a variety of classes and was open to exploring any one of those “starter relationships.” But before I was given the chance, a student from two of my classes approached me in the library.

“Do you always spend your lunches in here?”

“No, just lately. I never thought I’d say this but, I love reading.”

We both laughed nervously until the librarian asked us to “Be quiet”. I motioned for the girl to follow me and went near the front door. “Maybe we should check-out, so we could talk.”

Within weeks we became inseparable. She made Drama tame and Biology interesting. I adored my best buddy and had fun creating countless memories over the course of the year with her; make-over slumber parties, shared family vacations, and heartache/break-up assistance. As tight as Pooh and Piglet, I had no fears of our friendship souring until she reached out to questionable people and started taking on bad habits in hopes of being accepted by others. She was smoking cigarettes and marijuana, stealing and drinking alcohol, running away from home for days at a time and having unprotected sex with a homeless man, six years her senior. I loved my friend, but could no longer support her decisions and chose to remove myself from her life. Church had embedded the Ten Commandments in my mind and the D.A.R.E. program at school had turned me off to all illegal drugs. Days after my ultimatum, she took a turn for the worse and got suspended from school for showing up intoxicated and carrying Vodka in her thermos. She was sent to a detox center and group home for teens. Even though I wrote her encouraging words during her stay, I had already moved on to other friends.

When I noticed Zoe in my Drama class that sophomore year, I was awestruck. I had met her briefly the year before, when we and two other students boycotted the school’s dress code. I thought she was a fearless, badass then and could hardly wait to interact with her now. With Piglet out of the picture and my lunch schedule open, Zoe invited me to hang out with her and her posse during our afternoon break. Like her, the other girls were juniors and had knowledge beyond their years. One had a car, the other a job and all were far from being naive virgins.

“You haven’t had sex yet? Good for you. Don’t. At least not until you’re in love.”

“Were you in love when you first had sex?”

“No. That’s why you should be. Learn from my mistake.”

When Zoe spoke, I listened. Not only was she interesting, but entertaining. Her hands would talk, her eyes would magnify and her voice would command, but not demand attention.  She spoke openly and honestly about anything she had an opinion on, and she had an opinion on just about everything; sex, men, politics, men, employment, men, religion, men. Whether she was placing an order at Denny’s, giving her mother an excuse for being late or flirting shamelessly with a certain dude she had just met, the words that flowed out of Zoe’s mouth were continuously cool and persuasive. I wanted to be just like her.

Before long, new friends and acquaintances alike started to ask if Zoe and I were in fact sisters. Jumping on the bandwagon that had already taken off; we claimed to be Italian siblings who had just moved to California after being raised by our father in New York City. Considering that we both had a flair for the dramatics, we quickly took on the other personas and added Sharpie penned beauty marks and accents to our fairy-tale. She was my God-given sister, I had no doubt.

To prove the strength of our bond, we were tested like never before. Visiting her boyfriend and his friends at a motel room one evening, I tagged along with the girls, telling my mother that I would be spending the night with Zoe; as usual. Only fifteen and a half, I had a huge crush on the friend nicknamed The Kid, and the nineteen year old Marine knew it. We had met the weekend before and I was instantly attracted to him.

“What’s your name?”

“Her name is jailbait. Learn it and remember it.” Zoe teased as she took me by the hand and led me back to the car. Embarrassed, I grinned and mouthed, “Marcy.”

The following week, I entered the motel room with Zoe and recognizing me from across the way, The Kid quickly approached. “Marcy, right?”

I smiled inside and out and nodded yes. He asked me if I wanted anything to drink and made room on his bed for me to sit. Once everyone was situated, one of the guys started a movie and all eyes became glued to the screen. Halfway into the film, The Kid scooted closer to me and whispered, “Do you like this movie? It’s one of my favorites.”

I smiled and nodded yes.

“I’m starving! Let’s go get something to eat!” One of the guys yelled. Before long the rest of the room was agreeing with his hungry appetite and heading for the door. The Kid refused to budge and begged me to stay and finish watching the movie with him.

“There’s only about twenty minutes left. As soon as it’s over, we’ll meet them across the street.”

I looked at Zoe and expected her to say no, but instead she looked at me with inquiring eyes. “The Kid is too cute. I’d be a fool not to stay and get to know him better.” I thought to myself. I smiled at Zoe and gave her a reassuring glance to leave. “Okay, but we’ll be right across the street if you need anything.”

Once they cleared the room, The Kid wasted no time in making his move. Lying down on the bed, he ignored the television and asked me to “Lean back.”

“I won’t be able to see the movie, if I do.”

“But I’ll be able to see you. And I really just want to look at you. You’re so beautiful.”

My body felt flushed and my heart raced. The Kid called me beautiful. I could barely contain my excitement and wanted to lie next to him, but felt nervous and queasy. “Am I hungry too?” I wondered as I looked toward the door.

“Come here. Don’t be afraid. You can trust me.”

The Kid pulled my right arm and coaxed me down to the bed. As I lay on his left side, my heart pounded and my chest became heavy. Before I could sit up to catch my breath, The Kid rolled on top of me and pinned me down. His hands felt stronger and heavier than before. No longer soft caresses, he started to tug and pull at my sweater. “You’re so beautiful; so, so beautiful.” He kept repeating as he shoved his tongue in and out of my mouth.

“Please don’t. No.” I cried in between breaths. Paying no attention to my pleas, he covered my mouth with his left hand and continued to kiss me aggressively on my face, neck and breasts. When he reached down to remove my pants with his right hand, I bit into his left, which caused him to flinch and backhand my face. “I really wouldn’t do that again if I was you. I’m a professional killer and you’re just in high school.”

He removed his hand from my mouth and kissed me on the lips. “You are beautiful though.”

With his eyes burning into mine, I closed my lids and prayed that I would disappear; I didn’t want to see him, smell him or feel him. When I opened my eyes again, I was floating above the bed, just below the ceiling. I was present, but I wasn’t there. It was as if I was no longer living my life, but instead watching a movie of it. I felt free and completely disconnected; as if the bodies below me were random strangers. I watched as The Kid held my arms above my head with his left hand and my left knee down and to the side with his right. As he forced himself to slip in and out of me, he continued to kiss me and make declarations of my beauty. At one point he wept the tears that had rolled from my right eye and said, “You know you like it.”

After a few more thrusts and pushes, he exhaled deeply and collapsed on top of me. Feeling his breath on my face, I realized that I had returned to my body and laid there underneath his. I could taste his sweat on my mouth and gagged. He pulled away from me and shouted, “You better not get sick on me, you hear? Go clean yourself up!”

I lifted myself from the bed and pulled up the pants that were wrapped around my ankles. After creeping to the bathroom, I locked the door and stood before the mirror. Staring at the image, I could no longer recognize the chaotic looking mess in the reflection. My hair looked as though it hadn’t been brushed in days and the waterproof mascara I had been wearing was clearly defective. “Beautiful? More like disgusting!” I screamed at the fuzzy figure through my streaming tears. “I can’t believe you let this happen. I hate you! I hate you!” A shaving can sitting on the corner of the sink caught my eye; I picked it up and threw it at the mirror. Hitting the center of glass, my reflection suddenly possessed a shattered heart, “Now it looks like me.”

I bolted out the front door and sat on the curb, burying my head in my knees and crying hysterically until my friends found me. When everyone returned, all hell broke loose; though the girls and I didn’t stick around long enough to find out just what. All I wanted to do was get out of there and they willingly obliged.

“What do you want to do Marce? This is your call? I already know he’s gonna get the shit beat out of him. But what can I do?” Zoe asked while cradling me in her arms in the backseat of the Ditch Mobile. “Just hold me. Please, just hold me.”

My big sister never judged me and supported every decision I made regarding the incident. I knew that I couldn’t tell; my mother would never believe me and I just knew she would say, “See, it’s because you hang out with those girls. You don’t have to be one to become one.”

I couldn’t risk the chance of my mother destroying the one relationship that meant the world to me. Zoe was more than my friend, and the thought of not being in her life crushed me. I could live with the reality of the situation, especially by her side. She comforted me for days on end. Listening to my cries and literally holding my hand through the ordeal of taking my first pregnancy test. Minutes turned into hours during the wait and the confusion wasn’t over even when the results were in. Though it was negative, I felt positively torn about telling my family; on one hand I knew I had to, I could barely sleep at night, but on the other hand, I didn’t want anything to change between Zoe and me, sleep could be sacrificed for sisterhood.

Months later, Zoe’s life veered off into another direction and she was no longer in Drama class with me, or at the same high school, for that matter. She started calling less and became too busy to spend time with me. Rumor had it that she felt guilty about what had happened and was doing me a favor by staying away. Although, I was convinced that the incident itself and Zoe’s disappearance afterward, was punishment from God for disobeying His rules and sinning against others. I had vanished from Piglet’s life the exact same way and this was no doubt my karma. Still, without Zoe in my life, mine quickly started to unravel.

I stopped going to church because I felt as though I had nothing left to offer God. I couldn’t abide by His rules and was discouraged that I never would. Besides, Pastor Fireball had already left the state to preach to the masses in rural Ohio and the few churches that my mother and I tried out after her departure were anything but refreshing. It was as if Pastor Fireball spoke what my heart needed to hear and all others just lectured on what they wanted me to believe. If I was going to be a sinner, I would be one without the constant reminder that I was one.

The day after Christmas that year, I was arrested for shoplifting. “Apparently she didn’t get enough from Santa.” Mark taunted.

I don’t know why I did it. There was no good excuse, explanation or reason. I just knew that I wanted the stuff and my friend, The Accomplice, encouraged my behavior. She even made a list of goodies and shoved items into the oversized bag right along with me. After I was apprehended at the front door, I was taken to a small office and questioned about the goods in my bag. The Accomplice was let go because she had been smart enough to have me carry everything out the door. She had nothing on her and therefore, wasn’t shoplifting. Once the police officer arrived, I was escorted out of the store wearing the most unimpressive jewelry ever made; handcuffs.

When my mother discovered what I had attempted to steal, she angrily bantered, “You stole bras? Why? You barely fit into the ones you already have. They must have been padded.”

For the duration of my mother’s gift giving days, whenever she purchased and presented me with another bra, it was guaranteed to be padded. “I know how you need the extra help.”

The shoplifting experience taught me how to refrain from stealing property, but that winter a popular song flooded the airwaves and suggested that something or someone could be stolen. Since The Accomplice had averted being arrested and didn’t receive endless hours of community service, like I had, I waited for the perfect opportunity to have her share some of the blame.

We met him late that season and though he was never officially her property, she had called “dibs” the first time we saw him. In the beginning, I wasn’t remotely interested in Brainiac Boy, but when I discovered that he was interested in me, I was all about him. We exchanged secret letters that confessed our private feelings about one another.  On various occasions, I had my mother drop me off in his neighborhood; there we would meet and have private trysts in his bedroom. I was still afraid to have sex, but I wanted to be intimate with a boy I trusted and Brainiac Boy fit the bill flawlessly. He was kind, gentle and as inexperienced as I was. Brainiac Boy wanted us to be closer and begged for me to be his, but I continued to pull away for fear that my girlfriend would eventually discover the truth about us and banish me from her world. After a day of celebrating Carlsbad by walking the Sidewalk Fair, hand in hand, literally behind The Accomplice’s back, Brainiac Boy and I decided to end things. He was hurt and I was sad, but I knew he deserved someone better than me. I was a liar, a cheater, and used goods.

During the second half of my sixteenth year, I was introduced to a devoted friend, Rum. We met behind the Vons grocery store; he was dressed in a paper bag and I was nervous as hell. I can’t say that it was love at first sight; or even taste, but I do know that Rum made my lips tingle and my chest burn. I liked him, but didn’t. When Rum got under my skin and into my bloodstream, I had the desire to do things I normally wouldn’t. It was as if the red light inside my mind was broken and I forgot how to slow down. With Rum directing traffic, I could keep going for miles and overlooked the detours along the way. Admittedly, I was especially reckless while in Rum’s presence, or with any of his brothers, friends or homies, for that matter.

Since my occasional drinking went unnoticed, it only made me crave it more. Still, being underage posed a problem when trying to acquire it. The neighborhood drifter snagged a few bottles via his Five-Finger Discount, but when he moved on, so did my options.

Though she had little direction, the eye-catching twenty-year old made her needs her primary target, regardless of the consequences. I met The Traitor through The Accomplice and noticed that she went out of her way, almost instantly, to try and befriend me. She invited me to numerous events, with or without The Accomplice; studio band recordings, concerts, shopping sprees, double dates and parties where Rum could be found. The Traitor knew I had a weakness for booze and boys and spared no expense the night she pushed both on me.

She arrived at my house a quarter to ten, begging my mother to allow me to accompany her to an ex-boyfriend’s apartment. She claimed that she needed to pick up some of her belongings and wanted my moral support. Surprisingly, my mother agreed and within minutes, The Traitor and I were in her car, speeding down the darkened highway. As we approached the bordering city, she signaled to exit and said, “We’re just going to make a quick pit stop at my friend’s party. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Aggghhh… I didn’t know that I’d be meeting anyone tonight. I’m not dressed to go to a party.”

“It will take five minutes, tops. Besides, when don’t you look good?”

As I fumed in the front seat, I assessed my reflection in the vanity mirror. I powdered my face and glossed my lips, “Five minutes, right?”

“Tops.” she grinned.

When we arrived at the apartment, The Traitor made brief introductions and disappeared into the bathroom with two men. About a minute later, she opened the door and pointed at me, while talking to one of them. I suspected that he was the one she wanted me to meet. Uneasy, I looked away and pretended as though I hadn’t noticed. A woman in the kitchen offered me a drink and when I politely turned her down, The Traitor shouted, “She’ll have rum; anything with rum.” I laughed and shook my head “no” and walked toward the front door. The Traitor came out of the bathroom, poured a drink in a red plastic cup and walked over to me with a man by her side.

“Marcy, this is Rock. Rock, this is Marcy. Now that we’re all friends, here’s your drink. I’ll be right back.”

“What do you mean you’ll be right back? Where are you going?” I asked, following her outside.

“I’m just going to pick up my stuff really quick. I’ll be right back.”

“But I’m going with you, remember?”

“No, no. Stay here with Rock and have fun. I’ll be right back. Five minutes, tops.”

“Five minutes?” I moped.

“Tops.” She waved as she drove out of the parking lot.

Standing in the night breeze with my half-frozen concoction, I debated about taking a sip. “Well, wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” I decided.

“Do you want to go back to the party?”

“No, I’ll just wait outside. She said she’d be back in five minutes.”

“Can I wait with you? I make good company.”

I nodded and the small talk commenced. Rock asked me about my taste in music, movies and men; in that order. I spoke feverishly about my music collection and went on and on about the most recent movies that I had seen, but when it came to talking about men, I was speechless and shy. I didn’t know him and felt uncomfortable answering such personal questions about my preferences. I didn’t understand why being kissed down below was any of his business and the gulps from the half-empty cup weren’t helping my responses. Five minutes came and went and there was no sign of The Traitor. When Rock left to go to the bathroom for a few minutes, he claimed that even tried paging her with “911”, but it didn’t change the fact that she had stranded me with a bunch of strangers.

“You must be getting tired of standing, let’s go back inside.”

“No, I’m fine. I’d actually like to take a walk. Maybe the minutes will move by faster if I do.”

“I’ll go with you.” Rock said, while he led me around the corner of the complex.

As I took my last swig of the intoxicating tonic, we reached the patio of an abandoned apartment. In a flash, Rock grabbed the cup from my hand and tossed it into the bushes, then he pressed me up against the wall and started kissing me. I could hardly feel my mouth or my knees. My head was buzzing and I plummeted to the ground. Rock knelt beside me and pushed my back against the concrete. Faster than my mind’s eye could follow, he had my pants to the ground and his mouth beneath my waist. He pulled me on top of him and was holding my knees to the cement. Each time I tried to stand up, I would crash back down. Before long, my body felt useless and paralyzed. Barely able to keep me upright, he eventually laid me down and made a three-course meal out of my flesh. From breasts to thighs, he sucked and bit until the wounds he caused started to bleed. I could see his face and the ravenous look in his eyes, but felt frozen, inside and out. My body wouldn’t move and my mind couldn’t stop. “Is this happening? Why is this happening? Someone please help me!”

No one heard my words or came to my rescue. Instead, the sound of the red plastic cup blowing in the wind woke me up. Propped up against a wall, I noticed Rock sitting next to me. “Welcome back, Sleepyhead. You passed out for a little while.”

Fully clothed, but feeling sore, I stood up and asked, “What? I passed out? What happened?”

“We walked over here, sat down and you decided to take a little nap. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I let you rest. But I think your friend should be back by now.”

Confused, I staggered back to the party. The Traitor sat inside and immediately smiled when she saw me, “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting all night for you.”

“What? You said five minutes. It’s been over two hours.”

“Exactly. Where have you been?”

I grabbed The Traitor by the arm and stressed, “Let’s go; now!”

“Fine, fine. I’ll just be a minute. Wait in the car, if you want.”

As I sat in the car, I kept tying to puzzle the missing pieces of the night back together, “Did that really happen? What just happened?”

When The Traitor got behind the wheel she looked me over with a sheepish grin and laughed, “He ate you out, didn’t he? I could smell it all over him. You little slut, you.”

Shocked, I mustered up all my strength to hold back my tears and the contents of my stomach. “It did just happen and she doesn’t even care.”

Her car was still in drive when we arrived at my neighborhood. I jumped out and ran as quickly as I could to my house; crying the entire time, “I can’t tell my mother. What would I tell her? I don’t even remember.”

The next day I babysat for a well-known family and refrained from showering before leaving. I had fallen asleep with my clothes on and was scared to take them off because the dried blood on my nipples had glued the skin to my bra. “I can’t take it off. Not yet.”

Once I put the kids to bed, I sat curled up on the couch and asked God what to do. I was scared out of my mind with fears; of the possibility of Rock repeating the nightmare, of the fact that The Traitor had deserted me and of my mother’s possible reaction. Losing what little respect my mother still had left for me meant more than anything. Months before she had found out that The Kid had stolen my virginity when the hypochondriac in me was concerned that I had contracted a sexually-transmitted disease. Luckily I hadn’t, but my mother never looked at me the same and blamed me and my friends to no end.

“Thank goodness you’re not friends with those girls anymore. God only knows what would have happened to you otherwise.”

Friends or no friends, it did happen; again. After a phone call to The Accomplice, I was visited by her mother, my mother and the police. For hours I answered question after question and gave details about everything I could remember. The ones I couldn’t recall were answered through the numerous tests taken by the local Rape Crisis Center. Removing my garments was especially painful, to bear and witness. Displayed all over my body were bruises and bites; nicks and tears from teeth covered my nipples and labia. The next day, Rock was arrested and charged with Assault, Oral Copulation with a Minor, Sexual Battery and Intercourse with a Foreign Object.

Given that Rock was an enlisted serviceman, the city had one trial and the military had another; six-month probation in the civilian world and a one-year restriction and demotion with the government. Meanwhile, I endured intense scars; physically and otherwise. I even contemplated suicide when rumors spread during the trial. The news was released that I squealed on The Traitor, which opened the floodgates for others to confess. Apparently The Traitor made a habit of taking innocent girls to various parties; exchanging the teenagers for drugs. And though four confessed, she only wanted to finish me. Thinking that I’d save her a trip, I decided to end my life. With a handful of anti-depressant pills I was prescribed for sleeping, I stood ready to pop them into my mouth when I heard Dougie stir inside his room. I balled my hand into a fist and walked to where I heard him sigh. Sleeping soundly on his top bunk, I watched as he breathed and thought, “What am I doing? I can’t leave him. Or Mom. She would die of guilt.”

I flushed the entire bottle of pills down the toilet and promised myself that things would be different. God was obviously out of the picture and had no time to watch out for me. Therefore, I had to take control of the situation and decided to start all over again, for the fifth time, before my senior year. Calling me Marcy was no longer acceptable, as I would only answer to Marcella. I was determined to change everything, though besides my name, little did. I seemed to have no luck with friends and wondered if they were even worth the trouble. By the end of October, I had new friends and had finally become like my mentor, Zoe. I had men bending over backwards and going out of their way for me. Boys liked me, men dug me and I couldn’t get enough of it. Who needed friends? I wasn’t sure what one really was anyway.

Review Questions:

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Please especially consider what Marcella might use as her three “Review Questions” above – what struck you as especially compelling?  What confused you, or made you curious?  Marcella appreciates your help.