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It Should Not be a Relative


by Susan Sanders


My uncle took my hand on the road home after babysitting, his breath reeked of whiskey

and cigarettes. No, I said, but he forced my young fingers to touch his hardness

in the dark car that November night just after I turned 16, my hair curled perfectly,

my eyes shut tight so I couldn’t see what I was doing, his drunken voice softly coaxing me to

keep going and going until he started driving again and stopped the car at the end of the

driveway. A few years later, he was charged with molesting a girl from another town. Due

to the lack of any witnesses, he never faced any charges. When my brother was injured in a fatal accident, I rode to the hospital with my uncle and his new wife,  barely of age.  

The car was a beater, with worn-out shocks and torn smoky scented seats. I sat in the back and wondered if he remembered his hand forcing me to do what should be a sacred act between people who are not related.

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