Read Warriors Don't Cry for Free Online Page B

His huge fist smashed hard against my face. I struggled to push him back and to keep the dark curtain of unconsciousness from descending over me.
    “I’ll show you niggers the Supreme Court can’t run my life,” he said as his hand ripped at my underpants. A voice inside my head told me I was going to die, that there was nothing I could do about it. White men were in charge. But then I could hear Grandma India saying over and over again, “God is always with you.” I fought to keep my underpants, and to roll the man off of me.
    All at once, he frowned and let out an awful moan, and grabbed for the back of his head. It was Marissa banging on his head with her leather book bag. “Melba . . . Melba, . . . run,” she shouted. When he rolled off me, I scrambled free. He reached out for Marissa, but she kicked him in the shoulder. That’s when I managed to get to my feet and move away from him. He was still on his knees struggling to untangle himself, his legs caught up in his unzipped pants.
    Marissa shouted to me to run faster. She let go of her book bag and dragged me by my arm. If we didn’t hurry, we’d get raped, she said over and over. Raped? What’s raped? I asked as we scurried across the field and back into the street. We raced up the middle of the street, not stopping to talk to anybody, not even the people we knew who tried to say hello. Breathless and shaken, we finally reached my backyard.
    My brother, Conrad, braked his bicycle to question me. What was the matter with my face? Why were my clothes torn? I felt ashamed as I wondered if he and his playmate Clark could guess that a strange man had touched me. Just then Grandma India opened the back door. As soon as she looked at me she frowned and sent Conrad and Clark away.
    Marissa explained what had happened to us, and she repeated the word “rape.” “But he didn’t do it all the way,” she said. By then, I had figured out it was something awful and dirty. Before I could ask Grandma more about it, she put a cold cloth to my face and rushed me into the bathtub.
    “Now you soak a while, child. When the water goes down the drain, it will take away all that white man’s evil with it.” She had a curious look on her face, one I’d never seen before. Then she said something that made me realize just how awful things really were. “We’ll burn the clothes you took off. I got your fresh clothing on a stool, just outside the door.”
    I couldn’t believe my ears! “Waste not, want not” had always been her rule. What had happened must have been truly disgusting to make her destroy my good clothing. I sat in silence wondering if I could ever redeem myself in the eyes of the Lord.
    Later, I heard Grandma talking to my father on the telephone as Mother Lois came in the back door with her usual cheerful greetings. I didn’t climb out of the tub. Instead I scrubbed myself in those hot suds to wash away my shame. When Grandma came to check on me, she must have seen the distress in my expression, because she promised the Lord would still count me as one of his good girls because I hadn’t done anything wrong.
    I listened for so long while the grown-ups argued in loud whispers about calling the police that my bath water turned cold. As I climbed out of the tub and got dressed, I heard Daddy’s voice. When I walked into the kitchen, for the first time ever I saw tears in my father’s eyes. As he reached to hug me, he said, “We ain’t gonna call the law. Those white police are liable to do something worse to her than what already happened.”
    Grandma told me not to talk about what had happened with anyone, especially not Conrad. She said I had to pray for that evil white man, pray every day for twenty-one days, asking God to forgive him and teach him right. That way, she promised I’d get over the feelings of shame.
    I wore my knees out praying night after night—I even got up early to get in extra prayers. Grandma was right. By the time my bruises