Wherever she is now, away and flourishing, Jessica Montserrat probably carries
the shudders of that day, for it was during this drill that she lost her innocence.
At least this was how her English teacher put it, adding that Jessica was a
strong, resilient girl and would no doubt rise "like the phoenix" and do
exceptionally well at college.
She was in truth one of the brightest prospects to come through John Wayne
Cotter's system of encouragement and discouragement. She had been a
survivor of the Program office's mishandling of freshman programs; a sopho-
more who did not drop out, did not get pregnant; a junior who passed all
her Regents exams; President of the Student Council in her senior year; and
from early indications destined to be valedictorian for the Class of '92
"An exceptional student, truly outstanding results," Pete Plimpler declared. He
reminded his colleagues at the department meeting that their efforts at
teaching literature were not entirely futile. Jessica was a fine example of what
could be achieved. "She's from the West Indies," he pointed out. "They've got
the British system of education down there."
Jessica Montserrat knew she was "exceptional" from the first day she stepped
into a classroom. Perhaps she wore her dreams too closely stitched to her
pride. Something was bound to happen to someone like her, so nice, so focused
and shamelessly ambitious.
On the morning of the fire drill she was on her way to the third floor, on an
errand for the college office. The warning bells caught her on the second floor;
she blithely ignored them; she ignored everyone and everything. She was
on her way to deliver an important message.
By the time she got to the third floor the classrooms were spilling out. Still
thinking drill procedures didn't apply to her, she walked on until a security
officer, unimpressed with her mission "from the college office", insisted she
turn around, take the nearest exit to the streets. She had to join a mass of
rowdy freshmen, shouting needlessly, and moving like a herd down the
stairs.
On the first floor she was trapped in the stairwell; there was congestion near
the main entrance as classes converged from several directions. She held her
breath and waited, her body packed in among other bodies on the stairs. There
was a lull in the talk and the laughter, a moment when it seemed everyone had
stopped talking at the same time. She distinctly remembered that moment for
seconds after she felt a hand grab and squeeze the right cheek of her buttocks.
And before she could turn her face to catch the buttock squeezer, the bodies
massed in front of her moved, sucking her forward in sudden release. Fearing
she'd be crushed or trampled in the stairwell by the students behind her,
Jessica moved too.
Out in the hallway, angry and embarrassed, she turned to catch her violator;
she listened for someone's boastful laughter; but the students streamed past
her and the security officers were yelling and directing everyone to the doors.
She wanted to make a detour back up to the college office. They won't let her.
She found herself herded out onto the sidewalk, alone among students she didn't
recognize; her face burning with the knowledge of what had happened.
Jessica Montserrat had been grabbed by the buttock. Jessica Montserrat, who
had walked with confidence (and a little contempt) through the school's
hallways, had been violated. In the school building. In broad daylight.
And somewhere in that mass of students huddled on the sidewalks stood the
violator, who at that very moment ̶ the animal! the beast! ̶ must be studying
her face, laughing at her anguish, maybe confiding to a friend what he had
done. She stood there dying slowly with embarrassment. She wished the earth
would open beneath her and swallow her in. She needed someone to talk to.
The teachers streaming back inside at the all-clear, faces strained and raw
from the cold, seemed too beleaguered to listen. All except Mrs. Boneskosky
who had an undisturbed neat look about her, as if she hadn't been outside at
all.
"I was hurrying to my next class. I had to stop and help her," she said later.
"The poor girl was so upset."
Walking slowly, stopping at the point of Jessica's horrible disclosure, Mrs.
Boneskosky had just enough time to pass on morsels of advice.
Jessica should try to put the whole episode behind her. It was a truly painful
degrading thing, to be violated like that; but Jessica must try to come to terms
with what happened, and ̶ Mrs. Boneskosky glanced at her watch ̶ she should
come and talk to her again at the end of the day, Rm 206, okay? Remember
the poems we read last semester ̶ remember? ̶ about courage and
resilience, the passing of life's cruelest season, the human spirit beaten but
unbowed, remember, Jessica?"
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D. Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 