AN ABSTRACT OF THE THESIS OF Elisabeth A. Raleigh for the degree of Master of Arts in English, presentedon February 2,2001. Title: DOUBLE EXPOSURE Abstract approved Redacted for Privacy Tracy Daugh DOUBLE EXPOSURE is a novel concerned with the phenomenon of memory. The story explores such questions as: To what extent does "memory" (and the narrativeswe construct from it) explain who we are? How is memory influenced by othersand does it matter if it is? Can a memory that is factually "false" be emotionally true? Ultimately, the novel aims to demonstrate that the past has its place, but only a relative (non-deterministic) place, inour present experience because it is subject to constant revision and reinterpretation. The story's main focus is a young woman who comes to believe that knowledge of her pastin particu- lar the "recovery" of memories of suspected childhood sexual abusewill lead her to freedom from her emotional distress. However, the narrative she begins to reconstruct is like a suit of armor: insulating but confining, more cumbersome as the stakes get higher particularly when she decides to sue her "perpetrator" (her stepfather), seeking legal and monetary justice for the damage she has suffered. Her legal quest becomes complicated, though, when other possible versions of her past begin to suggest themselves, and she begins to acknowledge that these alternate versions may be as "right" or "real" as the one that is the basis for her suit. What she "knows" thereby collapses, and her task then shifts from proving "who did what" to claiming her own power of self-determination. In the end, her depend- ence on external sources to define her identity (i.e. what the other characters think of her, how they treat her) gives way to her own sense of self. Double Exposure by Elisabeth A. Raleigh A THESIS submitted to Oregon State University in partial fulfillment of the requirement for the degree of Master of Arts Presented February 2, 2001 Commencement June, 2001 Master of Arts thesis of Elisabeth A. Raleigh presented on February 2, 2001 APPROVED: Redacted for Privacy Major ProEessoi English Redacted for Privacy of Department of English Redacted for Privacy Dean of thj4iaiIate School I understand that my thesis will become part of the permanent collection of Oregon State University libraries. My signature below authorizes release of my thesis to any reader upon request. Redacted for Privacy Elisabeth A. Raleigh, AuthOr TABLE OF CONTENTS Page 1973: Hermanas................................................................................1 1988-89..........................................................................................24 Villa Miranda..........................................................................24 That Safe Place Inside...............................................................77 DryCreek............................................................................136 1990............................................................................................187 Post-Traumatic Stress...............................................................187 Re-recovered........................................................................269 Settlement...........................................................................314 DOUBLE EXPOSURE 1973 Hermanas At her lacquered pink table in the corner of the kitchen, Jude sat by herself, pushing a slice of toast into the oozing egg on her plate. She was sorry to ruin her toast in this way, but it was her best hope of rescuing her bacon. And that was what she treasured mostevery crunchy, smoky bite of it. Unspoiled by egg. The table was too small and short; she bent her knees sideways to fit her legs un- derneath. It was a constant embarrassment: the table and its two matching chairs. On its peppermint-pink surface, a moppet struck little-girl poseswaving, skipping, sprink- ling flowers with a watering can. Jude always arranged her plate and juice glass to cover some of these scenes. Her father would sometimes let her sit at the spacious, grown-up kitchen table. But at the moment her mother was the only adult in the kitchen; she was fixing her own breakfast plate. Hot curlers clamped her hair into spiky porcelain rows, giving her a vaguely robotic appearancebut this detracted not at all from her fundamental grace. Standing at the stove, her back to Jude, she scraped eggs onto her plate with a light- wristed turn of the spatula; she might have had a book balanced on her head. Flawless posture, proportions, effortless gesture. If anything, the severity of the curlers accentu- ated some of her most feminine linesthe smooth arch of her neck, the sweet preci- sion of her chin. She wore her special bathrobefuzzily plush, trimmed with satin collar and piping. Though it was pink, a color Jude normally took pains to avoid (its many precious connotations), it was a duskier shade than her insipid table, and she felt a soft, fluttering contentment in its presence, the way it flowed as her mother moved. She knew how it would feel to be hugged by those sleeves and she wanted to riseas if taking her plate to the sink, drifting over to her mother as she settled her napkin in her lap. But she would notice the pooled yellow yolk on her plate, remind Jude whata waste of nourishment it would be. Pretending to wipe her mouth with her napkin, Jude licked bacon flecks from her fingers. Why didn't they have a dog like April Jaramillo dida dog who would eat anything? Though April had far too many dolls and Charmie Kitties anda set of mint- and-violet roller-skates, and though Jude only visited when her mother arranged it even a sleep-over onceshe had seen April sneak an entire serving of cauliflower-and- cheese to her speckled, pointy-nosed dog. Clomping sounded behind her; Jude turned expectantly. Her father was descend- ing from the bedroom upstairs. He appeared in the doorway in rumpled pajama bottoms and no top, barefoot, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. A line of dark hair ran from his belly button into the waistband of his pajamas. Her mother twisted around in her chair and smiled brightly, but her hand drew the satin lapels of her robe across her chest. "Well, sleepyhead," she said, "good afternoon." "Hah!" he said, scratching his ribs. "It is not afternoon" he looked at Jude "is it, Judy?" She shrugged. "I don't think so, Daddy." "I do believe your mama is pulling my leg." He moved towards her mother, who was rising from her chair, and seized her around the waist. He angled his head, opening his mouth to kiss her, but she turned her face toward Jude with a laughing squeal, and let the kiss land on her cheek. "Rudy, you need a shower," she said, giving him what might have been a playful shove. "You don't say!" He lifted his arms and sniffed his armpits. "What do you think of that, Judy? Your mama thinks your old man is a smelly old sock." Jude giggled, but with a squeak of anxiety. She worried her mother, now standing, would notice the uneaten eggs. "Hey, it's Saturdaywhy do you have your hair up?" Her father turned toopen a cupboard. He removed a thick squarish bottle with a black-and-white label. "You don't have to go into the office this weekend, do you? I'm going to have to havea little talk with that bonehead Andreeson." As he unscrewed the bottle cap, her mother pressed her fingers into her temples, squeezing her eyes shut tight; the pressure of the fingertips pulled her eyelids sideways. "I don't have to work, honey. I was just going to take Judy out for a while." She dropped her hands as quickly as she had raised them, opened her eyesall in an instant, before he looked at her again. She smoothed the front of her robe and smiled at Jude. Itwas a too-happy smile. Jude knew this expression, and it made her worry whether shewas sitting correctly at her too-small table. "You were sleeping in, so I thought we might" "Oh, so you're dressing up to go out. Wouldn't ever be dressing up just for me." He lifted the bottle to his lips. "Rudy, I wish you wouldn't" The hands flew up again, but this time tested the curlers. Finding a loose tendril of hair, she tucked it into place. He took a drink. "Hair of the dog, sweetheart," he said, and sneaked a wink at Jude, as if she and he were co-conspirators in this dog-hair drinking scheme. She scrunched her face as though the texture of his drink were in her mouth. Who would want to taste that? Then he extended the bottle toward her mother. Panic swarmed in Jude like a cluster of bees: she wanted to leap between them, to intercept whatever her mother's reaction might be. But she was looking down into the pocket of her robe. "We're just going to the store. I need to get Judy some new shoes," she said, opening the pocket wider as though the shoes might be in there. "Huh," Rudy countered. He hitched up his pajama bottoms and, to Jude's enormous relief, returned the bottle to the shelf. "Too hot to go anywhere, Josie," he said, "especially with the car's air conditioning on the fritz." Now it was apparent why her mother was uneasy. She didn't actually want to go anywhere. It was going to be hot. Aheady it was hot. The sun had been up for hours, and the air in the kitchen had a shape and feel and texturea big, dry, granite sort of density. They were all inside it at this very moment. A grinding sound had steadily grown louder as the sun rose higher: a thresher downing hay in the field behind their house, working its way closer, hour by hour. "I don't need new shoes, Mommy," Jude said, proud to set things straight. She pulled first one leg, then the other, out from under the cramped table and waggled her white-toed sneakers.