And That’s How I Met …

And That's How I Met...

When she locked the door, I knew I was to be punished.

Warning: Though this is a romantic story of true love, it does contain scenes of sexual assault and rape. The story also carries a strong anti-Catholic theme. Please do not read if either of these may offend you.

I scanned old US Highway 90, first east towards Houston, and then west towards San Antonio for as far as my imagination could carry me. Shielding my eyes from the intense first rays of the morning sun, I was trying to catch a glimpse of the Greyhound Bus -- or any bus for that matter. However, the only things moving were autumn leaves drifting in the light morning air foretelling the change of another season. The war with Japan had been over for almost two months and not a single boy from Flatonia had returned home yet. I probably would not have been reminded of that, except that the first signs of fall had swept across the Texas prairie the night before and left the morning air feeling fresh and cool. The falling leaves were like fleeting memories of life before the war, and I was suddenly missing my brothers for the first time since V-J Day.

Now don't get me wrong, our little town had nothing to complain about. Though we had heard that as many as forty boys from Fayette County weren't coming home, as far as we knew, all the young men from Flatonia survived the war and would be reunited with family and friends soon. It's not that I wasn't grateful for God's mercy in protecting our boys; I was extremely grateful. It's just that I was impatient as all four of my brothers were serving oversea, as were virtually every boy in town of my generation, and we just wanted them home.

Not only were there almost no boys in my high school graduating class -- there were no males my age period, only little boys, and old men. Along with my two younger sisters Pavla and Olivia, I was left to work the family farm with my parents. I sensed that my youth was slipping away, just like those leaves floating in the autumn wind. As I came of age during the war, I felt somehow cheated of the normal schoolgirl romances and adolescent flirtations that I felt I was entitled to. In those brief respites from farm and household chores, I couldn't help but feel frustrated and hopelessly alone.

Just as my melancholy was reaching a new low, a car came barreling down the dirt road that ran past our property. With the car's horn blaring, the driver and the passenger were both shouting out the open windows at the top of their lungs, "They're coming -- they're coming on the train."

I ran as fast as I could to tell Mamma, and as I approached the back porch, she came dashing out the kitchen door screaming, "They're home -- they're coming home." She grabbed me as I leapt onto the porch and swung me around, "Marika, did you hear -- did you hear? They're on the train."

"Yes Mamma, I heard," I said wiping tears of joy from my face.

"Go get your papa, let's all get in the truck and try to get to the station before the train arrives," she said wiping her own tears of joy from her face.

Only two of my brothers were on that first train, but over the next several weeks every soldier, sailor and Marine from our little patch of Texas, safely made it home, including my two remaining brothers.

The town of Flatonia was so grateful to have its sons home, the town fathers decided to throw a huge party in celebration. The city park was thoroughly cleaned as were adjacent vacant lots to be used for parking. A large bandstand was erected, and booths were set-up to sell food and drinks. It was going to be a magnificent celebration with music, dancing and even fireworks.

As the big day arrived, almost everyone took the day off from work in preparation. And as requested by the city fathers, the guests of honor -- our returning veterans -- were all asked to wear their uniforms and display any awards and metals they may have earned during the war. The ladies -- including me and my sisters -- were all expected to wear our finest party dresses.

Just as the autumn sun dipped below the western horizon, the 'Sons of the Texas Sage' mounted the bandstand, and the party was on. None of the booths sold beer, as Fayette County was still dry in those days. But San Antonio was not, and bottles of Lone Star and Pearl Beer were abundant as local law enforcement casually looked the other way.

As the celebration progressed, I don't think I had ever seen my parents happier. Mamma and Papa were both born Czech-Catholics and had immigrated to Texas from the old Austro-Hungarian Empire as children before World War I. In fact, as I was growing-up, more than half the population of the county was Czech-Catholic and this did create some resentment from the original Anglo and German settlers that were all Protestant and had been there for generations.

The Czech language was still very prominent throughout the community. Several Czech language newspapers were published daily throughout South Texas, many first-generation kids started school not knowing how to speak English, and like most immigrants -- they clung tightly to their religion as a source of both comfort and security. My parents fit this mold to a tee. They spoke Czech almost exclusively at home and our family subscribed to a Czech language paper. And to say Mamma and Papa were devout Catholics would have actually been quite an understatement.

Though Papa had a farm to tend and a family of nine to feed, he spent hundreds of hours working on the building and grounds of our parish church. Mamma had a small shrine in her room and prayed in front of it on her knees several times a day -- generally after breakfast before she started her chores for the day and immediately before getting into bed each night.

But back to the Victory Celebration -- for the first time, maybe ever, Mamma and Papa let me and my sisters out of their sight. Generally, my brothers could do anything they wanted, as long as they weren't arrested for it. However, their daughters were guarded like priceless jewels. They did send us to public school, as we couldn't afford parochial school, but other than that, we were rarely let off the farm and when we were, it was always with an older family member present.

So, the liberty of not being chaperoned that night was a new experience for all three of us. And I can't speak for my two younger sisters, but for me it was a freedom I had dreamed of for years. It's not that I had immorality in my heart -- I didn't. It was just that I wanted to be respected and treated as an adult. I was eighteen, I'd graduated high school, and in the eyes of the law as well as in my own mind, I was an adult. I respected my parents; I honored the sacrifices they had made raising seven children and I fully believed myself to be a virtuous young woman as well as a committed Catholic. But tonight, was my night to spread my wings, kick-up my heels and party like it was 1945 -- not 1845.

For the first hour or so Pavla, Olivia and I all hung out together. But as the evening sky grew dark and hundreds of bare bulb lights came on that were strung from every tree and pole in the park, I began to feel a little more liberated. Once the band started several young men in uniform asked me to dance, but I kept declining for other than traditional Czech folk dances at church socials, I'd never danced in my life -- and certainly not with a boy.

As my sisters snickered at each request and subsequent refusal, my resolve to dance with someone only grew stronger. Just as I was getting my courage up, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Thinking it would be someone I knew, I pivoted on the balls of my feet and with a big smile on my face I started to say, "Yes, what do you want." But to my surprise, it wasn't anyone I knew at all. It was the most handsome man I'd ever seen in my life. He was at least a foot taller than me and as I gazed up into his steel blue eyes, every intelligent thought in my head just vanished.

As I stood there speechless for what seemed like an eternity, he just stood there smiling at me before finally asking, "Would you like to dance?"

Nervously I glanced both left and right to see what the reaction was from Pavla and Olivia, if any. But to my surprise, neither one was there. To this day, I don't know where they disappeared to, but at that moment they certainly appeared to be gone. I looked back at my tall stranger -- he was dressed in a Marine uniform with several yellow and red chevrons sewn on each sleeve and a half-dozen medals hanging off his chest.

After a very awkward pause, and convinced that my sisters had walked away, I managed to mumble, "Yes -- yes I'd love to."

He took my hand and led me to the dance floor. I had never felt more special in my life. I actually felt like Cinderella being escorted to the ball by Prince Charming. As we approached the wooden dance floor, built specifically for the Victory Celebration, I felt awkward and terribly self-conscience. But my escort quickly put my mind at ease. I felt so secure and pampered in his arms that I was soon dancing as if we were the only two people on earth.

After maybe four or five dances, the band took a break. My head was swirling and as I tried to catch my breath, my mystery Marine asked, "Would you like a Coca-Cola?"

These were probably the first words spoken since he first asked me to dance. "Yes," I said breathlessly as I had just completed probably thirty minutes of non-stop dancing. But, also due to the fact that my heart was still pounding from the moment his hand first touched mine.

Standing in line at one of the booths selling soft drinks, he finally turned to me, and taking both of my hands in his, said, "I don't think I ever introduced myself, I'm Wade."

Gazing up into his sparkling eyes, I said, "Hi Wade, I'm Marika."

"Marika -- that's a beautiful name," he said staring back at me with his eyes wide open and the sincerest of smiles on his face. I couldn't help but feel that he wasn't just looking into my eyes; I felt as if he was peering into my soul. In that blush of love at first sight, I felt totally exposed and yet totally at ease. I had nothing to hide and wouldn't have tried if I had. Of course, if he was from anywhere in Texas, he would have realized that I was probably Czech -- and with a name like Wade, I realized he probably wasn't. But at that moment I could not have cared less.

"Thank you," I said gazing back at his shimmering eyes. And as he handed me an ice-cold bottle of Coca-Cola, I realized I needed to say something else. "Are you from Flatonia?" I finally stuttered.

"Well, no not exactly. I'm from La Grange, but the whole county heard of the party here tonight -- I mean the celebration -- in honor of the returning troops that is. So, I decided to drive down," he said.

"I live just north of town -- on a farm," I said trying to keep the conversation going. "You may have driven right by our place on your way in."

There was another slight pause as we both sipped our cold drinks, before he said, "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life." And then he added, "I don't mean that just because I've been overseas for three years -- I actually mean it."

I blushed so hard I had to roll the cold soda bottle back and forth across my cheeks in order to keep from self-combusting. I thought I was going to explode with longing for this tall handsome young Marine who was not just holding my hand; he was holding my heart as well. I was speechless, I was breathless -- but luckily to break the silence, the band returned from their break and started playing again.

Setting our empty bottles back on the booth's counter, we returned to the dance floor and danced every dance until almost ten o'clock when the band announced it was time for the fireworks. As the rockets started taking to the air, the band first played The Caissons Go Rolling Along, then Anchors Aweigh, followed by The Marine's Hymn, before finally playing The Star Spangle Banner under an amazing grand finale of pyrotechnic display.

The crowd gleefully sang every song and just as the chorus reached, "O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave" -- the entire sky lit up like I had never seen before. The crowd went wild with cheers and tears and hugs from everyone present. Every man, every woman, young and old, was weeping tears of patriotism and tremendous joy. I had never seen such an outpouring of raw emotion before, and tears of happiness covered my face as well.

As the cheers finally died down and everyone was still wiping joyful tears from their faces, Wade took my hand again and said, "Would you like to listen to the radio in my car?"

I'd never been on a date in my life, but I knew the meaning of this invitation -- and I didn't even hesitate. Yes, I emphatically nodded, and off we went, hand in hand.

His car was parked about two blocks from the city park, in one of those vacant lots the city had mowed especially for the celebration. And though I knew with every fiber of my body that I shouldn't be getting into a car with a boy -- not in those days -- but at that moment in time and in my state of euphoria, there was no holding me back.

The car was a '38 Ford Coupe -- very sporty for the day. And certainly, a nicer car than most of the people in Flatonia drove. It had a bench seat of course, and as he opened the driver's door, I slid across to the passenger's side. He got in behind me, closed the door and turned on the radio. He quickly found a San Antonio station that was playing the same type of music the Sons of the Texas Sage had been playing and we quickly settled into each other's arms.

This was very much a night of firsts for me -- first time in town unchaperoned (other than for school), first dance, first boy to ever show any real interest in me, the first time in any boy's car and now my first kiss. As he wrapped his arms around me, our lips quickly met. He kissed me and I kissed him back -- hard. I let his tongue enter my mouth and as his tongue traced mine, I traced his back. And as we went further exploring each other's mouths, he started exploring my body with his hands.

First, he just rubbed my shoulders and back. I rubbed back as our kisses became more intense. He moved his hand to the front of my dress and rubbed my breasts -- I did nothing to resist. And as the car windows began to fog from the inside out -- he placed his hand on my leg and began moving it further and further up my thigh.

Shamelessly I offered no objections, and in fact with my passionate kissing, I'm sure he felt encouraged. I felt his hand touch the crotch of my underwear -- I spread my legs to give him more room. He hiked my dress up almost to my waist and ran his fingers along the elastic band at the top of my panties. Shivers ran down my spine and I hugged him even tighter to keep from trembling.

He slipped his fingers under my waistband and ran his knuckles through my pubic hair, before flipping his hand over and began his exploration of my heretofore sequestered lower lips. I responded to this intrusion of my most private of all bodily areas by spreading my legs even further.

After several minutes of exploration, he removed his hand from my panties and pressed his damp fingers to my mouth. As his wet fingers lingered on my lips, I kissed them and then slowly sucked each one into my mouth -- one finger at a time.

With his fingers now wet with my saliva and clearly my permission to proceed, he returned his hand to my panties and carefully inserted first one finger and then another. I knew full well that what I was doing was a sin. I knew I was dishonoring my parents and my family; as well as violating every moral conviction I knew to be just and righteous. But at that moment -- in the darkness of Wade's car and in the security of his arms -- absolutely nothing else mattered.

Suddenly and without warning, the driver's door flew open, and the dome light came on. Someone reached into the car and grabbing Wade's arm began to drag him from the car. I suddenly heard Papa's voice screaming, "Get out of that car you Son of a Bitch. Get out, get out, I'm going to kill you!"

"Papa," I screamed. But if he heard me, he ignored me. Wade was standing beside his car by that time trying to hold Papa off. Wade was taller, younger and though Papa had worked our family farm daily for twenty years, Wade was stronger and much better trained in hand-to-hand combat. Wade easily blocked every punch Papa threw as he tried desperately to calm him down.

Within minutes a large crowd had gathered to see what all the excitement was about, and several men tried to pull Papa away from Wade. Frustrated that Wade wouldn't fight him, but still screaming at the top of his lungs, he broke free from the men trying to hold him back and raced to my side of the car. He yanked the door open and grabbing my arm violently wrenched me from the car.

Yanking me to my feet, he slapped my face as hard as he could and screaming in half Czech and half English, "You tramp, you whore -- what do you think you are doing? How could you do this to your Mamma?"

"Papa -- Papa," I screamed. "I didn't do anything!" But we both knew it was a lie. He tried to slap me again, but in his rage, he missed as did his attempt to kick me. Flustered that I was no longer a little girl that would stand still and take a beating -- he began dragging me down the street with half the town watching.

As I glanced back toward Wade, I saw him trying to break free of the six or seven men holding him back. I knew that if he got away from them, he would rush to my defense, but I didn't want him to hurt Papa. And I'm sure he probably could have killed him with his bare hands if he thought Papa was going to hurt me. Looking back over my shoulder and with tears streaming down my face, I shook my head 'no -- no,' as I tried to reassure him 'I'd be okay.'

When we reached Papa's pickup truck, he opened the driver's door and shoved me across the seat to the other side. After getting behind the wheel, he slammed the door so hard I was surprised it didn't break the window. The drive back to the farm was the most harrowing experience of my short life as Papa drove like a crazy man running stop signs and not even slowing down to make curves.

I tried to say again, "Papa, I didn't do anything," but as the words caught in my throat; Papa cut me off, "Shut up -- just shut up!"

When we got home Mamma, Pavla and Olivia were all in the kitchen. Mamma had obviously been crying and my sisters just sat at the kitchen table staring down at the place mats and refusing to make eye contact with me. I assume they were the ones that told Papa that I had been dancing with a stranger all night and that we had probably gone off together. But there was no way I would hold that against them. In their place, I'm sure I would have done the exact same thing.

"Mamma -- I'm so sorry," I said. And I tried to add, "We didn't do anything..." but Papa cut me off again.

"You Harlot," Papa spat at me. I'm sure he would have used harsher language, but he was now in the company of Mamma and my sisters. "Go to your room -- and stay there. Mamma and I will pray for you," was the only other thing he could say.

I didn't get undressed. I just collapsed on my bed and cried myself to sleep. When I woke up the next morning the bedroom door was still closed, and I realized Pavla and Olivia never came to bed that night. I guess they must have either slept in Mamma's and Papa's room or in the parlor. I hung up my party dress, not realizing that I would never see it again, got dressed in my work dress and after washing up in the bathroom, headed for the kitchen.