Lady of the night. It was an old phrase my mom used to say. We would be driving in the city and my mother would point her finger with a long, manicured nail.
“Look. A lady of the night.” My mom would laugh. We’d keep driving and she would keep pointing them out. She’d chuckle every time. The women had the look of someone working in a factory. Partly passive, partly bored, and partly annoyed. The despair they saved for when they got home and there were bottles of whiskey and weed.
My mom’s boyfriend started sexually abusing me when I fourteen. I couldn’t take it anymore so I ran away. With no money and no job, all I had left was my body. A pimp found me digging out of the dumpster at McDonald’s.
He took me in. Fed me. Cleaned me up. He even paid to have my nails done. I lived with other girls in a motel room. He made me watch a girl get picked up by a John.
“See it’s easy. You keep part of the profit. We’re all a team here. Teamwork makes the dream work.”
At four in the afternoon the next day, I was walking the street. No one took notice of me until it was dark. I turned five tricks that night.
I cried when we drove back to the motel. I didn’t want to be a lady of the night. I wanted to walk in the sunshine. Free and safe. I wanted to be a sun walker and not get pointed at. It wouldn’t be long until my mother spotted me. I knew she would laugh.