When Mary was a child in the 50s things were simpler. People didn't lock their doors, neighbors knew neighbors, kids
walked to school and played late into the evening, and your milk was delivered to your front door in a glass bottle. It was
a race against the birds to get to the milk before they pecked their way through the tin foil top and licked at the cream.
It is one of Mary's favorite memories, yet one that is marred by her ultimate abduction and sexual assault by the milkman
who delivered to her house. She was eight years old.
The only witness
to the event was another small neighborhood girl who had persuaded Mary to go with her on a trip she had previously travelled
alone with the milkman. It was never discussed between them and each kept her own secret.
Mary experienced
a multitude of emotions through the years but, ultimately, she dealt with it, let it go, and moved on with life, while
never forgetting the incident. To this day, the smell of a running truck shoots her thoughts back to that day like an arrow
from a bow. The pain is less now, but the memory lives on. Time heals.
