18.

Jennifer’s Secret

Monday, March 18 - 7:14p.m.

When Jennifer got to Mike’s apartment, he was already cooking a stir-fry dinner. After they ate and the light-hearted small talk was over, he excused himself, went to his computer and began frantically clicking the mouse and typing on the keyboard. She wondered what in the world he was doing, but didn’t want to ask. When he was done, he came back and sat down in an overstuffed chair next to her. He said, “Last night I told you my caustic tale of woe and you said you would tell me yours. So, tell me. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

A feeling of dread came over her. She knew after the honesty he had shown at the restaurant last night that she had to open up to him, to tell him something. She had a secret. She didn’t want the wound to be reopened after so many years, but she had promised to reciprocate. She had given some thought to lying outright, but now she was afraid to lose the trust that had been building between them. Besides, he was very perceptive and might see through a lie. She took a deep breath and said, “My father.”

“Your father?”

Her eyes became distant as she stared off into the distance, remembering a long-buried pain. “My father came into my bedroom late one night when I was twelve. He started tucking me into bed. He had never been a very affectionate man, so I was really surprised and happy for the attention. But then he started stroking my hair. Before long it wasn’t just my hair he was touching. I tried to get him to stop, but he got angry. Then he pulled off my pajamas and raped me. I didn’t know what he was doing. I just knew that it hurt. A lot.”

“He said if I told my mom, he would send me away forever.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause as she remembered. She wondered, should I tell him about the pain? About the blood between my thighs? “And when it was over . . . ” She paused. “. . . and I was alone with myself . . . ” Another pause as she collected herself. “I held my toy bunny and cried. I was so young. I was just a kid. But the hurt went beyond physical pain. I had been violated. He betrayed my trust and he betrayed my love. And that was just the beginning. It went on for years. He used to say, ‘Daddy’s only doing this because he loves you.’” She thought, I’ve cried my last tear over that man. I will not let him bring me down ever again.

Mike wasn’t sure how to handle all this. Did she just need to talk? He said softly, “Where was your mother through all this?”

“Asleep. Or pretending to be asleep. Ignoring the problem, anyway.”

He heard the bitterness in her voice. “How awful.”

“Sometimes I found myself floating on the ceiling, looking down at two strangers struggling in the room below, engaged in an act my twelve-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend. I guess it was an out-of-body experience; I couldn’t feel the pain from up there.”

The reference to out-of-body experience gave him a jolt. Maybe later, when it wasn’t so intense, he could talk to her about his experience with Joe. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? I was a child. I got out of there as soon as I could. I ran away from home when I was sixteen and I never looked back. I couldn’t stand to see his cold eyes again. I moved in with a girlfriend who was older than me.”

“Was your mother upset?”

She laughed at his naivety. “Upset, yes. She didn’t understand why I ran away.”

“Didn’t you tell her?”

“Of course I did. But she was in denial. We kept in touch, but I wouldn’t see her unless she was alone. Without him.”

“And your father? What’s he doing now?”

“Burning in hell, I hope,” she spat vehemently. “He’s dead. He died when I was twenty of heart disease. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of going to his funeral. Anyway, thanks to him, I became afraid of men. I hated being afraid, so I turned that fear to mistrust and the need to always be in control. I hated him for what he did.” Her voice got softer as she added, “Maybe I hated all men for it.”

“How terrible. I can see how that would affect your relationships,” he said.

“Now, whenever I try to make love to a man, I get all tense and afraid. The little girl inside of me still screams in horror and repulsion. After all these years I still feel violated and dirty. So I avoid relationships. My only male friends were gay, and I was comfortable with that because I didn’t feel threatened. I’m surprised I didn’t turn out lesbian. A lot of abused girls turn away from men totally. What is so all-important about sex anyway to you men?”

“What’s not to like about it?” he smiled mischievously at her, lightening the mood. “It’s an instinctual drive and an addiction at the same time. Our hormones make sex feel like a need, just as real and demanding as hunger, thirst or sleep. Sometimes more demanding. My theory is that women need to feel loved before they will have sex, but men need to have sex before they will feel loved. I guess it’s just nature’s way. How did your mother react to your gay friends?”

“She always worries that I’ll never find a husband, so she constantly pressures me every time I see her.”

“Sounds dysfunctional to me. Is it your need to control that led you to become a newspaper writer?”

“I guess that’s part of it. Another part of it is the power. Thanks to my father, I always felt powerless over men. I chose journalism because journalism is power.”

“Wouldn’t it be more effective to go into politics or something?”

The conversation was shifting away from the intensity of the last few minutes, and both Mike and Jennifer were grateful. She said, “Journalism is better, and here’s why. When it gets right down to it, the government is only accountable to its people, and the people only care when they’re informed, and they’re informed because of journalists. Hitler knew it and used his propaganda machine to control his people. Journalists control nations, and that is real power. If you can sway public opinion, you can change the world. The bottom line is, I went into journalism because I thought I could help keep other little girls safe from monsters like my father by exposing the problem for what it is. When I graduated with a degree in journalism, it was kinda like regaining the power I lost to him. I was all ready to combat the world’s crime and injustice. I thought I could make a difference. I guess I’m still fighting in my own way.”

As she looked up at him, her eyes glistened with tears that had come despite her resolve.

He stood up and walked over to her. He took her into his arms and held her. “Don’t worry Jennifer. I won’t hurt you.” He wanted to heal her pain, but he didn’t know how. He could perform miracles, but he couldn’t change her past or her emotions. All he could do was hold her. He hoped that was enough. He reached down and took her glasses off and set them aside, and with his thumbs, he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. He kissed her forehead and then pulled it back onto his chest. She could feel his strong body next to hers and his warmth as he held her close and gently stroked her hair. Finally he said, “Maybe the secret of loving another person is to love ourselves first; to love who we are. That has to happen before we can allow others to love us because as long as we look upon ourselves with loathing, we will never be seen in any other light by others. When we find ourselves worthy, that’s the first step toward forgiveness.”

They talked late into the night. When she returned to her apartment that night, there was a box of beautiful, long-stem red roses on her doorstep. There was a card inside from Mike. All it said was, “Love, Mike.” Now she knew what he had been doing on the computer.

She wondered if he was starting to love her, or if he was just being Mike. Jesus taught that Love was the most important thing. Was he just echoing that feeling, or was he starting to love her?

Maybe it doesn’t matter if he thinks he was Jesus, she thought. He’s a good man, and that’s a rare and precious thing.

Excerpt from The Gospel According to Mike

He said, “Just as God has forgiven you, you should forgive all others. Just as God loves you, you should learn to love all others. Just as God learns through you, you should learn through others.”