Jazmine Colvin

Project 1 Part 1
English 181: Indigenous Adolescence
I hear her voice. I think I hear my mothers voice.
I open my eyes to see that I am in a dark bedroom and there is a woman standing over me
humming. Where am I? Am I myself again? I cant be. This woman is smiling at me, so I cant
be myself. I look down at my body and realize I am in a small boys body. The woman standing
over me is Indian and shes beautiful. This must be my motherwell this boys mother. But
something inside of me wants her to be mine. Her smile reminds me of my own mothers smile.
I open my mouth to tell her, I love her but she shushes me. She wants me to go to sleep. I
reach out my small arms to her for a hug and she leans down and pulls me into her warm
embrace. I think of my own mother and I wonder if she hugged me like this. I hope she hugged
me like this. The woman lets me out of her grasp and begins to leave the room. I dont want to
sleep because I am afraid I will wake up and she and my time in this body will be gone. I want to
stay here with her. I close my eyes anyway.
I stir to hear loud noises coming from the other room. I slowly rise from the bed and go
out into the hallway following the noises. I reached a bedroom door that is slightly open and I
peek through the crack. My new mother is there. Her face is no longer smiling, but instead is
warped with pain and what looks like fear. Just as I begin to open the door, I see a man walking
towards her. A white man. Tall. Short blonde hair. Skinny but muscular. His face looks like it
may be good looking but the expression on his face is cold. Calculating. So expressionless its
fucking creepy.
He lunges toward my mother and pins her down against the bed using his body. She
struggles against his body, trying to fight against him. He rips her shirt exposing her chest and

Jazmine Colvin
Project 1 Part 1
English 181: Indigenous Adolescence
begins to pull her long skirt off of her body. He then begins to unbutton his pants. Tears flow
down her face and she closes her eyes. My mother screams no as he begins to rape her. She cries
and wails and I stand there in the doorway. I cannot move. I cannot scream. I cannot fight. I am
frozen.
My mind is taken back to the documentaries and history books I have read that told the
story of what is happening here. I think of history of white men who attacked and pillaged Native
villages and did to so many women what this bastard is doing to my mother. I also think of all
the men who hurt me like he is hurting her. This is history repeating itself. The history of humans
betraying each other. This man is betraying my mother by raping her. And guess what? I am
betraying her by standing here idle.
The man takes his body weight off of her. I then see that he was holding a knife in his
hand away from me. A long serrated knife. He presses the blade against my mothers face.
No one heard you scream. Even if they did, no one cares about a sqaw. He whispers
maliciously.
The man begins to turn to leave and I stumble backwards into a dark corner of the
hallway. He leaves the house and disappears into the darkness. I slowly walk back into the room
with my mother in it. She is still lying on the bed. Motionless. I hear her quiet sobs. I climb onto
the bed and put my arms around her. She cradles me in her arms and continues to weep. I can
feel her sorrow and pain radiating into my body. I close my eyes. I weep.

Jazmine Colvin
Project 1 Part 1
English 181: Indigenous Adolescence
My mother and I leave the house. Outside are a bunch of houses that look exactly like the
one we stay in. The area is also full of trees. I believe we are on a reservation. We walk along
what seems to be the main road for about a mile before stopping at building. We go inside and I
realize we are in a police station. My mother walks up to a counter where a tall Indian man is
standing behind the counter. My mother walks to the man behind the counter and says, Id like
to report a rape. The Indian looks at her with tired and sad eyes and directs her to a room down
the hall. We sit inside of the room and wait for someone to come and see us. I gaze around the
room. Its bare. Cold. Like a place hopes and dreams go to die.
Finally, another officer comes into the room and sits down at the table from us.
Alright maam. Tell me what happened. He says dryly.
My mother recounts the events of the past night and I see the mans eyes glaze over as if
he has heard this story a million times before. Youd think a person would show a little more
compassion. Asshole. After my mother finishes, the officer writes down some notes on a pad of
paper then asks, So youre telling me your attacker is not Indian?
Yes. He was white. She replies.
Im sorry miss, but there isnt much we can do. Tribal courts have no power over nonNatives. We can report it to the federal government and they can prosecute but I wouldnt hold
your breath. The closest fed is a three hour drive away and I don't think this will be the first thing
on his to-do list. They are too preoccupied to deal with the likes of us.
My mothers eyes begin to fill with tears. So there is nothing I can do? He is just
supposed to get away with what he did to me? Her voice breaks as she finishes her question.

Jazmine Colvin
Project 1 Part 1
English 181: Indigenous Adolescence
Im sorry. That is the way things are. Many women have come through this place having
stories similar and worse than yours. Unfortunately, due to the laws in this country, our hands are
tied. I suggest you find a support system to help you through this and try to put the past behind
you. The officer truly looks sorry now.
My mother slowly gets up, grabs my hand and we leave the room. We walk out of the
police station and trek back down the road toward our house.
I feel anger well up inside of me. I am not sure if it is my anger, this boys anger, his
mothers anger or all of them mixed and melded into a melting pot of rage. That bastard had the
capability to overpower an innocent person and now she is left powerless. The world is a fucked
up place. I always thought that police where there to protect and serve but they dont even have
the power to protect one of the actual good people in the world! We have no voice. There is no
justice. The people that have the power arent worried about Indians. Hell, Indians aren't even
worried about Indians. Were supposed to be drunks and lonely and forgotten people of the past.
Thats why none of my foster parents cared about me. Thats why my aint-worth-shit father
abandoned me. And that is why my loving mother has been victimized and no one gives a damn.

Jazmine Colvin
Project 1 Part 1
English 181: Indigenous Adolescence
Works Consulted
"Maze of Injustice." Amnesty International USA. Amnesty International USA, 2007. Web. 08
Feb. 2016. <http://www.amnestyusa.org/our-work/issues/women-s-rights/violenceagainst-women/maze-of-injustice>.
"Tribal Justice: Prosecuting Non-Natives for Sexual Assault on Reservations." PBS. PBS, 5 Sept.
2015. Web. 08 Feb. 2016. <http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/tribal-justice-prosecutingnon-natives-sexual-assault-indian-reservations/>.
Williams, Timothy. "For Native American Women, Scourge of Rape, Rare Justice." The New
York Times. The New York Times, 22 May 2012. Web. 08 Feb. 2016.
<http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/23/us/native-americans-struggle-with-high-rate-ofrape.html?_r=0>.