THE OEDIPUL SON Chapter Two: but you’re only a girl

Dorothea, Carlton’s mother, carried the innocence of childhood with her into her teenage years. She was always treated as the baby of the family; always kept in the dark about anything that her parents or her siblings thought might hurt her or tarnish her innocence.

When her first period arrived, without warning, and the blood flowed from her unchecked, she was alone in the house. She thought she was going to die; that something inside her had burst and that her life was leaking out of her like the flow from a broken tap. No one had told her about this. Not her mother, her grandmother or even her sister Anne. No one had warned her about the terrifying onset of womanhood.
She found an old towel and staunched the blood, lying on the floor so that she’d not mark the bed spread, with the towel bunched up between her legs.

When her mother came home she took Dorothea in her arms and explained to her what had happened. She gave her a crude, bulky tampon and Dorothea was horrified when she explained how to fit it. Inserting the clumsy tube of cotton wool with its string attached, like a teabag, was painful and invasive and wearing it was unbearably uncomfortable.

Growing up she not only heard the term ‘the baby’ often but also the more offensive words ‘but you’re only a girl.’ Her brother said it when she’d wanted to play ball with him and his friends. Her father said it when she expressed an interest in the carpentry that he did in the garage on weekends. And when she told a guidance councillor at school that she wanted to get her BCOM and become an Accountant he said, “But you’re only a girl, you should be thinking about marriage and children.”

Dorothea had a serene soprano voice and sang in the church choir. Because of her height she was placed front centre and her natural talent brought her most of the solo parts. It was as though the choir members were a dim constellation surrounding her bright star.

She was pretty. Prettier than her older sister Anne, who was plain and severe looking but was always a hit with the boys. ‘Slutty’ was the word that she used to describe her sister’s looks now. It wasn’t a word that she would’ve used back then. It was in the way that Anne thrust out her ample boobs and the come hither glance that she gave to every acceptable looking boy over the age of sixteen that said, “I know what you want, and I want it too.” While Dorothea stayed at home in the afternoons, doing her homework and her chores, Anne was always out with some older boy doing God knows what.

With her pretty face Dorothea didn’t need makeup. Her cheeks had a natural blush, her lips an almost bruised look; like grapes that were ready to be crushed. Her long lashes were dark and her blond hair naturally curly, falling about her perfectly oval shaped face in cascading waves. She was tall and willowy. She wasn’t busty like her sister and she used to pray that God would give her the physical attributes that He had endowed Anne with. She didn’t want to be pretty, she wanted to be popular. She’d throw pennies in the fountain and dream of well rounded breasts and the fairy tale wedding to the perfect man. She’d picture her perfect child; a little girl with curly blond hair, peaches and cream complexion and at the right time, a voluptuous figure.

Strangely, because she was so pretty and angelic, or maybe because of the purity and innocence that shone from her, the boys kept their distance. When she was seventeen she had a crush on the minister’s son. He was tanned and buff and a rebellious ‘bad boy’; like the boys that Anne hung around with. She couldn’t believe it when Sean asked her to take a ride with him after church one Sunday.

Sean picked her up on his shiny Suzuki, wearing tight leather pants and leather boots. Anne and her parents watched from the window as Dorothea mounted the pillion behind him. He took her hands and placed them firmly on his tight, hard abdomen and the machine growled and burst into life between her legs.

So many things happened in that moment that when she thinks about it now she can hardly separate the physical, tactile experience from the emotional upheaval that simultaneously assaulted her. As the powerful bike came alive it was like a living, breathing creature. It had a life of its own, independent of its riders. She couldn’t imagine how Sean would be able to control it.

But somehow he did and as they steered onto the empty Sunday afternoon street and slowly gathered speed past the sleepy post pot-roast and pudding houses, she felt herself merging with the machine and it’s master, becoming one with them as the air rushed through her mouth and into her lungs. Her fingers tightened on Sean’s six pack stomach and the animal beneath her, that roared and throbbed, seemed to work itself into her; into some deep, secret place that she’d never known existed before that moment.

She was afraid at first but as each new sensation overtook her they gathered and swelled and ate up her fear like the giant black panther that so often stalked her dreams, ready to pounce and devour her. Dorothea sank into these sensations, leaning closer into Sean’s back, wishing that this ride would never end. Praying that they could ride and ride until there was nowhere left to go; until the road ran out in front of them.

But it did end. Sean pulled into a deserted car park and led her into a secluded grove of trees, her legs still shaking from the shock of the physical and emotional turmoil of the ride. He sat and pulled her down beside him, onto the cool, damp grass and kissed her. It was the first kiss that she’d dreamed of as her pennies spun through the air and splashed into the sparkling fountain water. He touched her inadequate breasts and although she knew that this was a sin, and she would pay for it later, she allowed him to do it; allowed him to guide her hand with his so that she was touching him through the leather of his pants, feeling his desire for her; the desire that she’d always wanted from a boy. If she’d known that this would be her only moment of ecstasy she would not have stopped there; would not have stopped his hand from reaching beneath her skirt.

Sean never asked her out again. She knew that if it had been Anne, she would have given him what he wanted and that he’d have come back for more, like the boys always did with her sister. Now Anne was married to one of the ‘bad boys’; a shiftless bounder who drank and smoked and was making her life a misery.

Dorothea hadn’t thought about Sean for so long. For months she’d pined for him, had lain in her bed at night and dreamed about him; his hand on her breast and her hand on him, wondering what it would have been like. When she met Daniel she banished these thoughts from her dreams and now, when they arise unexpectedly, she forces them away because the pain they bring is just too much for her to bear.


(Orientation Note for Readers: This serialisation is adapted from my semi-autobiographical novel Other Voices. If you wish to read the Prologue of the book it was posted in the Fictional Prose category on 17th October 2013)

(Photo: Dorothea)
© Carlton Carr 2013
http://othervoices.blog.co.uk/