RANSVESTIA

He lunged at me, knocking me hard against the wall, banging my head, showering my vision with streaks and flashes.

"Lie to me again and I'll kill you," he screamed.

And well he might have. Never had I seen him so angry, so vicious- ly, irrationally angry. He was like a total stranger, an enraged tyrant ready and willing to destroy me.

"Where are the things you've stolen?" he demanded.

"Stolen I..."

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He grabbed my arm and started twisting it.

"Tell the truth or I'll rip it out of its socket."

He gave my arm a further twist, sending excruciating pains through my shoulder.

"Please, please," I wailed.

"Out with it," he shouted, twisting harder.

"There, there," I screamed in agony, pointing toward a box that I knew was hidden behind the cabinet.

He dropped my arm and went to find the box. Horrified, I watched him pull it from its hiding place. and in a final gesture of defense, I grabbed it from him. But I was no match for him. He tore it out of my protecting arms, spilling its contents on the floor.

Only then was I aware of my mother standing on the stairs. In utter humiliation, I watched my father pick up and examine the items that had fallen from the broken box, a slip, a petticoat, a garter belt, four pairs of panties. One by one he held them up for all to see. With dramatic slowness, he piled them in the remains of the box and handed them to my mother. I began to cry.

"The first thing you are going to do," he announced cruelly, "is return them to Mrs. Carpenter."

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