"This is my son."
My dad talked to two men in my front yard. My dad wore a brown sport jacket. The fabric was so frothy. The two men he was talking to were equally dressed in coats that were dressy and old fashioned at the same time. Their faces were dark and indiscriminate in the low light of the night. They mostly faced away from me. They had travelled across the mountain range. They talked in low calm voices that were set for night's rest.
I stood holding onto white painted door post in a polite distance. I was standing on one foot, because waiting for them to conclude their discussion made me shift the weight on my knees around. The memory of the excitement of anticipation about getting my dad's attention was burning in me. My dad is this rock of love. He doesn't talk much, yet being next to him, I feel warm embracing love.
The men he was with held bad memories for me. They took away my dad's attention. They were bad. They were part of a sect. My dad dilly dallied his whole life with the sect. He always befriended and never committed. They always loved him for the outside things he brought to the sect, like my place to stay for them for the night.
I remembered as a kid visiting their Sunday service. The church had been divided into booths so that nobody could see the preacher or other church goers. The women had pushed candy may way with big smiles flaunting any attention to the preacher. I sat there as a little kid in a big leathery booth with plain hard candy in multiple colors in front of me. Though, none of the candy was the good candy, just hard sugar suckers.
When I was older, I had researched news archives on the sect. They were on a government watch list. Among the questionable practices was to deny medical services, because to do so was an insult to faith in god to mend things. A child had died. Social services had gotten involved. All members over 25 had yellow, bad, or even lost teeth. My dad would not waver from the side of that sect, because god is real. Yeah right!
The men entered my house without a word or even eye contact. My dad laid his hand on my shoulder. He looked at me proud. His eyes were large and black like a little boy feeling deep love. On my inside, I felt all the pretense against the visitors melting. I just wanted to cuddle in his arms and listen to him say 'everything will be all right.' I know it won't. Yet, he believes it so steadfast like a rock that it makes me feel sheltered, a feeling that I missed ever since I started my own life.
I tried to tell him that I did not like those men in my house. He pushed me inside without a word. I felt like a little kid. Anger exploded in me for being treated that way. He said, 'everything will be allright.' I felt rude for starting a fight with my dad and putting the guest into the predicament of finding a bed after all the hotels in the area had already closed the reception.
Nobody turned on the light in the house. They went straight to my bedroom. They only took off the jackets and sweaters. They lay down on my king sized bed side by side. We lay four people side by side in my large king sized bed. The room was dark with barely any light shimmering in from the moon. The comforter was tossed on the floor. Everyone wore dark clothes including dress socks. Heavy breathing filled the room.
I took a deep inhale. I surrendered to the night having to pass like this. Listening to their relaxed breathing, everyone was already at sleep. Deep inside of me, I held the feelings of discomfort and anger. I tried to fast forward to the morning to being with my dad alone. The fast forward was interrupted by pressure on my bladder. A few hours had passed and my bladder had filled up. I silently slung out of the bed with my breath held in check to avoid huffing loudly.
"Stop! You can't go in there."
A tall, slim, twenty-year old man held his palm in my face. I instantly recognized him as a member of the sect. His clothes were out of fashion. He had a certain pale look in his face. I saw jackets, shoes, and sweaters dotting the side of the wall. I saw a sleeping body in the dark of my living room. It slowly sunk in that the rest of the sect had followed over the mountain pass and were slowly filing into my house. Apparently, the two leaders had left my door unlocked.
Harry, the young man's name, explained that there was a sequence for people to use the bathroom. There were about 35 of them and one bathroom. He showed me a clipboard, where he wrote me in as the ninth person in line. I had been stripped of my right to use my own bathroom. I had to ask for permission. I didn't like these house guests at all.
I stepped into the living room and looked through the large sliding glass doors into the yard. The yard was lined by a tall, thick hedge. A tree loomed over it. The tips of the grass had already morning mist collecting on them. Tired, young people had found their spots on the grass to sleep. They were huddled into rain jackets and anything that would keep them warm in the damp, cold morning. They were curled on their sides like dogs. The luckier once with higher social status had found space everywhere in the living room, on the bench, under the table. A couple awake ones were busy with my faucet, stove, and tea collection.
At this point, it was very hard to get them to leave right now. They simply outnumbered me by too many. I solemnly sat down on my toilet and peed. The bathroom was painted in shades of gray by the night. I deliberated my options. I still felt comfortable in my bathroom. The sect members were very clean folks. They already had organized a cleaning schedule and scrubbed the bathroom at least once. The comforting smell of cleaning solution hung heavy in the air.
I stepped out of the bathroom and looked down from the balcony. There was a simple outdoor shower beneath me. It wasn't properly shielded with a shower curtain, because it was more for cleaning big outdoor things like a surf board or a bike. There was a beautiful nineteen year old girl with a gold long mane. She was in her casual sleepwear. She wore an oversized t-shirt with the pastel drawing of a Native American portrait. She wore shorts that were mostly covered by the t-shirt. Her fleshly legs were naked.
The blood in my veins rejuvenated. I made half a step back on the balcony to stay in the shadow. Two men were holding her. Her arms were raised up and two the sides. One man each held her forcibly in place. A scream wanted to come out of me. Yet, my body was frozen. I was unable to move from panic. "I have to save the girl," raced through my head. I still couldn't move.
I notice the other girls and sect members gathered around her and looking on. They were all very calm with a day-to-day demeanor. And, I further noticed, even though the girl's muscles were flexed, her face was free of terror. My impulse to act turned into an impulse to blend in. I had a guilty desire to watch the beautiful young girl getting wet. I hoped to see her nipples shining through the wet t-shirt.
The water started blasting her chest. It dawned on me that perhaps this was a cleansing ritual. They tore the t-shirt over her shoulders. Her wet boobs sprung free. They were gorgeous, full, and well-shaped. An erection grew in my pants. Steamy air escaped my mouth. Her struggle made it even more of a turn on. There was a sense of deliverance about it that was very sexy. I secretly watched.
A middle aged woman tucking on my sleeve interrupted me, "they have given the children white pills." I was alarmed again. I stormed into the room. The room had a gaggle of kids sitting on the floor with coloring books, crayons, and wood toys. A supervising woman was standing in the corner. I asked the next girl, what kind of white pills they had been taken. The little girl told me not to worry, because they had read many stories about the effects and knew what it meant.
