Traffick (6 page)

against the walls and

I

burrow my face into

the quilts to shut out

the demon dance.

This nightmare I

can't

escape walks and breathes

beyond the confines

of sleep, and with it

a monster impossible to

forget,

grinning. Leering.

Whispering lust-infused

ballads through serrated

teeth. He carries in

his

hand a perfect strawberry,

offers it like treasure,

and when I bend to taste

it, he smashes it into my

face.

Was a godsend to me, maybe

even literally. I'd been sleeping

on the streets, crashing behind

Dumpsters, offering myself up

to passersby for meager money,

barely enough to eat. I would

say “survive,” but that requires

being alive, and I was one of

the walking dead when I threw

a plea skyward, “Please, God,

please, if it's your will, show

me the way out.” It wasn't God

who actually answered, but

a priest in the Catholic church

I had sleepwalked into.

How can I help you?
he asked,

trying not to look disgusted by

the odor clinging to the awful

Salvation Army clothes I wore.

I didn't know how he could help,

but once he had no doubt about

my circumstances, Father Gregory

knew exactly how. He sent me here

to Walk Straight, a rescue for teen

prostitutes intent on a better life.

How can I ever reconcile that

title in front of my name? It's so

contrary to everything about me—

the straitlaced daughter

of an evangelical preacher and his strict,

overbearing wife. Mama. At least

she was until she sent me to hell on earth,

a reform school of sorts called

Tears of Zion, where they isolated me

in a tiny room, only a Bible for company.

Barely fed me. Rarely bathed me.

Forced me to meditate on my sins—

chief among them falling in love

with Andrew, the Catholic boy with

attitude and spiritualistic belief beyond

the ken of my hellfire and brimstone

parents. With love as my sin, it was

only proper that my redemption

would come at the hands of a devil,

my savior Jerome, a Tears of Zion

apostle with a sick appetite for sex

with young girls like me, who he wanted

to own. I did what he required in trade

for an escape route across the desert—

my path to prostitution when I fled from him.

Of that to the great people here

at Walk Straight, a place founded

by an ex-prostitute determined

to help reshape the tomorrows

of teens who want out of “the life.”

My caseworker, Sarah (who still thinks

I'm “Ruthie”) has been after me for

information. To live here, my legal

guardian has to sign off on it. I was

never arrested, so I'm not in the juvenile

justice system, therefore not a ward

of the state. When I first arrived

here, I told them my parents

were dead. That lie is catching up

to me. Walk Straight has been patient—

their goal is to take kids off the streets

and give them a safe place to live.

But there are legalities involved.

I'm scared to return to Boise and live

under my parents' rule again. I'm also

terrified of seeing Andrew, who I love

more than anything in this world,

because he'll want to know why—and

where—I vanished last spring.

I just don't know how to tell him.

For weeks, and today is the day

I'll give Sarah the information

she needs to ruin my life the rest

of the way. But it's the only real

roadway into the future. I truly wish

Andrew could be there, too, but

he deserves someone better than me.

Someone clean. Unbroken. Worthy

of a love so intense it will leave her

breathless. Suddenly, my eyes sting.

You okay?
asks Shayleece, noting

the onslaught of tears. She's one

of thirty-two Walk Straight girls—

about my age, with dark-chocolate

skin and huge espresso eyes.

We haven't talked much, but then

neither of us is the talkative type.

“I'm all right. Just thinking

about someone back home.”

We are at lunch, which today

is a delicious (not) tuna salad

sandwich. I never cared for tuna,

anyway, but in this setting, with

everyone eating it at the same

time, the fish smell is nauseating.

Shayleece doesn't seem to notice.

Someone special, huh? Bet it's a guy.

She waits for my nod before

continuing.
Like a real boyfriend?

Ooh, girl! I want one of those someday.

Okay, maybe she
is
the talkative

type. I remain tight-lipped, except

to say, “He's the most amazing guy

in the world.” If I think one more

time about him kissing me beneath

the broad Idaho sky, I'll go completely

crazy. It's the best memory I own,

but when it rises, smoke, I choke

on the knot that forms in my throat.

I'm suffocating at this moment.

I don't want to talk about Andrew,

so I refocus the conversation,

which I guess is what we're having

between bites of yucky tuna sandwich.

“You never had a boyfriend?”

Oh, hell no. My mom, she would

have killed me. Sex for love, which

means for free? Nah, she wouldn't

have put up with that for one second,

and Daddy would've killed the guy.

It's going to be hard to slam it

shut again. Because when I ask,

“You mean your mother knew

you were turning tricks?” she has

no compunction about sharing

her entire life story with me.
Oh,

yeah. My mom's the one who put

me out on the track. Well, she did

it for Daddy. See, she was one of

his “wifeys,” too. And know what?

Daddy was maybe my real daddy,

ain't that a hoot? Mom was fourteen

when she started tricking, and he was

her man, so she didn't use no protection

with him. She was fifteen when she had me.

“Wait. Your mom
wanted
you

to prostitute? How old were you?”

My own mother insisted I had to

get married before I even allowed

a boy to kiss me, let alone . . .

We needed the money for rent and

stuff. I was thirteen, but no big deal.

One of Daddy's friends broke me in

when I was nine. As Daddy says,

tight pussy costs a pretty penny.

Crush what's left of a little girl's

childhood into dust. I know

it happens, but it's hard to picture,

and she doesn't even seem that upset

about it. How can that be possible?

Shayleece finishes her sandwich,

chases the last swallow with a big

gulp of chocolate milk, starts on

her giant oatmeal raisin cookie.

Who broke you in?
she asks bluntly.

“You mean who did I give

my virginity to?” I realize few

enough girls here actually gifted

it to someone. Maybe only me.

“My first time was with Andrew.”

He your boyfriend?
Her voice

drips incredulity, but when she

assesses my body language and

finds only truth reflected there,

she asks,
So how you end up here?

“Want my cookie?” I shuttle

my tray across the table so she can

enjoy the second dessert. “This will

probably sound stupid, but I think God

sent me here. See, this priest—”

No. I don't mean here at this table.

I mean in Vegas, in the life. I never

saw you out on the track. Daddy

woulda loved getting hold of you.

He's always scouting for white girls.

I don't really want to talk about

Tears of Zion with Shayleece,

so I tell her, “It's a long story. Let's

just say I had no choice but to run

away, and the trucker who picked

me up hitchhiking was headed

in this direction. I've got a question

for you, though. How did
you
wind

up at Walk Straight? Does your mom

know you're here?” I watch her stuff

the last bite of cookie into her mouth.

My mom's dead.
A few crumbs fall

from her lips.
Daddy makes his girls give

him five hundred every day. Mom was

short too many times. He got mad, beat

her down. I got home right as he put

the gun to her head. I ran 'cause Daddy

saw me, but didn't know where to go.

A girl out on the track told me 'bout this

place. She said they'd keep me safe.

Is a violent business. Pimps

competing. Pimps keeping their

girls in line. Big city, small town,

makes no difference. “Did the cops

ever find out who killed her?”

Oh, hell yeah. Word got around

on the street, and you know, one

person said something to someone,

probably someone who runs other

girls, and eventually it reached

the police. Plenty of Daddy's DNA in

that place. Then my counselor here

made me fess up about my pimp, so

now they've got him for murder and

for trafficking children. I still qualify.

That busts her up, and the way

she laughs, head thrown back

as she squeals and snorts, makes

me grin, despite the fact that it

isn't funny. Am I still a child?

Okay, well, it looks like lunch

is over. Thanks for the cookie.

She pushes back from the table,

stands.
If your boyfriend really

loves you, he'll forgive you.

We're required to attend classes

both a.m. and p.m., the goal

being to earn our high school

equivalency certificates so we can

move on to productive jobs and

become solid members of society.

That's assuming we stay long

enough to make all that happen,

and I don't think I will once Sarah

contacts my parents. Then again,

I can't imagine returning to Boise

High, pretending to be an ordinary

junior, a little behind on credits

because . . . Exactly why? Beyond

school, what about church? Papa's

church, where he preaches everlasting

hellfire for infractions as insignificant

as divorce or using birth control. How

can I sit there and listen, all the while

remembering the things I've done?

How can I bask in the glory of God

when I've trolled the streets on Satan's

arm? Shayleece claims Andrew will

forgive me. But how can I forgive myself,

or expect the Lord to offer redemption?

Intrude on my concentration

this afternoon. I'm happy when

I can leave US Government behind

in favor of library hour. I requested

computer time yesterday. I don't know

if they bother to monitor what

we view online. Probably. Doesn't

matter to me. My tastes are benign.

I check e-mail first, always hoping

for some little word from Andrew.

I'm not disappointed.
Hello, my heart,

he writes.
Hope you are well and

that you're coming home soon. Wherever

you are is too far away. God, I miss

you. I dream about you every night.

Sometimes those are good dreams.

You and me, here on the ranch,

playing with Sheila (who's not

a puppy anymore . . . funny how

fast they grow into dogs!), or just

sitting on the porch, watching

the cottonwoods flicker in the breeze.

But then come the nightmares

where I see you in the distance, faint,

but no matter how hard I try or how

fast I run, I can't catch up to you,

and when I reach the place where

you were standing, you're gone.

Vanished, just like you disappeared

from my life. Please come back to me,