It happened one summer day a long time ago. The sun was shining. At least I think it was. Being only four years old at the time, I don't remember all the details exactly.

I do recall, though, that I was wearing my favourite outfit, a white, sleeveless dress with green buttons down the front. I especially liked the skirt, which was made of overlapping pieces of bright, mulitcoloured silk. It was so girlie and happy. I loved it.

As she often did when she had to work, Mom dropped me off at my aunt and uncle's place; since she and my father were divorced, Mom supported the two of us. I really liked going over to play with my cousins Dan* and Kim*. Dan, who was five years old, had a vivid imagination like me, and the two of us always amused ourselves easily.

On this particular day, Dan and I wandered over to the park

Image by Ripudaman Minhas

adjacent to where my uncle was baby-sitting us. We had found a few old plant pots and decided to dig up some wild flowers to sell for a penny apiece.

At first, things were going well. I wouldn't say that business was brisk, but we managed to make a few sales.

Then, while we were digging up more flowers, an old man approached us and asked to buy one. The old man startled me.

I'll never forget what he looked like. He was very tall and thin, and wore a black suit and hat. He had white hair, pale skin and cold, icy blue eyes. But his hands are what I remember best. They had long, bony fingers, and were covered with old spots. To this day, the image I have of him is that of the old man from Poltergeist.

The old man started asking us questions. Because I was afraid of him, Dan did all the talking. The old man asked us if he could help dig up flowers. Dan said that it would be okay.

By now we had found a new place to dig, underneath the deck of a jungle gym. It was a concealed little area, barely noticeable from the rest of the park. But if someone had been able to see us it would have been an odd sight: two young children and an old man digging in the dirt.

Dan would occasionally leave to tend to customers. One time, when I was alone with the old man, he started commenting on my dress, saying it was very pretty. Then he crouched over me and asked where my panties were.

I thought it was the strangest question I had ever heard. Nonetheless, I innocently told him that I was wearing them. He bluntly responded, "No, your panties, where are they? You'll get into trouble if you aren't wearing any." Then he lifted the skirt of my dress.

I was scared, but frustrated that he wouldn't believe me.

Being Oriental, I had been raised to always obey and respect my elders, no matter what. I was a shy, obedient child, and the last thing I wanted was to get into trouble. So I showed him my underwear, to prove that I was wearing them.

But he persisted in asking where my panties were. Again and again he asked me. And I kept telling him, over and over, that I was wearing them. I remember feeling confused and fearful. I wondered why the old man wanted to know where my panties were. Couldn't he see that I was wearing them?

By then, I desperately wanted Dan to come back. Why was he taking so long, I wondered. I was very frightened.

This is where my memory becomes hazy.

My underwear had somehow come off and the old man was touching me. His cold, rough hands were touching my body in an area where only my mother and close relatives had when bathing me. But this was very different. I was not taking a bath. I was completely alone and this stranger was hurting me.

When Dan came back to tell us he'd sold another flower he found me squatting without underwear. Dan had always been protective of me, and must have sensed my fear. But the old bastard spoke to him like nothing was the matter, like everything was normal. Then he sent Dan off to do something.

I was alone again.

At this point, the old man jammed one of his long, bony fingers inside me. Never before had I felt so much pain. I cried and said that it hurt, begging him to stop. In my mind I was screaming, crying and howling. But it came out only as a whimper.

I do not know how long it went on. When the old bastard finally stopped, though, he told me to stay put. I don't think I could have run away if I had wanted to. I was completely dazed and unable to move.

At the age of four, you're supposed to have only sunshine and love.

But when I was four, an old man stole a part of me. He tore me apart and left me scarred for life, destroying my innocence.

After the old man left, Dan returned. He just stared at me. Or maybe he was talking to me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. All I know is that I couldn't feel myself. I was in a kind of detached dream state. It seemed like I was watching everything from a dark corner.

Then the old man came back. Again he violated me.

I was hurting so badly and crying so hard that my mind was a jumble of thoughts and feelings. But one feeling did stick out: I wanted my mommy.

The old man left again. This time I could hear Dan. He was saying, "Come on Arleen, let's go, come on! He's going to come back soon!" He said it over and over.

But my only response was "No. He told me to stay. He'll come after us!" And there I stayed; a four year-old girl shivering from shock and fear, crouched over and hugging her knees.

In the end, Dan was able to drag me away before the old man returned again. We ran for dear life back to Dan's house.

The next thing I remember is my uncle holding me. He was calling what I assume were the police. I don't remember anything after that. In fact, I don't remember thinking or talking about what happened to me that day for a very long time. It seems that I buried the entire incident until I was 13 years old. Since that time, I have occasionally had nightmares about it. I sometimes shout in my sleep or wake up with a tear-stained pillow.

Today, I realize that I'm too old to push it away and not think about it any longer. I have to deal with it. And that's what I'm doing now, 12 years later.

* The names in this story have been changed.

Arleen is 17 years old.

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