A 7th grade girl tells me this is the narrative she is writing. “She walked by a dark alley, was called over and grabbed and she struggled and kicked the guy in the groin and he fell down and a neighbor had called the police who came as she was running away.”
She called it a true story about neighbors helping her. I thought it was also about fighting for herself. Was this a real event? Was it a dream or her imagination? Was it something traumatizing that should be reported? The teacher later described her as very tough–abandoned by her parents, living with her grandparents. “She has been known to make things up.” her teacher said.
Dream, real, or imagined, this story carried a charge for her. She wrote it over and over, revised and edited, honed it to the essential theme. The girl always gets away. The neighbors are always there to call the police who arrive after she has escaped and is running.
I want to say this about a 7th grade writer. She tapped into an archetypal story that anyone who is vulnerable–child, female, elderly–can relate to. Tonight with grown women, we joked about our fears in our houses at night, especially if we’re alone. I like to think of that 13 year old girl who had survived many threats in her short years and came out believing in her ability to survive. We can save ourselves.