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The Divine Auditor

The Divine Auditor It is still dark when my cell phone begins to buzz. When I flip it open, my mother's voice comes through a connection often interrupted by the apartment building's iron girders. We make some awkward small talk and then she says: ``I guess you want to talk about the email you sent me last week.'' ``Yes,'' I whisper, trying not to wake my boyfriend, Zoran, who is asleep beside me. I glance at the clock and realize it is 6:30 a.m. ``Before I say anything,'' she says after a long pause, ``tell me if you think we've always loved you.'' I begin to tear up at this, and I feel my body grow weak. I know what is coming. ``Of course,'' I manage. She too begins to cry and through sobs tells me a disconnected story about when she was at a spring break house party as a sophomore in college. Someone put something in her drink . . . She woke up the next day knowing something had happened, someone had taken advantage of her. ``Are you saying . . . you were raped,'' I ask, trying to soften my voice as I do so. She cries http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

The Divine Auditor

Prairie Schooner , Volume 87 (2) – Jul 21, 2013

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 the University of Nebraska Press.
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

It is still dark when my cell phone begins to buzz. When I flip it open, my mother's voice comes through a connection often interrupted by the apartment building's iron girders. We make some awkward small talk and then she says: ``I guess you want to talk about the email you sent me last week.'' ``Yes,'' I whisper, trying not to wake my boyfriend, Zoran, who is asleep beside me. I glance at the clock and realize it is 6:30 a.m. ``Before I say anything,'' she says after a long pause, ``tell me if you think we've always loved you.'' I begin to tear up at this, and I feel my body grow weak. I know what is coming. ``Of course,'' I manage. She too begins to cry and through sobs tells me a disconnected story about when she was at a spring break house party as a sophomore in college. Someone put something in her drink . . . She woke up the next day knowing something had happened, someone had taken advantage of her. ``Are you saying . . . you were raped,'' I ask, trying to soften my voice as I do so. She cries

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: Jul 21, 2013

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