by Kris Laurentz

Created on: June 24, 2008

VIOLATED

The smell of the room was nauseating. It felt like I was outside of my body, floating around and watching everything happen in slow motion. As I sat on the edge of the table, my mind went blank. Had this really happened? I felt nothing. I was totally and completely numb. I heard the door knob turning slowly. A woman in hospital scrubs came into the room. She was accompanied by another woman in a police officers uniform. The woman with the hospital scrubs began to speak to me, but I didn't really hear what she was saying. Her voice sounded muffled. When I didn't answer her (I knew she asked a question by her body language and facial expressions), it was like she knew I couldn't speak.

She moved toward me and lightly touched my shoulder, then gently pressed on it for me to lie down. Both of the women had a look of such sorrow and empathy. I knew what they expected of me. I placed my feet into the cold, metal, outstretched arms at the end of the table. I knew the woman in hospital scrubs was getting samples from me because she kept placing large cotton swabs into a tube and laying it on a tray. I could not feel anythingno painnothing at all. As I lay there, all I could do was stare at the small, brownish green circle of a ceiling panel that had been violated by some kind of liquid. ViolatedViolatedViolated. That was the only word that filled my mind.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the woman in the hospital scrubs took my feet out of the metal arms and helped me sit up. As I started to ease myself off of the papered table, she held up a finger, motioning me to wait. The police officer left the room and came back in with a large camera. With a empathetic look, she said "sorry" to me. I didn't hear her, but I knew what she said. The woman in the hospital scrubs removed my gown. When she did, both women looked at me with such horror, such pity. The officer started taking photos of my naked body. Click, FlashClick, FlashClick, Flash. Every flash the camera let off, a different image flooded my mind. The images didn't go together like frames of a movie. They were jumbled, out of order, and in incomplete piecesa man's facea walla clocka pair of cowboy boots.

The officer handed me a pair of navy blue sweats. My mind was beginning to "un-fog". She told me to put them on because she had to keep my clothes for evidence. She told me to let her know when I was dressed so she could come in and talk to me for a while. As I was putting on the sweats, I turned and

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