week of 4/3/02
 
 
 

Stigma often leads to long-term woes
By Andrea Chester
Tammy’s mother got the phone call early Saturday morning.

“Mom? Can you come down here and pick me up?”

“You’re just right down the street, honey. You’re maybe a hundred yards from here. You can’t walk it yourself?”

Mrs. Green felt irritated that 17-year-old Tammy couldn’t help out at home, but she could ask her mother to drop what she was doing. But something about her daughter’s voice didn’t sound right, though, so she quickly added, “I’ll be there in a second.”

On weekends, Tammy often stayed with Jenny, a 24-year-old neighbor who worked as a cocktail waitress at a nearby supper club. Jenny’s 8-year-old daughter, Jess, needed a sitter because her mom didn’t get off work until one or two in the morning. Since they lived so close, Mrs. Green wasn’t too concerned about her daughter’s safety.

Jenny led Mrs. Green to Jess’ bedroom, where Tammy lay across the bed, looking as though she might vomit any minute.

“Sweetie, your mom’s here.” Then she turned to Mrs. Green. “She’s been sick since before I got home. Joe came home around 11 last night and everyone was asleep, but he says Tammy got up several times to go to the bathroom. When he picked me up from work at two, he said she’d been real sick. Do you think she could have the flu?”

Over the next few days, Tammy dragged around but didn’t seem ill enough to go to the doctor. The next weekend, she refused to babysit Jess and didn’t want to talk about it.

It was two weeks later, around midnight, when Tammy knocked on her parents’ bedroom door. “Mom? I need some help.”

Her underwear and bedding were soaked with blood. The child stood shivering in the middle of the room, saying, “I can’t make it stop! It won’t stop.” Her blue eyes seemed to fill her face, and her cheeks were burning with fever.

In the hospital emergency room, Mrs. Green pressed the doctor for some answers. He told her that her daughter had a sexually transmissible disease, and the infection had caused the hemorrhaging. The examination showed signs of unusual damage to internal tissues, like a trauma of some kind.

“Has your daughter been raped?” the doctor asked. “No other explanation fits.”

Tammy turned white, then flushed crimson.

“Could I talk to my mom, alone, please?” Her eyes were as huge as dinner plates and her voice shook. The story tumbled out. The last time Tammy watched Jess, Joe, Jenny’s live-in boyfriend, came home early. It was only about 8:30, so the kids stayed up watching TV for a while, and then Jess headed off to bed. Joe hollered out that he was going to take a shower, but Tammy was busy tucking the little girl in for the night. She promised that she’d stay the night with her as soon as she cleared up the mess from their snacks.

Joe came out of the bathroom while Tammy was clearing up the living room, picking up Coke cans and popcorn bowls. She was startled when Joe, draped only in a white towel, walked right over to her and said, “You're really growing up there, kid.”

“Thanks. Uh, I guess I’d better head home. You don’t need me anymore.”

But Joe was blocking the door, and the leer on his face frightened Tammy.

“Oh, you don’t have to leave yet. I want you to stay. Besides, Jess thinks you're gonna stay with her tonight.”

He grabbed her and forced her to the floor. Tammy was terrified, but she tried to steady her voice. Maybe she could talk Joe out of it. She didn’t scream, because she didn’t want Jess to come out and discover what was happening. Afterwards, she fled into Jess’ room and locked the door. She cuddled up to the sleeping child. shivering even though the summer night was oppressively hot. She vomited on the floor, and waited for morning, prayed for morning. By the time she told her mother, almost four weeks later, there was little proof that a crime had ever taken place. The police took the report, and the hospital forensic team asked for a court hearing, but the case was dropped before it got to court. At the preliminary hearings, Joe told the judge that it was his word against Tammy’s. Who was he going to believe, an adult, or a kid?

After that, Jenny often drove up and down the street, shouting obscenities and throwing rocks at the house. Even though Joe had lied to her about everything, she accused Tammy of “trying to get back at Joe, because he loves me, not her.”

This crime had long-lasting effects on Tammy’s life, and similar experiences have left scars in the souls of countless people across the nation. Raped by someone she trusted, someone she considered a friend, she was too confused and fearful to tell the truth until a medical emergency made it impossible to hide. Her mother believed her (many don’t) and charges were filed, but the evidence was long gone. The prosecution had no case, and Joe didn’t ever serve a minute in jail.

Tammy soon dropped out of counseling. She married a man who mistreated her, but she never told anyone about it until after her divorce eight years later. She admitted to her mother that her husband had sexually abused her from the beginning of the relationship. When Mrs. Green asked why she’d never told anyone before, Tammy shrugged.

“I was afraid everyone would say I was stupid for getting involved with him, that I should have known better. I kept hoping he’d change.”