I don’t know if Linda told her mother about it or not, but soon afterward Linda was restricted to playing in her own house and yard. It seemed I was still welcome to play with her, however, as long as we did it there—under the watchful eye of her mother.
“Oh lamb of God, I come, I come.”
The words of the song seared through my skin and into my stomach, making me feel like I was going to throw up.
A nice old lady down the street had invited me to this church. She said it was a special time. The Southern Baptists called it a “revival.” I went every night that week. And every night when the preacher invited the sinners to come, I walked down the aisle.
The preacher’s words—“sinner,” “wash away the sin,” and “redemption”—were so powerful I felt like they formed a large hand that was pushing me down the aisle toward the podium.
I cried as I stumbled down the aisle, hoping that in fact there was redemption at the other end—something that would take away the horrible cloud of shame that followed me everywhere. The blood of Jesus would surely wash me clean—clean from the stench of sex, secrets, and ugly body parts that clung to my skin. Surely the blood of Jesus was powerful enough to purify me—to make me an innocent child again instead of this strange combination of adult and child, this husband stealer and liar. Surely the blood of Jesus would cleanse me of all my dark thoughts and the strange desire to edge up to door knobs and press my body against them. It would cleanse me of my compulsion to have all the kids I played with take off their clothes.
The blood of Christ would make me feel clean again, innocent again. I wouldn’t feel like everyone could look at me and see the horrible things I had done.
As I stood before the podium, silently admitting to the entire congregation that I was a sinner, I felt humiliated, exposed. But just for a moment, as I looked up at the cross and into the eyes of Jesus, I felt loved and forgiven.
Unfortunately, the relief I felt from having my sins washed away was always short-lived. Usually by the time I got back to my house to face my life with my mother, the shame had returned. Nothing, not even Jesus himself, could take away the shame I felt in the presence of my mother or the shame I felt thinking about the horrible things I had done with Steve.
Momma didn’t mind me going to the revival every night. She was just glad to get me out of the house. But one day several weeks later she got a large envelope in the mail. In it were lots of small envelopes and a letter explaining that she needed to tithe 10 percent of her income now that I was a member of the church.
Needless to say, my mother wasn’t happy about this.
“What have you done now?” she yelled, waving one of the small envelopes in her hand. “Did you tell them I would give them money? Did you sign anything?”
I was dumbstruck. “No, I didn’t tell them anything or sign anything.”
I couldn’t believe I’d gotten into trouble with my mother for going to church and repenting for my sins. It seemed I couldn’t do anything right.
One night, about six months after we’d moved from Ruby’s, Momma and I were watching a movie on TV that had a scene in it about child sexual abuse. All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with the need to tell my mother about what had happened between Steve and me. I got up my courage and blurted out, “Momma, that’s what Steve did to me.”
She looked at me cautiously and said, “What do you mean?”
“He did what they are talking about in that movie.”
“Do you mean he had sex with you?”
“Yes.”
She was silent for what seemed like forever and then she turned to look me directly in the eyes.
“Are you lying? Are you telling me this just to get attention?”
I returned her gaze and said, “No Momma, it really happened. Steve really did those things to me.”
“Tell me exactly what he did to you.”
I told her about him making me take off all my clothes and how he had taken his clothes off too. I told her about him making me touch his penis. I told her about him being on top of me. And I told her about the bad taste in my mouth when it was all over.
With that, she turned around and walked out of the room. I felt so alone sitting there. I wished I’d never told her. She hadn’t gotten mad at me like I was afraid she would, but she hadn’t told me she was sorry it happened to me either.
After a few more minutes, I heard the front door shut. I figured she was going over to Mr. and Mrs. Hill’s to use their phone to call Ruby. I suddenly became frightened again. What would Ruby say? What would she do?
I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of Ruby finding out. She’d hate me. She’d never speak to me again. I felt overwhelmed with shame. I just wanted to disappear.
It seemed like a long time before my mother came back into the living room. I was still sitting in the exact place I had been when I told her. I was too numb to move.
“Well, I told Ruby. She said it’s impossible. She told me Steve is impotent—that he can’t get an erection. He never does. So you see, he couldn’t have done what you say he did to
