Annmarie Throckmorton, M.A.
- Jul 8, 2021

Abstract Form

Abstract Form portrays something that I could not bear to speak about for half a century of life, until today.

Still painful, but it happened when I was in my early thirties, and had just returned for Peace Corps service in Africa. I needed to buy a car and my crazy, sadistic mother told me to go see a man whom I did not know but I had seen his dilapidated property out on the edge of town. From her manner I suspected my mother's intentions and resisted going there, but she insisted that if I wanted to buy a car, then I must go see this man.

"Hello?" I said, peering into the open door of his very large and dilapidated garage, stable, or whatever it was that was looming next to his unkempt house. "Come on in." He replied from somewhere unseen in the shadows in the back. As I stepped forward, he came leering up to confront me, asking unpleasantly, "What are you doing here?" As if he had not just told me to come in. Then, when I tried to explain that my mother sent me to see him to buy a car, he became incredulous. "Your mother sent you to see me? Ha! I had a lot of fun with her here, let's see how much fun you are." And he grabbed for me. I dodged him and he chased me around piles of junk until I could run out of the door. I was young, fit, and determined not to let him touch me, he was old and decrepit, so I managed to get into the car that I had borrowed from my mother and I sped away without delay. When I got home my mother refused to speak to me. She refused to answer my questions as to why she would send me there after her own experience with that pervert. She was not ashamed to answer me, in fact, she seemed quite pleased with herself, she simply felt no need to talk to me, much less comfort me. Sickening.