Broken (9 page)

There was
only a small congregation at the church consisting mainly of Mister
Gilmore
’s fellow workers and a few of
Misses Gilmore’s friends. The school principal and Garth’s class
teacher were also there. I sat at the back of the church trying not
to attract attention to myself.

After the service I approached
Garth to offer my sympathies.

“
Hello
Garth.” I said. “I’m really saddened about your loss. Please accept
my sympathies.”

Garth stared at me in
surprise.

“
Thanks,
Cindy.” he said. “I didn’t expect anyone from the school to be
here.”

I didn’t know
what to say so I touched his arm and walked away.

The following day at school I
was subjected to a stream of ridicule by the other pupils.

“
Cindy’s in
love with Garth!” they chorused.

I felt my anger rise but I
fought it away. I knew that reacting to their taunts was exactly
what the girls wanted me to do. I smiled at them and remained
silent. I could see that disappointment in their faces as I refused
to react.

“
Come on,
Cindy. Admit it. You’ve got a crush on Garth.” Janet said. “You
must have, if you preferred to go to the church service instead of
to the movies!”

I continued to smile at the
girls.

“
Well, she
hasn’t denied it so it must be true.” one girls said as they walked
away.

A week later
it was established tha
t the Child Welfare
Department had placed Garth with his aunt Rosemary Cooper, Misses
Gilmore’s only sibling, who lived three houses away from our house.
A week after that Garth returned to school.

During the morning break from
classes on the day that Garth returned to school I was sitting on
one of the benches eating my sandwiches when I noticed Garth
walking towards me. I glanced around at the other pupils and saw
that they were all watching me intently. Garth sat down on the
bench beside me. I watched him as he glared at the other
pupils.

“
Look at all
the silly little girls staring at me.” he said, his voice shaking
with anger. “You’d swear they’d never seen an orphan before. Or
maybe they’re staring at me because I’m talking to you. Damned
little bitches!”

I continued to eat my food.

“
Thank you
for coming to the funeral service, Cindy.” Garth said. “I didn’t
expect anyone from the school to be there. I really didn’t expect
you to be there, after all, we hardly know each other. I don’t
think that we’ve ever spoken to each other before then.”

“
I just
thought that it was the right thing to do.” I said. “I understand
you’re living with your aunt Rosemary. What’s she like?”

“
So far she’s
okay.” Garth replied as he stood up and walked away.

I
didn
’t understand Garth’s abruptness or
his anger but I ignored them. I had gone to the funeral service
because I believed that it was the right thing to do. There was no
other reason. The fact that Garth had taken the trouble to thank me
personally didn’t change anything. I dismissed the vague feeling of
camaraderie that I felt towards him. He was obviously just being
polite. Any relationship with him was ridiculous. In fact, a
relationship with anyone was ridiculous. Relationships required
trust and this was something that I simply couldn’t bring myself to
do.

By the time I
graduated from primary school to high school my anger and hatred
towards myself and the world had taken a firm grip on my
personality. I was still able to block out the memories of the
abuse that I
’d been subjected to though,
mainly because I didn’t understand it, and the pain that I
experienced whenever the memories did appear was
unbearable.

Another
noticeable consequence of my anger and hatred was the drastic
reduction in the number of people that I could describe as friends.
Although I tried to curb my emotions it was as if I was sending out
some mysterious signal to others to avoid getting close to me. No
matter how hard I tried people shunned me. But I was also not
prepared to be subservient. If people didn’t want to befriend me
then I would live without them.

I continually
warned myself though, that I was going against my vow not to let my
past affect my future but mostly I just didn’t have the knowledge
or the ability to cope with the challenge. People’s behaviour would
anger me and I would react in kind, only to realise later that my
anger had been aimed at myself and not at them. Mostly, by the time
I realised this, it was too late to make amendments.

I also became belligerent,
arguing with my fellow pupils and with my teachers and this often
led to me being expelled from the classroom until I repented. Along
with my belligerence came vindictiveness and I often shocked myself
with the destructive thoughts that I felt towards others. The need
to hurt others became compulsive but fortunately it was confined to
psychological means and not physical.

***

“
Thank you,
Cindy.” my attorney said. “I’m going to interrupt you again as I
want to recall Doctor Thomas. You may step down from the witness
stand.”

I walked back to my seat next to
Garth and sat down as Doctor Thomas began his testimony.

“
Doctor
Thomas,” my attorney said, “we spoke earlier about the abused
child’s anger and hatred turning inwards and this has been clearly
demonstrated by both Cindy’s and Grant’s testimonies so far. It’s
obviously a very difficult condition to counteract.”

“
Yes, it is.”
Doctor Thomas replied. “Because the abused child doesn’t understand
what is transpiring, a strong guilt feeling usually develops. The
child may feel guilty about disclosing the abuse, guilty of any
family disruptions and even guilty about the actual abuse. Usually
the abused child doesn’t understand that he or she is not
responsible for the initiation of the abuse because the abuser
often goes to great lengths to convince the victim that he or she
is responsible for what is happening. Changing this perception is
an important, if not vital, ingredient in the abused child’s
healing.”

“
What other
symptoms can develop?”

“
Chronic
depression is often associated with post-sexual trauma.” the
psychiatrist replied. “There is also the very real possibility of
low self-esteem. It’s vital in any child’s upbringing that they
believe that they are lovable and worthwhile. Then there is the
bottling up of anger and hatred which can be extremely destructive
and can easily lead to the child withdrawing from contact with
society. If this is not attended to, vindictiveness and even
self-abuse can result.”

“
Self-abuse?”
James Foster asked.

“
Self-destructive behaviour is a serious problem and is
evident in at least five percent of abused children.” Doctor Thomas
said. “The reasons include believing that an injury would somehow
cause the abuse to stop, a feeling that the abused’s body is
responsible for the abuse and self-blame. Abused children also
experience feelings of betrayal. Firstly by the father from whom
there is no escape, secondly by the mother for failure to act and
protect the child and thirdly by helping institutions that punish
instead of protecting. Learning to trust is perhaps the most
important factor in any abused child’s rehabilitation.”

“
And what
about the abuse itself?” James Foster asked. “How does an abused
child cope with this?”

“
Some
children are able to totally repress the memories of the event.”
Doctor Thomas said. “Surface emotions such as guilt and shame are
not easily hidden and these can result in distrust and the
avoidance of human contact. Until the abused child can be brought
to a point of understanding the actions that they have endured, the
blocks that they have built up cannot be broken down. But, of
course, for this to happen, someone has to become aware of the
child’s trauma.”

“
So, would it
be fair to say that unless an abused child receives intensive early
treatment for the trauma that he or she has experienced, the future
of that child is likely to be severely jeopardised?”

“
Most
definitely.” the psychiatrist replied.

“
Thank you,
doctor.” James Foster said. “You may step down.”

“
Your
Honour.” my attorney said, addressing the judge. “I’d now like to
recall Cindy Bedford to continue with her testimony.”

Judge Warren Bester nodded.

I stood up and walked back to
the witness stand.

“Cindy.” James Foster said. “You
were telling us about your attempts to overcome your hatred and
anger. Please continue.”

***

The main
problem that I had regarding my abuse was that I
didn
’t understand what had happened to me
and I blamed myself for my ignorance and my helplessness. Even as I
grew older and began to learn more about sex I couldn’t come to
terms with what my father had done to me. I could understand a
stranger abusing me but not my own father. And the fact that my
mother must have known what was happening to me and did nothing to
protect me made me question my understanding of what a family
really was.

I began to
fight back at the world by being vindictive, malicious and hateful,
but I never understood that my behaviour was being driven by my
past. I believed that I was going through a phase in my development
that required me to oppose any kind of authority. My behaviour
infuriated my father and he continued to assault me but this only
made me more determined to defy him.

For reasons
that I didn
’t understand my attraction to
Garth Gilmore persisted. Unfortunately for me, he didn’t
reciprocate. His indifference towards me didn’t deter me though. We
were in different classes at High School but I still managed to be
near him during the class breaks. He continued to ignore me
though.

I became a
very troublesome student, fighting with the other pupils, arguing
with the teachers and often having to be punished for not doing my
homework. My resolution not to be affected by my past faded into
obscurity but I also didn’t link my behaviour to my
past.

The girls
that I associated with at school were becoming more and more
fashion conscious and, in the afternoons when they weren’t occupied
with extramural sports activities, they would hurry home and change
into their most fashionable clothes which always included sheer
stockings and high-heeled shoes, and meet at the Espresso Coffee
Bar where they flirted with the boys all afternoon. I asked my
parents to let me wear stockings.

“
You’re far
too young to wear stockings!” my father said. “What are you trying
to be? The local whore? You will not wear stockings until you reach
the age of eighteen. Then you can wear anything you like as you’ll
no longer be living here. When you reach the age of eighteen you
can go to hell as far as I’m concerned but until then you will do
as I say!”

As my parents hardly ever gave
me any money of my own to buy clothes, I only had unimaginative
clothes that were far from fashionable and had been bought for me
by my mother. I was determined to have a pair of stockings and
eventually I decided that the only way to get them was to steal
them.

After school one afternoon I
walked to the nearby supermarket and wandered about in the fashion
department surreptitiously watching the staff as they went about
their duties. When I felt sure that nobody could see me I quickly
grabbed my packet of stockings and pushed under the seam of my
panties beneath my school skirt. I then wandered around the store
and finally walked out onto the pavement.

I hadn’t
taken more than five steps when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I
turned quickly to see a store security guard staring at
me.

“
Excuse me,
Miss.” the uniformed man said. “Please come back into the store. We
suspect that you’ve taken goods without paying for
them.”

I stood on the pavement and
stared at the man, so shocked that I could hardly move. He stared
back, unmoved. I managed to hold out my open hands in front of
me.

“
I haven’t
taken anything.” I said. “Look. My hands are empty.”

“
Miss.” the
guard said. “Please don’t make things more difficult for yourself.
Just come back into the store and we’ll sort out the problem in the
manager’s office. If you don’t have any unpaid goods on you them
you have nothing to fear. We’ll apologise and you can
go.”

I felt my
shoulders slump as I realised that the guard wasn’t going to let me
go. I walked back into the store with the security guard. I noticed
people staring at me and I looked down at the floor in front of me
as we walked towards the manager’s office. We entered the room and
the guard closed the door.

The supermarket manager, a short
podgy man with black hair combed forward over his forehead and
wearing black-rimmed glasses looked up at us, his eyebrows raised
enquiringly. The wall behind him displayed a large number of framed
certificates and citations.

“
I’m sorry to
disturb you, Mister Harris.” the security guard said. “But I saw
this young lady take a packet of stockings, hide it under her skirt
and then try to leave the store without paying for the
item.”

Mister Harris looked at me, his
eyebrows still raised.