She couldn't believe it was happening.  She couldn't believe it; 
her mind was frozen in denial.  Then it flashed back, flashed back in 
disjointed images to the events leading up to this one moment, this one 
moment in her life which wasn't happening.
	She remembered that she had come home that day after work just 
like every other day, tired but thankful that she had such enjoyable 
work.  She saw herself fumbling with her keys to the front door, dropping 
them before finally letting herself in, and then sitting down on the 
couch in her small apartment to relax.  A knock on the door roused her 
and she opened it to her next door neighbor, a gentleman of about twenty 
six years of age who frequently stopped by to borrow this or that from 
her kitchen.
	"Hi Ted," she remembered herself saying, "what's up?"
	"Wondering if I could get some flour.  I'm baking a cake and I'm 
out."
	"Sure," she said, "come on in."  She saw herself lead him to the 
kitchen where she, standing on tiptoe, rummaged around in the top cabinet 
for her bag of flour.
	She remembered that when she had turned around, she was surprised 
to find him standing so close, and started a little bit.  She had quickly 
handed him the flour and was surprised and apprehensive when he just 
looked at it dully and then put it on the counter, not moving away from her.
	"What are you doing?" she said, her voice taking on both an edge 
of anger and of fear as he put out an arm to block her movement from the 
kitchen.
	Her mind now saw him with his arms on either side of her, his 
hands gripping the counter top, trapping her in the corner, her own hands 
palm out, an inch from his chest.
	"Ted!  Let me go!" she demanded.  "Stop this!"
	"You don't think I see?  You don't think I see you, every 
weekend, bring back some dude?  And you won't even give me the time of 
day."  What was he talking about? her mind quailed.  What was going on?
	"Let me go or I'll scream!" she yelled, panic beginning to 
overwhelming her.  "I mean it."
	"Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!" she remembered him screaming as 
he slapped at her face in a sudden frenzied rage, knocking her this way 
and that, trapped in the corner of the kitchen of her own apartment.
	She fought, she saw in her memory, fought and screamed and tried 
to escape, but she hadn't.  Only three inches shorter than his 5'8", she 
was frail, weighing no more than 105 lbs.; she hadn't stood a chance.
	A mind picture flashed through her mind, and she saw herself 
dragged to the floor, the heavy weight of Ted taking her breath away as 
they struggled together on the floor.
	Her gasps and screams of "No!  Ted!  Stop!  Let me go!" echoed 
again in her mind as she remembered Ted finally pinning her arms above 
her head with one hand while he grabbed her throat with the other.
	She remembered the blind terror of a strong hand closing on her 
throat, the pressure cutting off her air, the sure knowledge of her 
immanent death, her body's panicked attempt at life--no use.
	"Struggle and I'll kill you," he said, rage distorting his features, 
his hand releasing her throat to the gasping relief of her body.  His 
hand moved down, ripping the buttons from her blouse.
	"Ted..." she said as his hand moved to her bra.
	"Shut. Up." he growled, his hand moving back to her throat, 
squeezing.  "Just shut up."
	So she froze in fear as he exposed her breasts to his hands, as 
he pinched them and squeezed them, as he pulled down and off her pants 
and underwear, cupping her sex and painfully jamming his fingers into her 
dry sex.
	Here, she remembered, her mind had begun to tell her that it 
wasn't happening.  That Ted, her next door neighbor, wasn't here raping 
her, wasn't tearing at the flesh of her loins, wasn't pulling down his 
own pants, wasn't putting himself between her legs, wasn't jamming his 
penis agonizingly into her dry, contracted, vagina.  She wasn't lying 
there, frozen in fear and pain, her face a blank mask of horror; she 
wasn't feeling him slobbering on her neck, wasn't feeling his penis tear 
at her sex.  It wasn't happening.  It wasn't happening.
	The images swirling through her shocked mind flashed to the 
present, where she felt him stiffen and stop moving.  He lay on top of 
her for a moment, then stood up, pulled up his pants, and left without a 
word.  She heard the door slam shut.  She lay there, on the kitchen floor, 
still unbelieving.
	Five minutes later she climbed jerkily to her feet and dialed 
911.  Ten minutes after that she was opening the door to her apartment to 
two police officers, one male and one female.
	She told the female officer what had happened in a shaky, shocked 
voice, and was led by her to the patrol car, where she was taken to a 
hospital.  Samples were taken and reports written and she was cleaned up.
	Standing once again at her front door, she shuddered violently, 
thinking about Ted, Ted, just down the way.  The police had taken him 
away, they had assured her.  Her hand shook as she opened the door.  She 
walked into her apartment and looked at it, at the comfortable couch, at 
the tv, at the bookshelves, at the plants.  She looked at the kitchen.  
No, it wasn't hers.  The apartment was no longer hers.  How could she 
live here?  How could she sleep here?  She turned and left.  Where could 
she go?  What could she do?
	Back in her car she drove, just drove.  She stopped later at a 
pay phone, flinching every time someone came close to her, and dialed the 
rape crisis center number the counciler at the hospital had given her.
	In the months that followed, it never left her.  It seemed as if 
everything had been taken away.  She moved, and she agreed with the 
assistant D.A. when he told her he had given Ted a plea bargain which cut 
his time in half; she didn't want to have to relive everything in the 
witness box.  He had told her how it would be, and she was not a strong 
woman.
	It took her years before she really trusted anyone again.  When 
she finally could, it still didn't erase what had happened to her.  It 
was like that whole period of her life had been taken from her, and she 
could never get it back.