What Were They Thinking?
Part VII: Dinita Kimes’s Story
“Love and loss and love again,” Maria sighed. “May we all experience the last.”
“Amen,” John said as he nodded.
“Grandma, Grandma, Grandma, Grandpa!” a voice chirped from the doorway. A twelve-year-old blonde bundle of happy bounced into the room.
“Anna Marie! What brings my little girl bouncing in so happily?” Rex asked.
“I have to find a place to play,” his granddaughter said.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Papa came running through the house followed by Mama Dani, Mama Sam, and La Madrina,” Anna Marie laughed. “La Madrina stopped just long enough to catch Mommy by the hand and stare at me. She looked like she was about to burst and just snapped, ‘Go play in traffic!’ I left!” Saul started howling with laughter and Evelyn blushed brightly.
“Well, we can assume comfort and healing are being administered,” Saul said, wiping a tear from his eye.
“Sweetheart, the old folks are telling stories,” Rex said. “I understand you have a new horse. Why don’t you show her to me?”
“Oh, good!” Anna Marie answered. “You won’t believe how beautiful my palomino mare is. I named her Punto Luminoso. Of course, we just call her Punto. Come on, Grandpa. You’ll love her!”
That quickly, Brian and Rose’s daughter had her grandfather out the door and left us laughing at the raw energy she’d brought into the room.
“You know,” I said, “after I heard Janet’s story I was beginning to think the group would never have started if it weren’t for single moms. Maybe that’s why so many of our daughters were willing to accept less than a one-to-one relationship with a man.”
“There are a lot of us,” Anna said. “Janet, you, me, Doris Hamm, Cecille Carver, Doris Trane…”
“Let’s not forget the single dads. Don Whitaker and Jack Raymond,” John said. “I remember sitting with the two of them at Josh’s bedside after Denise was killed. They both had a really rough time raising their kids.”
“Poor Jack,” Saul said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t here to help. I’m glad you were, John.”
“And without naming names, parents who might as well have been single by the way they got along with their spouses,” Marilyn sighed. “Some who divorced and some who simply abandoned their children on our doorstep.” We could all name at least five who fit that description. Some have remarried and some have never surfaced again.
“Tell us, Dinita, why did you never remarry?” Janet asked. I think she was totally guileless. She had no idea. Marilyn and Anna knew, of course, but I’d never felt comfortable sharing before. Today, though. Today was necessary for all of us.
“There was never a marriage to ‘re’. I was raped.”
38 Single Parent
I LIVED in a big university town, not unlike Bloomington. It was a little more integrated than Bloomington. The population here is still mostly rural Indiana white. Monroe County is nearly eighty-five percent white and less than four percent black. There are slightly more Asians than African Americans and slightly fewer Hispanic or Latin American. Our community had a sufficiently high black population that we had our own ghetto. And that’s where I lived.
We weren’t the poor unemployed rioting blacks of big cities in the late sixties and early seventies. Partly because of the University and partly because of the region, we had a fairly low unemployment rate. I lived in a pleasant house with a mother and father, two sisters, and a little brother. Pretty typical except that for a radius of six blocks, there wasn’t a white family resident. It had been that way since the fifties or longer.
I was sixteen in 1970 and was proud that I’d managed to get a part time job at a neighborhood grocery store near the campus. A few students frequented the store but the clientele were mostly faculty, staff, and others who lived nearby. There was one guy who came in about once a month to buy up a lot of snack food and soft drinks. He said they were for a party and eventually he asked if I’d like to come to one. This was near the end of the semester at the University and I was flattered that this college guy—an athlete, I learned—was interested in me. I told him I’d like to go and he agreed to pick me up. I was going on a date!
My parents weren’t too enthused about me going out with an older guy, but when they found out who it was, they approved. I didn’t understand how well-known this guy was. He excelled in two sports and there was a lot of speculation already regarding what pro teams would recruit him. My father was a fan.
The party wasn’t what I expected. I’d worn a nice party dress that I bought out of my own earnings. I felt so grown-up. The frat house where it was held looked nice from outside, but inside it was kind of disgusting. It smelled a little funky. The girls there wore miniskirts and crop tops at most. The guys were in ripped jeans or sport shorts.
My date asked me if I wanted a drink. I asked for a Coke. He came back with a paper cup filled to the brim. Even with ice. I almost choked on it. I don’t know to this day what combination of alcohol was in the drink. It never occurred to me that athletes would be drinking. I’d seen him buy soft drinks but found out too late that they were just for mixers.
“Don’t be a baby,” he teased. “This is college life. Drink up and have some fun. Let’s dance.”
I certainly didn’t want to be a baby. I drank the concoction and took his hand as he dragged me to the dancefloor.
It’s funny the details I remember and the things I blocked out. They played a lot of Motown and Southern Rock and I soon figured out why everyone was dressed so skimpy in the middle of December. We were packed on the dancefloor and sweating. That was part of the funky smell.
“I need something to drink,” I said.
“Just keep dancing. I’ll get you one,” he answered. No more had he left to get me a drink than I was surrounded by other guys. They didn’t assault me, exactly. They just pulled me toward themselves as we danced and spun me around. I was relieved when my date got back with a drink and the other guys backed off. I didn’t know any of them. When it came down to it, I only knew my date from his trips to the grocery store and my father’s calm acceptance. I practically threw myself into his arms. He held the paper cup for me and I gulped down the drink. I hardly noticed the alcohol taste this time, I was so thirsty.
He pulled me into his arms as Diana Ross sang ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ and I breathed a sigh of relief. Right in the middle of that song, he kissed me. I was pretty drunk by then. I knew I should fight off such a forward move, but he’d just rescued me and I let him kiss me. When we broke the kiss—at least that’s what it seemed like—we were in a dark hallway and he pulled me through a door into his room.
This time, when he pushed me down on the bed and started to grope my breasts, I knew enough to struggle against him. I didn’t come here to lose my virginity. I took a breath and opened my mouth to scream. He slapped a hand over it.
“Do you know what will happen if you scream?” he whispered to me. “If you scream, five brothers will come charging through that door. They won’t be here to rescue you. They’ll be here to join the party. You don’t want to have five or six brothers take turns with you. Your sweet little pussy would get all torn up.”
“Don’t! Don’t rape me,” I pled.
“Wouldn’t dream of raping you! We’re gonna make love. You’re gonna help me get a nice big hard-on and put it in your pussy. Oh, we’ll kiss a lot and the less you struggle the better it will feel. Believe me, you’ll want it to feel good once my cock is stretching you out.”
I whimpered and cried and begged, but I didn’t dare scream. He tore my dress getting it off of me. He bit my nipples and I cried. He jammed himself up inside me and a few minutes later I felt his semen gushing in my previously unused pussy.
I got out. I don’t remember how. He left the room and said he’d bring something to drink and maybe a buddy. I know that I was outside pulling on my torn dress before he got back. I hid in bushes and tried to make my way home but I was lost. I saw a police car and flagged him down.
Oh, the police were very nice. They got the information that I’d been raped and started investigating right away. I didn’t know the name of the frat. I barely knew my date’s name and when I gave it to them one of the police threw a pen all the way across the room.
“You’re drunk,” he said. “That’s underage drinking. And now you’re making false accusations. Did you go out there to try and trap a particular guy or were you just out to party with anyone who came along?”
They stopped asking questions and called my parents. Daddy was angry but I couldn’t tell if it was at my date or at me. Mom continued to go on and on about how disappointed she was in me.
The next morning, when I was sober, I complained again to my parents about having been raped at the party. My dad finally took action and called the University. The questions went on again for a week. The police were called again and the only reason they acknowledged that they knew anything about it was because they’d called my parents to come and get me. No one had filed my rape report.
My date was called in and a couple of coaches entered the room with him. I was horrified by what was said.
“Yeah, I took her to the party. I thought she was a student here. Had no idea she wasn’t eighteen. The stupid cunt kept pounding down drinks and practically stripped on the dance floor. She kept offering herself to any swinging dick who’d have her. Hell, look at her. She’s a sweet piece. I know five guys who took her up on the offer.”
“That’s not true!” I screamed. “You did it. You took me to a room and told me if I screamed I’d be gang raped. You hurt me. I was a virgin.”
“Hell, not when I got hold of you. You were already sloppy.”
I was so humiliated and no one would believe me.
“It’s not unusual for a little tramp to think she can get paid by a successful athlete if she lets him boff her,” the coach said. “This is obviously a case like that.”
I was humiliated. I quit my job. In school I heard whispers everywhere. ‘Slut’ and ‘whore’ were thrown at me. I got offers from dozens of high school boys and a couple of girls wanting to know what they had to pay to get a piece.
It was February before I realized I must be pregnant. That did it. Something inside me snapped.
I started waiting outside the grocery store every Friday, the day he always came for party supplies. It took four weeks before I saw him. I accosted him as he left the store with his arms full. I didn’t want him to be able to use his hands.
“You raped me!” I screamed.
“You again? You should be a nice little cunt and just accept that you’re a slut. The guys would love another shot at you.”
“I’m pregnant!” I guess I expected him to be shocked. He just shrugged it off.
“That’s what you get for spreading your legs.”
“I’ll have a paternity test done. You are the only man who’s ever been between my legs. What do you think the test will show?” I thought that I saw a moment of shock. Maybe fear. Maybe I was wrong.
“Probably that you got fucked. Now get lost, slut.”
I thought that was the end of it until I could prove something. My father was completely unsympathetic.
“You talk the talk, you walk the walk,” he said. “You better find a bitch with a coat hanger if you don’t want the baby. And you better go get your job back if you do want it.”
I contemplated suicide. I understand exactly where Hannah was when she overdosed back in high school. I wish I had known her then so I could share my experience. I felt desperately alone. I felt like my entire life was ruined. I felt so much shame that I couldn’t face my classmates or the people who I’d once called friends.
I went crazy and protested at the University. I railed outside the dean’s office at anyone I could get to listen to me. I was hauled away twice by campus security and warned that I would be turned over to the police for trespassing if I returned. I didn’t care. I printed a big sign with his name on it, declaring he’d raped and impregnated me.
“I knew you’d show up again,” a voice said. “They’ve been handling this all wrong from the start.”
I turned to see a man who looked to be a little older than my father. He was dressed casually in a University Alum sweatshirt and a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. Otherwise, he was nondescript as he could be. I was on guard and frightened. I thought they’d sent someone to beat me or possibly kill me. I held my hand-lettered sign like a shield to ward off whatever was coming.
“Were you going to protest in the dean’s office? In front of the fraternity? In the sports facility?” he asked. “We don’t need to be all adversarial about this. Do you know what that means? We don’t have to be enemies. I think I can help you.” He talked so calmly, like he was trying to keep me from running away and soothe my fears. “I’d invite you to have a cup of coffee or a soda, but I’m sure you don’t want to go anywhere with me. Let’s just sit over there on the wall for a minute so we can talk. I have something I think will help you deal with your problems.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted him to talk to me about my problems. I followed him and sat a few feet away.
“I won’t shout at you, so if you can’t hear, it’s up to you to move closer.”
“I can hear you fine.”
“Good. Good. Young lady, you are trying to ruin the life of a promising young athlete. He could lead two University sports teams to national championships next year. It would be a shame to lose him due to unproven allegations that make him too hot to handle. You wouldn’t want to do that. Destroy someone’s life and hopes and dreams? I know, right now, you are feeling like your life and hopes and dreams have been destroyed. But that’s not true. Think. In a couple of years, you would have wanted to come to college and find a husband and have that baby you are carrying. This has just set your time schedule up a couple of years. It’s not that big a deal.”
“You gonna marry me?” I asked. He actually snorted.
“No. And I can’t force someone else to marry you. It wouldn’t be fair for either of you. But what’s marriage? Just a chance at temporary security. Your husband could lose his job at any time. Even a great athlete could be injured and you’d be left with the bills and no income. Or there could be a divorce and you lose everything. Worse, he could be sent to Vietnam and killed. Let me tell you, soldiers don’t have much insurance money for their wives. You’d be back in the same position you are now. No husband and a tiny baby. I want to give you that little bit of security that you need to get past those two or three years it would have been before you were ready for it.”
“Who are you?”
“Just a friend. I happen to be a friend with some spare cash. This is enough money to take care of you and your baby for a couple of years, or if you choose, to go to Minnesota and get it aborted. That’s up to you. All you need to do is sign a simple non-disclosure. That’s a statement that says you will never in your life tell anyone about this entire incident.”
“What if I do?”
“We’ll have a note signed by you that says it never happened. You’d prove yourself a liar one way or the other. And it would roll right off the back of the man who might have done this to you. But didn’t, according to this statement.”
I looked at the check he held up and squinted. It looked like an arithmetic problem with all those zeroes. He wouldn’t hand it to me unless I signed his little letter. I could feel my heart speed up. I didn’t know the exact numbers, but from what my father had said about work, this was nearly three times what he could make in a year. Twenty-five thousand dollars. I wanted that check. I could live at home with the baby and give Mom and Dad part of it for rent and probably not have to work a day until my baby was ready to start school. My breath was short.
And then what? What would I do in five years with no high school diploma, no college, and a five-year-old baby? Go find another athlete who would pay for my silence? Would this make me anything more than a high-priced whore?
He saw my hesitation and sighed.
“Of course. I nearly forgot. Your dream includes college, doesn’t it? I think we can arrange a four-year tuition scholarship. Let’s call it an athletic scholarship.”
“I don’t play sports.”
“Who’d know?”
“I would.”
“Look, missy. Twenty-five thousand dollars and a four-year scholarship. I can tell by looking at you, your pussy isn’t worth that. You should take this deal now because if you try to keep dragging his name through the mud, you’ll be lucky to see the birth of your baby. It’s a good deal. Take it.”
He held out a piece of paper and a pen. I looked through it and it simply stated my allegations that this athlete had sexually assaulted me were false and without basis. I promised that I would never speak about them other than to say it didn’t happen.
My hand was shaking as I signed it. He held out the check and a scholarship certificate. We exchanged papers and he stood up.
“Maybe I should take that sign now to make sure it doesn’t show up anywhere it shouldn’t,” he said. I didn’t move, but he took my sign and folded it under his arm. “Just a word of advice. If I were you, I’d get rid of the brat, get yourself on birth control, and sell that pussy instead of giving it away.” He walked away.
I didn’t tell my parents about the money. I went straight to the bank and they agreed to open an account for me after they called the bank the check was drawn on. It was easier to get a bank account back then than it is now. The only identification I needed was the birth certificate I’d been given so I could enroll in school. I stayed in school for the rest of my junior year and then took a test that got me a diploma. I stayed home the first year Angela was born and the next year, started college.
Daddy proved to be a softy when he met his granddaughter. I stayed home until I’d graduated from college and Mama took care of my daughter. I graduated with my nursing degree and decided to find a place where I could live and no one would know me. I came here to Bloomington where I could work as an LPN and continue schooling for a Master’s in Nursing. I became a Registered Nurse in 1979.
The real purpose of telling this story is about Angela. I discovered that I was afraid of men and of intimacy after the rape. They were bigger than me and could force their way on me. I wouldn’t let myself be vulnerable again. I was miserable.
More than that, I was afraid my baby would acquire that trait from me and never be able to have a loving intimate relationship. So, part of what I studied was interpersonal relationships and sexuality. As soon as we moved here, our apartment became a nude zone. As soon as I started shedding my clothes, Angela was all too happy to join me.
And we talked. I was determined that my little girl would know and understand her own anatomy, how it worked, where her pleasure centers were, and how to stay out of trouble. She took to the study like a fish to water and I encouraged her to consider a career in medicine as a doctor—something I could never afford to do. As it was, we spent our first few years here with beans and rice as our dietary staples.
She was precocious and loved biology. So, I sent her off to camp the summer I wrote my thesis. She came back even more enthusiastic than before and full of tales about the little boy she met. She said she wasn’t all that concerned about sex hurting because the boy wasn’t really that big. She’d just make sure she got a small one when the time came.
She met him again the next summer and came home demanding that I get her on birth control so the next summer they could try sex. We had a long talk about different means of birth control, including condoms. It was an interesting time of our lives. She developed quickly but didn’t become overbuilt like I was afraid she would when she started to mature so early. I was still a bit fearful when I sent her off to camp that summer to meet her ‘little boy’.
The boy didn’t show up. She didn’t know exactly where he lived or how to reach him. We had a lesson in maintaining social contacts with an address and phone book. Of course, kids today have no idea what we’re talking about when we say ‘phone book’ and few have any idea how to buy a stamp, let alone send a letter.
And that’s how seven years later my daughter came home from class at Indiana University and said she’d found him. It was almost a year later that I finally got to meet the boy and be introduced to the clan by being invited to be on his television show. I guess I sort of shocked the casa when Friday night came along and I stripped, assuming from what Angela said that they were mostly nudists when there was no one else on the ranch. Certainly, Heaven was shocked. After she stripped, though, no one noticed if I had clothes on or not.
I’d worked in the Emergency Room as a Registered Triage Nurse for ten years and loved my work. But I was not prepared when they brought Brian in one Sunday in May. I worked feverishly beside my doctors to save the life of the most important boy my daughter had ever met. And, I had to confess, the most important boy I’d ever known. Bar none.
Now, I have a wonderful son-in-law. After the devastation of Angela’s first child being stillborn, I didn’t know how they would survive, but they did. Now I have two beautiful grandchildren. My daughter is a research physician in Seattle and Del owns a small chain of florist shops in the local hospitals. They are a wonderful couple and delightful child and her husband.
But both Angela and I will always have a special place in our hearts for Brian.
End Part VII
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