Short Story Collection #5 — A Girl From Orosi

Short Story #5 — A GIRL FROM OROSI (3800 words)

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 23, 2023 and May 01, 2023

A seventeen-year-old small-town girl with big dreams and goals confronts an escaped rapist. The not-so-innocent young girl must outsmart the violent criminal in order to survive. She will also need to choose her own ending.

A GIRL FROM OROSI

GRACIELA

I was born seventeen years ago in the northern state of Durango, Mexico. My parents were farm workers. When I was seven years old, we moved to the United States. When we arrived, my parents continued working in the fields. We settled in Orosi, a tiny town in the middle of California. After I learned to speak English in elementary school, things got easier, and I adapted to my new country.

I love my parents more than anything in the world, and I’m very proud of them, but my goals are so much different than they could have ever dreamed. I’ve never shared my dreams with anyone, but I’m confident I can achieve them. If they materialize, I’ll be the happiest girl in the world.

I know the world is too big to live in this little town for the rest of my life.

The first part of my plan was to attend a better high school in a bigger town. I convinced my mom to let me go to Visalia, just twenty minutes away. The second part was never having a boyfriend—not yet, anyway. I don’t want to be attached to Orosi for too long, and I’m not in a hurry to ruin my life. But I’ll take one step at a time.

My chances of attending college are not high, but I know I’ll need a scholarship. I decided to join the track and field and soccer teams, which are good options for free tuition, and I have a strong athletic body.

Everything’s fine with my family and friends, but the lack of opportunities in the area makes my future bleak and narrow. I don’t hate my life. I just dislike my options. Even though Orosi High School is only a few blocks from where I live. I’m attending Redwood High School in Visalia instead. The bus to Visalia comes every hour.

People say I’m pretty. They also say I have nice legs, but I think they’re a bit muscular. A few boys keep chasing me, too, but I’m not interested.

Sometimes, dogs chase me, too, but I usually run faster than them. One of them almost bit my rear end, but just before the dog caught me, I turned around and yelled with all the force in my lungs. I scared him so much that he skidded ten feet while trying to pull back. It was funny.

I enjoy riding the bus. I love feeling the air in my hair while doing my homework. I organize my thoughts on the bus. I dream all my dreams and see my future riding the bus. Sometimes, I feel romantic and daydream I’m on a streetcar in San Francisco, where I meet my Romeo, and . . . oh well.

One of my dreams is to move to L.A. or, even better, to New York.

Yes, I have big dreams, that’s for sure.

HECTOR

I have to do it. I’m fifty feet above the ground. It looks scary, but I know I have to do it.

The judge gave me twelve years. I’d be thirty-five when I get my release. On top of that, they would deport me to Mexico after doing my time.

I’m contemplating the only way out, my only escape. It does look scary, but I have to do it.

Next to the building where I am, there’s a palm tree that is as tall as the building. I need to make a long jump. If I don’t grab that tree after I jump, an awful death awaits me, but if I stay and don’t jump, I could spend a long and sorrowful time behind these bars.

I was seven years old when my parents came illegally to this country. My dad found a job as a gardener, while my mom stayed home and cared for kids from the neighborhood.

At school, I was always in trouble. I was a bully in every grade. I was taller than the other kids; even the teachers feared me. When I was twelve, I started touching girls every chance I had. I lifted their skirts or grabbed their breasts.

Most of them didn’t complain. They were probably afraid I’d become more aggressive. By the time I turned thirteen, I was masturbating several times a day.

Around that time, I had constant thoughts about naked girls. Sex was always on my mind. At fourteen, I had sex for the first time with a sixteen-year-old girl. The older I got, the more sex I wanted.

When I was sixteen, I raped my eighteen-year-old cousin. She didn’t say a thing to anybody because, I guess, she enjoyed it too. I raped one of my aunts too. After that, I often had sex with her even though she was married.

Some of my victims didn’t get too upset about it. Others just disappeared from my sight. I knew something was wrong with me, but I kept doing it since I wasn’t getting in trouble. During that time, I wasn’t violent. Well, not yet, anyway.

If any of them were insistent enough, I would stop. But it was weird how some of them switched their attitude in the middle of it, from hating it to loving it. It might seem hard to believe, but some returned for more. If the first time they didn’t have an orgasm because I was too fast or too rough, they would get a second or a third chance.

People can say what they want, but I know some girls I raped enjoyed it too. I shouldn’t glorify rapists, but two of my victims mentioned that being raped had been one of their sexual fantasies.

When someone accused me for the first time, the judge cleared me of all charges for lack of evidence. The girl didn’t have any bruises, and there were no witnesses.

The first time I got in trouble was with a waitress in a Mexican restaurant. The place was deserted. While she was mopping the hallway floor, I forced her into the bathroom, locked the door, ignored her cries, and had sex several times until the cops arrived. That time, the judge gave me a six-month sentence, a restraining order, and three years probation. It was a month short before my 18th birthday.

After that, I behaved like a regular person and stayed out of trouble. I had almost finished the probation period when a young woman moved near my house. That woman caused temptations in me that I had never felt before. For several days, she was the inspiration for my sexual desires. Every time I jerked off, I was thinking about her. She was married and had a child.

After spying on her for a week, I figured out her entire routine. The time she left home, the time she returned, and the time her husband left for work. She was so hot. I had to do it.

She lived in an apartment building; behind her unit was a small patio with a six-foot fence. Across the driveway, two workers were fixing another apartment.

The worst mistake I made was not covering my face. But when I’m horny, my brain doesn’t function at all. I should have known that woman could easily identify me since we lived so close.

One morning, as soon as her husband left, I made my move.

The fence was easy to jump, and the sliding door in the back was unlocked. The young woman was sleeping topless, and the sheets were on the floor. She looked beautiful in her black panties. The baby slept in a crib across the room.

I’ve never been so excited. I had an immediate erection. I pulled down my pants in a second. The key to everything was to surprise her. I had to cover her mouth and remove her panties at the same time. But the moment I touched her, she woke up and kicked me in the chest extremely hard. I wasn’t ready for that reaction. Her screams were deafening, the kid started to cry, and I panicked. I wasn’t expecting such a commotion. Still in shock, I landed on my back when I got up and ran to the patio. I shut the door behind me. The workers saw me jumping over the fence but didn’t say anything.

What a pathetic pussy I turned out to be, running out like a coward. Later, in my prison cell, I re-enacted my failed attempt in my mind several times. I had never encountered such a fury before. I would have had to strangle her before I could rape her. And all for just five minutes of pleasure.

When I returned to my house that afternoon, the cops were waiting for me in an unmarked car. There was no need to resist or to claim innocence.

The judge sent me to a county jail before being transferred a few days later to state prison. My temporary jail was on the top floor of a four-story-high building.

From the roof of the building, I was contemplating my two choices: my freedom or my death. I knew I could never find a better chance to escape than that moment. It was getting dark, and the rest of the inmates had gone back to their cells. The guards had gone, too. They probably thought an escape from there would have been impossible.

Two palm trees were next to the building. I aimed for the skinny one.

I began to run from the far end of the basketball court. I picked up speed in the middle of it because I had to jump over a four-foot metal railing. While flying in the air, I thought I’d made a stupid decision. I was fifty feet above the ground when my heart stopped beating.

After my body hit the tree, I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. I remained immobile for an instant.

I could see the freeway down below. I was holding onto the dark side of the tree. I caught my breath and started to climb down. I was okay except for a solid chest pain and a few scratches. As soon as I touched the ground, I removed my shirt. On the back, it read: “Property of The Tulare County Jail.” Well, I’m not your property anymore fuckers!

I walked away from the bright street lights and headed for the St. John’s River, where the homeless people gathered under the bridge. I could spend the night with them and get a change of clothes. They could offer me a drink I was sure I highly deserved for my daring ‘impossible’ escape.

GRACIELA

I enjoy watching the hustle and bustle of people going to work from the bus. I know most of them come from Mexico, and most of them work in the fields. With nothing to do in a small town, even the bus ride seems exciting. But what I enjoy the most is hiking in the Sequoia Mountains.

There’s a tree near Avenue 336. It is trimmed yearly to prevent the branches from contacting the electrical wires. Because the branches carry water, they can provoke an electrical outage if they touch the cables. The tree looked afraid of the wires and grew away from them. It was ugly and beautiful at the same time.

Out-of-town people always complain about the smells around the area, the cows, the manure, fertilizers, recycled irrigating water, and even the city dump. I always defend my city and deny it all. But I know they’re right.

At school, I get along with everybody. My favorite teacher is Miss Nunez, my Art class teacher. I consider her my friend. She’s patient and caring.

Life’s slow and peaceful. What I mean to say is a little boring. I landed in this little town; I had no choice, but I didn’t want to die here.

I have big plans for my future. I want to have at least two different careers: I want to be a writer and a doctor of medicine or something like that. I know it’s not that hard. I just know it.

To return home, I’d have to take two buses, one from school to the edge of town and another to Orosi on Road 63. After ten minutes at the bus stop, I went to get a soda from the liquor store across the street. On my way back, I watched the bus passing by with resignation. I hate to wait another hour for the next one.

I want to hitch a ride, but I’m not too fond of the idea because there are a lot of weirdos in town. One time, I got a lift from an older man. He seemed to be a decent family man, but when he offered me a hundred dollars in exchange for a ‘good time,’ I got out of his car at the first stop sign.

HECTOR

I plan to hit the road as soon as possible. I need to go to another state. Nevada is my first choice. Hitchhiking or taking the Greyhound bus in Visalia was out of the question. I need a car to go north to Fresno or south to Bakersfield. Visalia is going to be a hot spot for the next few days.

If they catch me, I’d be facing at least twenty years. That’s too long for an attempted rape. I don’t even want to think about it. All I know is that I’m too horny. Tomorrow I have to find some pussy, that’s for sure.

There are about a dozen people under the bridge. An old pickup truck is parked at the edge of the road. Finding the owner was my main priority. With a twenty-dollar bill in hand, I ask, ‘I need a ride to the liquor store to get some booze.’ A guy gets up and says, “I’ll take you, buddy, but you drive. I’m a little fucked up already.”

Around midnight, we made another trip to the liquor store. When we returned, I sat beside my new buddy and kept the keys. I just need to wait for them to fall asleep.

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. A young guy in a pickup truck pulls over immediately, and I ask him if he can take me to Orosi. He says, “Yeah, get in. I’m going that way.”

I knew I had made a big mistake when he put a screwdriver against my ribs and said, “We’re going for a ride, and you better enjoy it.”

Damn! It’s unbelievable how fast things can change when you make a bad decision.

If I leave here alive, I’d never make another stupid mistake like this. I’m scared to death, but I’m determined to survive whatever is coming my way. I also know that whatever his intentions are, I would do anything to avoid getting raped or killed.

As the truck gained speed, I saw my chances fading away.

There’s an old gas station at the corner of Avenue 328. After that, there’s only an empty road for the next ten miles. If we go past that gas station, my chances of escaping would be minimal.

I have to provoke an accident. I see no other way out of this. I could die, too, but I have to risk it. I’m in great danger anyway. So, I went for it with lightning speed.

First, I pushed the button to unlock his seat belt, grabbed his hand holding the screwdriver, and then turned the wheel toward the gas station.

The entire action must have taken all but three seconds.

When I open my eyes, the windshield is broken, and the driver’s seat is empty.

My astonishment increased when I saw him all twisted and mangled next to the gas pump. He can’t be alive. We crashed into another vehicle, but nobody else got hurt. I come out unscathed, unharmed, and very happy to be alive.

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. A young guy in a pickup truck pulls over immediately, and I ask him if he can take me to Orosi. He says, “Yeah, get in. I’m going that way.”

“There’s a lot of crime in the area. You shouldn’t be asking for rides. It’s not safe,” he says as I enter the vehicle.

“Yes, I know, but I don’t want to wait for the bus for another hour. It’s boring,” I replied.

He appears to be in his early twenties; his hair is tangled, messy, and dirty. He probably had just gotten out of work or out of bed.

“Well, we can have a little fun before I take you home,” he says.

“No, I need to pick up my little brother from school and do my homework,” I say, but he keeps driving.

“No, I said we’re going to have some fun. I’m not giving you any options,” the man says as he pulls a screwdriver and pushes it against my ribs.

I couldn’t see a stop sign or a stoplight anywhere near, so I could jump out of the vehicle as I did with the old man. We were about twelve miles from Orosi. And not a soul in sight.

“No, I want to get out. Please stop,” I say as we approach a dairy farm. It would have been useless to scream. Nobody was around. After he passed the farm, he made a right turn on a dirt road and stopped the truck behind several trees.
He pulls me out of the truck by the hair. As he holds the screwdriver in his right hand, he adds, “I said we’re going to have some fun,” then he pushes me to the ground, still pulling my hair. As I lay there, he climbs over me and says, “My name’s Hector. What’s yours, baby?”

I need to escape; the only way out is an ‘out-of-body experience.’ I might get hurt, but I don’t want to feel the pain. So, I transport my body to another area I love. I find myself hiking up along the stream in the Sequoia Mountains, admiring the beautiful centuries-old trees. Ouch! I just felt a stinging pain at the center of my body.

Now, I’m walking in the middle of the shallow river, looking to the point where the trees connect to the sky. All trees point to heaven, the place where I should be.

When I return, I check my intentionally abandoned body. I found it complete, and except for a bit of blood on my private parts and some pain, I was ‘unharmed.’

As I reached the main road, I began to think about Miss Nunez because I needed to ask her for a favor. I’ve heard about a pill you take the following day after having sex to avoid pregnancy. She’s my favorite teacher, but she’s my friend too. She might help me get it.

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. A young guy in a pickup truck pulls over immediately, and I ask him if he can take me to Orosi. He says, “Yeah, get in. I’m going that way.”

“Hi, how are you doing? My name’s Hector. What’s yours?” he asks.

“I’m doing fine. My name’s Graciela.” he looks a little dirty but seems decent.

“I’m from out of town, just passing by, but I can stay if you show me around. We can have a good time,” the man says.

I had a strange feeling about that. “No, thanks, but I have to go home now. If you stop at the next light, I’ll be fine,” I answered, trying to sound casual, but I was nervous.

“I don’t think so,” he replies. “I said we’re going to have a good time, and we will.” He was doing fifty miles an hour.

There’s a stoplight up ahead, and I hoped it would turn red by the time we got there so I could jump out. But the damn light remains green for an eternity. Then, all I see ahead of us is a lonely road. I know I’m in deep trouble. And I don’t deserve any of it.

“Okay, Graciela, today’s your lucky day. We’re going to have sex. You can enjoy, or you can suffer. It’s up to you. I would recommend you to enjoy it, but if you don’t, it makes no difference to me,” he says while slowly getting his hand between my legs.

My body began to tremble. I’m mad at myself. I wish it was tomorrow already so I could forget about today. How can I be so dumb? My fists were tight, and my knuckles were white. I felt helpless and vulnerable.

“You don’t look like a bad guy. Just pull over and let me out, please, I beg you,” I said while holding back my tears.

He turns on a dirt road and goes to a shed behind an abandoned house. Then, he drags me to the hut. He tells me to remove my clothes and threatens me with a screwdriver in his right hand.

I suddenly remembered about a rape case I heard in the news. The victim faked enjoying the whole episode, and when the rapist finished, he gave her his phone number so she could call him any time for more sex. But she called the cops instead, and they got him. I considered doing the same thing. But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

I thought I would ignore him instead. I would remain immobile down there on the ground like a log. I wouldn’t show any emotions. I just didn’t want to get hurt or killed.

I was on my back, naked. The man was holding me between his legs. That’s not how I had envisioned losing my virginity. After he finished, he turned me around and did it again, then again and again. Then, he rolled me over like a sack of potatoes and said, “You bitch, say something. Scream, hit me, cry or do something, you stupid bitch!” He said, “You deserve to die.”

He lifts the screwdriver with both hands above his head, and in a blink of an eye and with tremendous force, he inserts the screwdriver into my chest.

I feel my soul escaping my body. I could see myself lying there with the screwdriver on my chest. I could only see the handle protruding from my chest. I think about Mom and Dad, my unfulfilled dreams, and my future. It was all cut off abruptly and without warning. It all belonged to the past now.

How could you do that, God? I only asked you for a small favor. “I don’t want to die in this miserable town,” It was a simple favor, easy for you to concede. Why did you allow this horrible ending?

GRACIELA

Frustrated, I decide to ask for a ride. Right away, a middle-aged man in a pickup truck pulls over. Oh shit, it’s my dad! I’m in real trouble now.

“Graciela, what are you doing asking for a ride? I can’t believe it. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” he says in a very alarming voice.

“It’s not dangerous, Dad; it’s daytime, and there’s a lot of people around,” I reply, trying to minimize the gravity of the situation.

“No, Graciela, I’d die if something bad happened to you. You have to promise me you’ll never do it again.”

“Yes, Dad, I promise,” I respond sincerely. And as I get in the truck, I kiss him.

“I promise you, Dad,” I repeat, kissing him again.

The End

Edmundo Barraza

*All stories are protected under the © Seal of the Copyright Office of the United States. April 27, 2023 and May 01, 2023

Written in Visalia, CA. Nov-17-2010
Posted on Blogger Feb-25-2017
Posted on WordPress Nov-4-2019