last night i watched a documentary about rape in the military called invisible war. i remember a friend of mine who was raped. he had received a letter from his girlfriend back home announcing the end of their relationship. he was devastated, and spent the day declaring his intention to get fucked up that night. he went to the enlisted club got shit-face drunk. i don't remember if he went alone or with different friend or if he found some people to drink with at club. i stayed in, i think it was a weeknight. in the middle of the night, i heard a dull pounding on my room's wooden door, like a fist that wanted to pound but couldn't summon the force, flesh attempting to hammer a nail through the fluid of his grief, which dulled the impact but not the intention. i think it took awhile to wake me up, his pounding too slow and regular, his voice moaning my name, weirdly deep and low, like the sound you make when you imitate a ghost for children, pretending to be scary in an obviously fake way. he fell into my arms when i opened the door, like a lover dying on your doorstep. his head was smeared with blood and he couldn't stand up, the door probably supporting his weight. it was like trying to hold 160 pounds of jello in your arms, his arms flopping, the moans punctuated with "fucker, i'm gonna get that fucker!" i am trying to remember something i don't really remember much of. i haven't seen him since i left the military and i'm not in touch with anyone i served with. i called for help, the guy next door, other guys on the floor in our barracks, but as more people came he grew angrier, his blood smeared face reddening, the profanity more profuse. we couldn't calm him down and then blister popped. he struggled free and ran outside, where a bunch of us wrestled him to the ground, barely holding him down as he wriggled beneath us. he said he wanted to kill him. i remember laying in the grass in my underwear, holding an arm. eventually, our sergeants came, and we drove him to the hospital. he told the doctor that some guy followed him as he staggered home after the club closed, bludgeoned him on the head and raped him in his room. i was ordered to guard his room and make sure he didn't close the door as they were concerned that he might try to commit suicide or drown in his puke. and so i sat outside his door for the rest of the night, as he alternately begged me to let him close his door and cursed me for refusing. i wanted to let him to close the door, to let him suffer in private, but i had no choice, i was given a direct order. and so i sat there, betraying him even as i protected him, while he screamed in anguish, weeping in his pillow until he eventually passed out. our friendship was never the same after that, and we gradually drifted apart. his name was garry. he was a small town kid from indiana. he was a good guy.
http://www.notinvisible.org/blog
No comments:
Post a Comment