"Soundless as a Shadow 

I stay in my room all evening.
Drawing any sort of attention
to myself would be an enormous
mistake. Shh! Turn off the music.

Ever now and again, Daddy 
leaves his own room, on a Turkey
hunt. Staccato footsteps accompany
his muttered threats and pleas. 

You can't leave me. I won't
let you. I'm not a little boy
anymore. I'll go after you.
Please. Don't leave me!

I keep the bedside lamp
very low. It sheds a pale, 
wheat-colored light, barely
enough to read by. Not

that I can concentrate on 
the words. Mostly what I'm 
doing is praying Daddy slips
into substance-fed slumber."

I pause, looking towards my teacher. I see in her eyes pain and anger, but she waves me on.

"Back and forth

He goes, bedroom to bar. Why
doesn't he just take the bottle

with him? It comes to me with
sudden clarity that his pacing

carries him by my room twice
every round-trip. I extinguish

my light, hunker down in my 
bed, as if hiding there might

somehow influence him to keep
on going. Going. Please go on by."

I draw a deep breath, hearing a couple claps before the person realizes I am not yet done, then continue.

"This trip is to the Turkey, and 
it seems to take a very long time.

Maybe he fell asleep in the living
room. I start to relax, just a little. 
And then I hear him, unsteady in
the hall. One, two, three, four...

He pauses outside my door.
This time the knob turns. 
And I know why he's here. I'm 
the only one who doesn't dare run."

I pause once more as if getting into character, though I'm really calming my own emotions, locking away my own demons, promising them their turn tonight. I showed Mrs. Lynche this part earlier and she said it was okay--that it was just a script, right?

Right.

"I want to shout
Leave me alone!
What's wrong with you?
Don't you remember
who I am? Who you are?
This is not a father's love!

I want to scream
Can't you see what you are doing to me?
What you've done to me?
What you've made of me?

I want to cry out
I am your little girl.
I am not your girl friend.
I am not your whore.
I am not my fucking mother!

But he is on top of me
and my shout is silenced.
He is inside of me
and my scream stays there too.
He is finished.

And I don't cry out,
but I do cry a bucket of silent tears.
He slithers away and at last,
I quietly sob

No
No
No
No

No."

I pause for those who will clap, to clap, and bow as I prefer that over courtsying.

My legs feel like Jell-O, because while everyone else in the room thinks this was all just superb acting and memorization, me, myself, and I know differently.

The bell rings as I reach my seat, for which I am grateful. Adam looks curious and I, today, as a tear drips down my cheek, am in no mood to quench it.