by W.H. Harrod
~~ Chapter Twenty-Seven
Passing through the living room early the next morning on her way to the kitchen, Allison was surprised to see that Bobby had already vacated the area. She knew he wasn’t in the bathroom since she had just left there. Diverting her course to the balcony, she pushed aside the curtains and opened the glass door stepping out into the cool, mist shrouded, bay area morning. She shivered as she stood there scanning the area for signs of Bobby. I wonder where he’s gone this early. The VW bus hadn’t moved from where she last parked it after taking Lia home.
Turning back into the room, she walked over to the door of the bedroom shared by Sam and Ernest. From the sounds of heavy snoring, she easily concluded they were still sacked out. He’ll turn up when he gets ready. He’s a grown man and can find his way around.
Allison turned back to her original mission of making a pot of coffee. Having checked the previous night, she knew exactly where the coffee maker and supplies were. As the pot started perking, she returned to her room to dress for the upcoming day’s activities. Two things were on the agenda. First, there was the matter of gathering up enough nerve to go and visit with the professor, if he would even see her that is. Second, she intended to be at the university when the protestors started to gather for whatever actions they may have decided on last night at their meeting. Allison wanted to voice her opposition to the war, but she also wanted to do everything possible to discourage any forms of violence. Too often during her career as a professional in the field of social work, she witnessed the tragedy of family members trying to rectify their problems through reciprocal violence. There were no winners in these internecine battles and, at best, only badly scarred survivors.
Arriving back at the coffee pot fully dressed for the occasion in her oldest, most threadbare pair of jeans and her favorite sweatshirt that had written across the front War Sucks, Allison poured a steaming cup of brew, wrapped a blanket around herself, and headed for a seat out on the balcony. She planned to get herself mentally prepared for the day by first meditating and then having a long talk with her husband. Once more the cool moist air greeted her entrance onto the balcony. Below her, the mist shrouded city by the bay refused to reveal its presence.
When Allison finished her morning mediations, Bobby still had not returned, and the other two loafers remained sacked out like a couple of logs. According to the information collected, nothing would happen at the university until closer to noon. She hated to just sit, and she didn’t want to disturb the two sleeping beauties with the noise of depressing television reporters telling how many miles farther into Iraq U.S. troops were by this point. The images of bombs exploding over the city had permanently etched themselves into her brain, so that she felt sure additional footage of similar occurrences served no purpose, except to make her more depressed. What could she do for the next couple of hours?
Allison started going over the limited opportunities available, and in each instance, every idea needed to be saved until later or until more people were available. She asked herself if there wasn’t something she could do. A thought occurred to her, and instantly she hurried through the apartment door and descended the stairs two at a time. When she hit the bottom step she headed down the driveway toward the street and turned in the direction that took her down the hill to the residential areas bordering the campus.
Not once during the hurried trip over the maze of streets that led from the professor’s home did she stop to get oriented. Latent memories had come alive, guiding her every step along the way. She knew this route by heart having traveled it hundreds of times before. She traveled this same route that fateful night in 1969 not knowing what events awaited her that would change every aspect of her existence. Block after block passed under foot as she headed directly towards the People’s Park, her intended destination that night in ‘69. The attack occurred along that route. A need to find the site had so suddenly overwhelmed her reasoning back at the professor’s that she jogged along purposely looking for the spot where her life changed so dramatically. She had been sure she knew exactly where the spot was, but now as she went back over it nothing registered in her mind. All she really knew when she thought about it was there were multiple vacant lots along the route, and the rape, she thought, was committed on one of the lots close to the park. She now stood at the east end of the park, and not a single one of the vacant lots caught her attention.
I must have passed it. Or, it’s no longer a vacant lot. Common sense dictated the latter. Lots weren’t going to stay vacant in hot real estate markets like California for thirty years. How would she ever know where it happened? Allison turned to look back along the several block long route. Still, nothing stood out as the crime scene. Slowly, she started retracing the route, resigned to the likelihood of her inability to identify the place even when she got close to it. The necessity of revisiting the site had not occurred to her earlier, but of a sudden, it became important. She had traveled all the way back to this community in large part to exorcise hurtful memories from her consciousness. She wanted to stand before her assaulter and lay the burden of the crime in his hands after carrying it for all these years. Not until a short while ago did she realize the site of the rape was a part of the deal. Now what would she do?
“I thought you would be showing up here,” said a familiar voice from behind her. Allison turned to find Bobby strolling up to her from the direction of the park.
“What do you mean?” asked Allison, both surprised and happy to see him.
“I knew you would get around to coming down to this area to find the place where the attack occurred,” said Bobby, stopping right beside her.
Allison lowered her head in disappointment. “Well, you knew more than me, because I didn’t until a short while ago. It’s of no matter now because I can’t find it anyway. All the empty lots have been built on. So I guess that’s one thing I won’t be able to do while I’m here.”
“Is it really important for you to find the site? I mean, really important?” asked Bobby.
Allison thought about his question. “I hadn’t expected it to be important, but it is. I feel a sense of disappointment that I won’t be able to make peace with that small plot of earth.”
“Come with me,” is all Bobby said as he took her hand and started walking back down the street towards the hills in the distance.
Allison’s legs felt as if they had hundred pound weights strapped to them. She instinctively knew Bobby was taking her to the site of the rape. She should have known that he would remember the spot, regardless of what use it served now. Bobby pulled her along at a brisk pace and with each step her breath grew more labored. She felt afraid and thought of screaming for him to stop before it was too late. Before she could decide, he came to an abrupt halt. Allison closed her eyes, lest she see the sight before she prepared herself.
“Do you still want to do this?” asked Bobby.
“Yes. Yes, I need to do this,” answered Allison as she labored with her breathing.
“Then open your eyes. This is the place.” Bobby’s tone sounded apprehensive.
Allison practiced deep breathing exercises until she felt ready to confront her past. One last deep breath and she opened her eyes and turned to see what structure now occupied this most unholy of sites. Her gasp said it all. In front of her stood an attractive two-story building looking older than Allison would have imagined. A small engraved plaque by the front door read, Institute for International Peace. Allison stood speechless.
Bobby said not a word. Rather, he gently, but forcefully took Allison by the shoulders and turned her one hundred eighty degrees to face the other side of the street. Allison’s scream could be heard from a distance. Bobby held on tighter as the scene registered in Allison’s mind. She had always pictured the attack occurring on the side of the street she always walked on when she came to the park. In a flash, she recalled fighting to get away and then running across the street screaming before her attacker had caught her and
dragged her into the tree-covered lot directly across from her. Allison’s strength waned, but Bobby’s strong arms held her tight as they crossed the street to the still vacant lot. The closer they came the tighter Allison gripped Bobby’s arm. Finally, they stood on the far side of the street only inches from the lot’s front boundary.
“We’re going to the spot where it happened, Allison, so hold on tight if you have to. It’s almost over, only a few more steps.” Bobby gently guided Allison on to the unsacred soil that had received her blood and tears thirty-four years earlier. Not more than twenty paces on to the site he halted. “This is the place, Allison; I’m sure of it.”
Allison sat down on the ground and Bobby joined her there. In front of them, a two-foot-deep depression in the earth fifteen feet across cut the lot in half. It had not been a roadside ditch after all as Allison imagined over the years. Nothing more was said as Bobby’s best friend sat beside him quietly weeping for an irreplaceable innocence stolen so long ago. With the butt of a rifle, her attacker smashed the skull of a young woman until her tears and her blood mingled together and spilled upon the ground where it soaked into the soil and lay undisturbed all these years. Nothing would ever bring back what was destroyed; Allison understood that all along. She searched only for that part of her spirit that fell onto the ground that night encapsulated in each painful drop of blood and tears. Reaching down, Allison scooped the loose dirt into the palm of her hand. Looking around at the now peaceful surroundings, Allison lifted up her hand filled with the soil and spoke to the site as if it were a living thing. “I’m taking this with me. It belongs to me.”
She turned to her friend. “I’m ready to go now, Bobby. I’m finished here.”
The slow walk back to the professor’s allowed Allison to see the neighborhood in a different light. Once more she could enjoy this beautiful community as she did in her earlier visit. She had forgotten about that during the intervening years, but now she remembered, and she was glad she did. There was only one additional task in her quest to exorcise the demons from her life. If things went as planned, she would have the opportunity to complete that tomorrow. This morning’s unexpected experience gave her extra courage to do what needed to be done. Sometimes good things happen that way.
Television noise and human activity greeted Allison and Bobby’s arrival to the apartment. Ernest busily prepared himself to go down and visit with the professor. Supposedly, his decision not to help the professor end his life had already been made, but you couldn’t tell it by his constant nervous movement around the apartment. No one inquired as to where they went or what they had been doing. Sam watched CNN with the intensity of a kid viewing cartoons on a Saturday morning. Allison checked the time. The clock read 9:45 a.m. The date on the electronic calendar read Thursday, March 20, 2003.
Bobby took advantage of the lack of activity in and about the bathroom and promptly gathered his personal gear and headed for the shower. Allison poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down beside Sam on the couch. His attention was fixated on the screen. Long columns of tanks and trucks stretching into the dusty horizon dominated the screen. Allison learned that one of the most devastatingly lethal and modern military forces ever put on to the field of battle rolled northward into the interior of Iraq obliterating every enemy force foolish enough to try to block its progress. American flags fluttered in the wind as the vehicles rolled by the CNN cameraman’s position in unending succession.
No matter that Allison opposed this war the sight of those brave soldiers going into battle carrying the American flag gave her a feeling of pride. These were her fellow Americans, and once again, they answered the call of their nation’s leadership and were prepared to give their all. It was not Allison’s intent to diminish or disparage this dedication and commitment of the men and women in the military, but it was her intent to prevent these brave soldiers from being used for purposes other than the legitimate defense of our country. These young men and women on the television screen in front of her, charging into combat across a desert landscape thousands of miles from their homes represented the very best our nation had to offer, and in Allison’s opinion, our nation could ill afford to allow nefarious prevaricators representing an oligarchic cabal to waste this precious resource.
Turning away from the screen with a lump in her throat, Allison sought out Ernest to find out about his plans. When did he plan to see the professor? Would he ask if she and the others could also get to see him? Did Ernest still intend to refuse to help bring the professor’s suffering to an end? She didn’t want to pry, but this was something of a group effort. They came back together for a reason, which revolved around one idea -- helping one another. In her mind, Ernest being a doctor didn’t exempt him from needing the group’s help.
“What time are you going down to see the professor?” Allison’s question knocked Ernest off his stride as he paced back and forth in the kitchen area, separated from the living room only by a long breakfast bar.
“What? Oh, I’m going down at exactly 10,” said Ernest turning back to his pacing.
“Will you remember to ask if the rest of us can see him? I honestly don’t relish the idea of seeing him this way, but I owe it to the man. He helped save my life.” She had to wait until Ernest halted his pacing to get a response.
“What? Oh, sure, I’ll remember.”
“Are you okay?” asked Allison, deciding to risk his professional wrath.
Ernest abruptly halted his pacing and turned to Allison, taking in a deep breath and exhaling before answering. “No, I don’t believe I am, but I will be as soon as I get in to see him. Right now, I’m a guy standing around waiting to say no to a friend asking him for help. Once I’m in there, I can become a doctor again. Doctors know how to deal with these situations, Ernest doesn’t.”
Allison knew words could not help right now so she showed her support the only way she knew how. She walked over and wrapped her arms as far around his broad girth as she could and squeezed hard. As she stepped back she caught a hint of a grateful smile forming on Ernest’s face as he turned and exited the apartment heading for his meeting with the professor.
Bobby returned from tending to his personal hygiene needs to find Allison and Sam staring at CNN. Allison wondered about his reaction to seeing a US Army armored column heading into combat much like he had done so many times himself. These were powerful images as Allison well knew from the reaction they evoked within her own person. What responses they might bring out from Bobby she did not hazard to guess. As the three of them watched, the first reports of combat casualties came across the screen. Four marines had been killed in another part of Iraq. By all accounts, opposition was beginning to stiffen. The real fighting would be ahead as the mechanized units of the Republican Guard, along with other fanatical units loyal to the ruler of Iraq, were expected to block the way to Baghdad, the ultimate objective of the invading forces.
How many more will be lost, Allison asked herself, before this country’s leaders come to their senses, before they admit their mistakes and bring our troops home.
“I’ve seen enough if you guys have,” said Bobby.
“Me, too” added Sam as he picked up the remote and changed to a local channel.
Allison felt a sense of restlessness stirring within her. She needed to do something. Nothing would change unless the people of this country made enough noise to get the attention of their elected representatives. The way to do that was to get the images of thousands and, hopefully, millions of people protesting our participation in this unlawful pre-emptive invasion of another nation on screens around the entire country.
Local reports of destruction and violence by both protestors and the police in the streets of downtown San Francisco that morning brought Allison back to the present. She did not want to hear this kind of information. Earlier that morning, roaming bands of protestors using any form of debris available started blocking the off-ramps into the city’s financial district. Motorists t
rying to get to work were prevented from doing so. Arguments broke out between the protestors and the motorists. Other groups of protestors took over intersections downtown further irritating workers driving to their jobs in the city. Many of the workers were asking why this was happening as they too opposed the war.
The protestors had successfully shut down the federal building by mid-morning. Hundreds of policemen were called in and paid overtime at a time when the city already faced a severe financial crisis that entailed cutting essential services and laying off workers. City officials were angered and confused as to why the protestors were doing this here where the majority of the citizens and public officials openly opposed the war. The report ended by informing the viewers that hundreds of protestors had been arrested.
Allison realized it was time to go down to the university and get involved in a positive way. This morning’s disruptive activities across the bay were, in her opinion, not going to help things in the long run. Violence, more often than not, only played into the hands of the people or groups being protested.
“This is starting to depress me. I need to get out of here and start doing something productive. Are you guys coming with me?” Allison got up from the couch and waited for Sam and Bobby to respond.
Bobby held up his hand to speak. Allison looked towards him in anticipation of his response.
“Yo! I’m in,” he said.
Sam hesitated for a moment. “I’m with you, but I’m wondering, since you don’t think Lia will be able to join us at the protest, maybe we could plan to have lunch later at her restaurant? Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something wrong with having lunch? I said I’m coming with you. All I’m asking is, where are we going to have lunch?”
