Do Tampons Take Your Virginity?: A Catholic Girl's Memoir by Marie Simas Page A

drill.
    My father backhanded me across the face. His wedding ring caught my lip, breaking it against my teeth. I turned and covered my face, and he kicked me, launching me into the closet. I didn’t get up. I just huddled in the corner of the closet, crumpled on top of the shoes.
    My father balled his fists and bit his tongue, like always. I knew he was weighing the benefit of beating me in front of his family. At that point, the twins piped up, coming to my defense.
    “Oh, please stop... she was just playing. She didn’t do it on purpose.”
    My father stared at them, calming down. His vanity clearly wouldn’t allow him to continue. He left the room after shooting me another dirty look. I was sure I would get a real beating when we got home, but for now, I was safe.
    Luisa and Lourdes smiled at me, slightly uninterested. I was grateful for their intervention.
    “Marie, you have to learn how to stay out of trouble, or you’re going to get hit all the time. Try to calm down,” Luisa said.
    “The doctor says I’m hy-per-act-ive.” I replied, offering up an excuse. I sucked my lip, which was pulsing frantically with its own heartbeat.
    “Yes, honey, we know that. But you still have to be good. Try harder. Otherwise, your daddy is going to spank you,” Lourdes said.
    They were practical girls. Their father ran the household with an iron fist, just like in our house. The only difference is that they had stoically accepted their situation and I had not.
    As we all matured, the twins seemed to get even more beautiful, but they were shockingly thin. I suspected anorexia. It may have been the only thing about their lives that they were able to control. They both married local boys and settled into life as housewives in the Central Valley.
    I didn’t attend either wedding. At that point, I was already in college and had broken all ties with my father’s side of the family.
    I found out that Lourdes’ husband cheated on her. She left him, but did not start divorce proceedings. They were married in the Catholic Church and Lourdes didn’t believe in divorce.
    They separated, and Lourdes started dating a Mexican, a very handsome young man with a good job.
    Her mother was displeased, but could do nothing to prevent the relationship. A few years later, Lourdes’ husband approached her and asked for forgiveness. He wanted to go to marriage counseling at the church, which was suggested by their priest and also Lourdes’ family. She wanted to be a good Catholic, so she agreed to the counseling.
    Lourdes went home and told her Mexican boyfriend that she was going to reconcile with her husband. He was devastated—inconsolable.
    He screamed at her, “I love you! I love you, Lourdes! Your husband treated you like a dog! How can you go back to him?”
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m a Catholic and I cannot reconcile this sin. I’m still married and my husband has asked for forgiveness. I must try to be a good wife.”
    He left, screeching tires in the driveway. Lourdes started packing her things. An hour later, he returned with a gun. He begged her to stay, while also threatening her. Lourdes, in her terror, could do nothing but scream for help and cry. Apparently, the neighbors heard Lourdes screaming, but no one called the police. Wives screaming for help are a pretty common occurrence in the Central Valley and no one pays much attention.
    The police were eventually called, but only after they heard the gunshots. Lourdes’ boyfriend killed her, then turned the gun on himself.
    I heard about the shooting months later. Another cousin, Barbara, came into Chili’s, where I was working as a waitress, and told me about it.
    “I can’t believe you didn’t even show up for the funeral, Marie. Everyone was expecting to see you there. You should have made an attempt to come.”
    Silence.
    “Soup or salad?” I asked.
    She frowned and ordered her meal, eating in silence. She left without tipping me or saying goodbye.
    I