The Pear Tree

I don’t dream often.

But when I do, it’s the same dream.

I’m laying somewhere, surrounded by darkness. I look up. I see a pear tree.

I can see the tiny specks of brown on the pale, green fruit. Each curve is smoothly carved by the hand of nature. I can almost taste it.

I feel calm and serene. Nothing can hurt me.

But this feeling never lasts long. Like clockwork, the darkness begins to close in on my line of sight, engulfing within it, the fruit.

My throat tightens. I can’t breathe.

“Help!” I scream. Nobody hears me.

Or nobody wants to?

Where’s the pear tree? The darkness blinds me.

I always wake up at this point.

Sweaty, alone, afraid.

Fuck.

I don’t know what I’m doing here.

Another night, dancing to the beat of a song I don’t know the lyrics to. My makeup beads off with the sweat on my face.

I take a swig out of my cup. Vodka cranberry sticks to the back of my throat. My breath stenches of alcohol. I need to get out of here.

I tap on my friend’s shoulder. Her bouncy blonde hair swishes to the side. She looks over her shoulder at me, eyes glossed and lipstick smeared.

“Hey babe!” She calls out over the pounding music. “Where have you been?”

Where have I been? She left 45 minutes ago to get a drink and I haven’t seen her since.

“Where have YOU been?”

“I’ve been here!” She exclaims, her voice high and giddy. “With Randy and uh… what’s your name again?”

She points at the two men she’s with.

“Marc,” one of the men smiles.

“For fucks sake,” I shake my head, “you didn’t think to come back and let me know where you went?”

Blondie looks at me for a second. She says nothing. Then, she rolls her eyes and turns away. The two men instantly lose interest in me. Classic.

Maybe I’m too drunk.

I push myself out of the club. A wave of fresh air greets me as I open the door to the exit. The smell of sweat and booze is instantly replaced by cigarettes and puke. Thumping music is replaced by high pitched giggles and slurred words. The moon peeks out in the clouds.

The smell of sweet tobacco catches my attention. A tall man with shaggy brown hair is smoking a cigarette. I look at him for a second before walking over. An instance of shame washes over me as I approach him. I quit smoking two weeks ago.

“Hey,” I say to him. “Mind if I bum one?”

He pulls out his pack.

“Sure.”

He lights it up for me.

Relief washes over me as the smoke hits my throat.

“Hits the spot?” The guy looks over at me.

“I quit two weeks ago,” I explain.

“I see,” he says.

I look up at his blue eyes. A familiar tension builds up between us. He’s not half bad looking. I can see he’s thinking the same thing about me too.

It’s approaching 3AM on a Saturday night. What do you expect two drunk, lonely adults to do? One thing leads to another and the next thing you know, we’re in the back of a cab heading to his place. He’s sucking on my neck. I’m enjoying every moment.

We stumble out of the taxi like two drunken teens on prom night. We laugh as if we’ve known each other for years. I trip over my heels. We walk up the stairs to his apartment. My heart thumps.

He unlocks the door. It smells like cigarettes and musk. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. I follow his lead to the bedroom.

He pushes me against the wall and kisses me hard. His mouth is warm and wet.

Maybe too wet. Maybe too warm. Maybe too fast.

I pull back a bit. What am I doing here? Why am I getting caught up in yet another stranger? I thought I was over this shit. I don’t even know the guy’s name. I don’t even know where I am. I didn’t pay attention on the cab ride here. Maybe I should’ve.

He pulls in closer. I pull back again.

“I think I need a minute,” I muster.

He starts kissing my neck.

“A minute to do what?” He slurs his words.

“I just need a minute to think,” I firmly push him away, hoping the message will get through to his drunken head.

“Oh you want to play hard to get?” He laughs. “We both know you’re easy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” He chuckles as if he’s telling a joke, “you don’t need to fool me. Look at you. Let’s skip the games.”

Who does he think he is? What an asshole. I’m ready to walk out that door, but my drunken brain keeps me frozen for one second too long. He grabs me tightly by the wrists and violently pulls me towards him. He presses his lips onto mine.

"Let me go,” I murmur, trying to break free from his grasp. A tinge of fear ties my stomach in knots.

“This would be more enjoyable if you shut up,” he says, as his hand slides down my back and gropes my butt.

I raise my voice.

“No. That’s enough. I want to go home now. I’m not joking. Let me go,” I say with urgency. I try my best to keep my composure.

He doesn’t say anything this time. Instead, in one fast movement, he flips me around against his bed. One of his hands presses my back against the bed. The other hand lifts up my dress and pulls my panties down.

I guess this is it.

“Why are you doing this?” I shout. My voice is muffled against the bedsheet.

He says nothing.

I can’t do anything. I’m completely immobilized. I feel helpless. Afraid. This was not part of the plan. I feel sick. I hear his belt unbuckling. Is this really happening? Is this a dream? I can sense his body moving closer towards me from behind. My entire body stiffens. Tears flow down the sides of my face. As he enters, a searing pain shoots up my groin. I start to sob. My soul feels like it’s leaving my body. I can’t breathe. Please let this be quick. The pain blurs my vision. I close my eyes.

Something inside me tells me to relax. Relax, relax, relax. The more I can relax, the less painful it will be. I hold onto that voice.

I focus on the darkness of my eyelids.

I see a pear tree.

I’m eight years old. I’m in my childhood bedroom. There’s a sticker of a pear tree on my ceiling. I can see the brown specks on the pale, green fruit. Each curve of the pear stands out to me. I could almost taste it.

Grunts echo in my ears. I’m confused.

I don’t know what’s going on.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” a familiar voice echoes in my head.

Is it?

Then, the darkness begins to cave in. The pear tree disappears. I can’t see or feel anything. My gut wrenches. My throat tightens. I can’t breathe. Everything is black. It seems I have fallen into a deep, dark hole. It’s never-ending. The world is spinning out of my reach. I search for the pear tree in the depths of my mind, but I can’t find it.

My uncle sits beside me on my bed. He smiles. He puts his hand on my knee and tells me everything is going to be okay.

There’s blood on my underwear. My thighs hurt.

“Everything is going to be okay. Go to sleep now. This'll be our secret.”

He hugs me. He’s warm.

Then, he leaves my room and closes the door.

I open my eyes.

The man finishes inside me. Then, he rolls over to the side and passes out. I’m free to leave, but I just stay there. Defeated. Ashamed. Broken. I pull up my panties and lie on the bed for the entire night, eyes wide and frozen in one spot.

He’s too drunk to even know what he just did. I doubt he’ll remember it in the morning. Maybe if I stay until the morning I can remind him. Part of me wants to be there to tell him what a pig he is. Part of me knows I’m not the first. Nor the last. My eyes are open, but I only see darkness. My heart aches. My jaw is throbbing. My groin stings. I’m sober now.

Eventually, sometime before dawn, I roll out of bed. I leave the apartment and begin to walk home. Make up smeared across my face, hair disheveled, and heels in hand, I begin my sad, slow walk of shame.

A cab pulls up beside me. The window rolls down.

“Need a ride?”

I have no idea where I am or how long it’ll take me to get home.

I look into the cab driver’s eyes and say, “No.”