Moonlight and Song

      Before the night that changed my life, I wanted to become a famous singer.  My parents always said that I had a beautiful voice, and that I could go far with it.  I was never properly trained, but I belted out those songs in church and the people around me would comment on my voice after the service.  I figured when that when I had time to take off work, I would apply for American Idol, the judges would be wowed by my performance and I'd be the next Big Thing. 
         At the time, I worked as a waitress at a nice restaurant in town- not one of those fast food places, or even one of those slightly-classier sit-down restaurants.  This restaurant was a suit-and-tie required place.  I made good money there, trying to work my way through nursing school.  My mom always said just because I was going to be famous someday didn't mean I could be practical now.
         I usually assisted in closing the restaurant on Saturday evenings, since the owner's liked to have the weekend off.  Most of the other wait staff tried to leave as soon as they could get off, but I liked the extra pay and had no where in particular to go.  On a Saturday not so dissimilar from many others, I had finished cleaning off all the tables, and shut down all the computers and was getting ready to leave.  I walked through the kitchen to the back entrance, since I had locked the front door over an hour before.  I inclined my head to the Head Chef, who was busy looking over figures and gave me the barest recognition, and I waved my hand at the dishwasher, who raised a soapy hand in reply. 
         I opened the door to the crisp evening air and breathed in deeply.  After smelling all sorts of savory aromas all evening it felt good to taste the fresh, unadulterated air.  I swung my purse as I looked skyward- a full moon was out that night, drawing my attention skyward.  What a beautiful sight I thought happily as I walked towards my the parking garage.
         Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind and a hand covered my mouth.  I was so shocked that for a second I did not move.  Then I began kicking and pounding my fists on my unknown attacker and screaming as best I could.  I can still smell his hand- the repugnant odor of sex and piss and sweat.  He loosened one of his hands across my shoulder, but not the one over my mouth and seemed to grab something from one of his pockets.  He brought it in front of my mouth and I passed out.
         
         When I awoke what seemed years later, I was lying next to my car.  My skirts were in a disarray and my blouse was buttoned up partly wrong.  Numbly I got into the car and drove to the hospital, the place I had spent many happy hours training in.  I knew what had to be done, for I had several times taken girls just like myself and told them "it's all going to be alright.  you're going to be fine."  Now the situation was reversed.
         The next week I joined a rape support group, in order to "move forwards" with my life.  I was melancholy often, and slept and cried a lot.  I stood stoically through church on Sundays, not sure if the God who I had thought could surely hear my boisterous voice would hear the extremely loud cries of my heart now.  I missed a few classes and did poorly on my exams for the semester.  I was put on academic probation.  My adviser was concerned.  She did not know what had happened to me- what sort of person goes around telling others that they have been raped?  My sad, quiet and often non-punctual behavior got me fired from my job.  I was lost.  And then came one more piece of news to top it all.
         I was pregnant.  Whoever that repulsive, immoral, sick maniac was that had taken my innocence was now the father of this thing growing inside of me.  I threw up when I found out. 
         Growing up in the church, I had always been taught that abortions were immoral, wrong, the killing of precious children. Now that it was ME, I began to reconsider my position.  My parents had sent me some money after I lost my job, but I was behind on a few bills with no income to stay caught up on the rest.  Having a child would only make that worse.  Another mouth to feed.  My family would be ashamed of me- a child out of wedlock!  they would think.  I would be an outcast in my own family, talked about behind their backs, ostracized while being treated with too much kindness.  I didn't know if I could bear that.  Still, the values that had been ingrained in my head since before birth went very deep.  I was torn.
         On my way to Planned Parenthood for my first consultation, I ran into protesters.  I was extremely embarrassed to be seen there, and hoped that none of the pro-life nurses I was in training with were among them.  As I tried to slip past them without being noticed, one sign caught my eye.  "Save the innocent!"  it proclaimed.  Tears came to my eyes.  As I drove back to my apartment I resolved that no more blood would be shed on account of this bump in my life.  I would keep the child.
         They never found my attacker, even after running DNA samples from the semen through police data.  I hope whoever it was is ashamed of what he did and has changed, although given what I know now about the profile of rapists, I understand that this is highly unlikely.  I grew to love the baby in my womb, and the first moment Joshua Dean was put in my arms, I kissed him and promised to love him forever. As he wailed in my arms, I began humming an old lullaby.