Assaulted

She is a young version of me—which is especially true in the way that she reveals painful things impetuously, punctuated with a laugh. Testing the waters to see if the person sitting across from her can be trusted; molding her laughter around the nugget of hurt so that it springs along like a ball bouncing over the lyrics of a song on TV… But her stories do not rhyme; they are not musical or lyrical; they can’t be captured by a haunting beat. They are the destructive, annihilating truth that people turn away from.

We are on top of the Empire State Building on a flawless afternoon in July. This new world that is slowly being revealed to her opens like a sunburst as we step onto the observation deck. We are in heaven looking down on the dirt and noise below, looking down on life as this young girl knows it. From here we have a better understanding of how things work, how things are linked, and what purpose they serve. She snaps our picture—one pretty girl on the cusp of constructing her life; the woman beside her smack in the middle of dismantling hers. We’re happy for this moment, she and I. She scans the rooftops far below and all around us is the language of people sharing this moment, talking in tongues that each other understands.

He hurt us, she says, as she turns away from the sky. She is perfect in her revelation: long dark lashes folded over her eyes; shoulders squared. Then, just as quick: Here, she says, can you take my picture? And she lifts her face to the sun, and flashes a cotton candy smile.

On the subway ride downtown, she grips the metal railing and hangs on tight. Are you scared, I ask, wondering how anyone who has seen what she’s seen can be afraid of such things as a train speeding along a darkened, convulsive track. Then I wonder if she’s holding on for the crash—like when her mother died and she was left alone with him.

Later we ride the Staten Island Ferry, and she holds her camera up to the Statue of Liberty as we pass. I take a picture of her taking a picture of a symbol of freedom and hope. I want to preserve this moment, to show her it’s possible. Even when we are hurt and injured, it’s still possible to be free…

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