Page 72 of Summer of Salt

Magic.

Fernweh.

They had power.

So did the word—

Rape.

Bird

In the bright flash of a bolt of lightning called down from the sky by magic I never knew I possessed—

My sister had disappeared.

I remembered now.

The smell of burning flesh.

The light so bright it had washed the entire world away.

The tiny flutter on my shoulder.

Like the smallest, most delicate little body had landed there for just a moment—

Before flying away.

As if to say—

Thank you.

Leaving

The island drained of water as I lay recovering in my bed.

It ran off over the cliffs in dramatic waterfalls.

It drained into the sea.

The ground was soggy underfoot.

But we knew it would dry eventually.

Peter enjoyed a swift trial with a jury of his peers, who convicted his raping, bird-murdering, illegal-possession-of-a-firearm, attempted-murdering-of-a-human ass to fourteen years in prison. He also had to register as a sex offender. He was shipped to the mainland on the next ferry out.

His defense—she deserved it because she had already had sex with so many people—made the judge, the Honorable Eleanora Avery, laugh the fuck out loud.

As if out of a fairy tale, nobody asked:

What was my sister wearing the night she was raped?

How much had my sister had to drink the night she was raped?

How many guys had my sister previously had sex with?

Because—again, out of a fairy tale—they realized that none of those things mattered.

Because there was nothing in a girl’s history that might negate her right to choose what happens to her body.