Traffick

  That makes me giggle. “A vampire?

  Don’t you mean a ghost?” I must look

  as pallid-faced as I feel. “Anyway, no.

  I didn’t see either. It’s just . . .” Go on.

  Reach deep for the courage you need.

  “I think it’s time for me to tell you

  some stuff. First of all, my name

  isn’t Ruthie. It’s Eden. Eden Ruth Streit,

  and my parents aren’t dead (at least,

  I don’t think so), and I’m from Boise. . . .”

  Ice Broken

  It all comes gushing out,

  as if a dam breaks inside

  me. I rush the telling,

  sure if I slow down I’ll grind

  to a complete halt. I notice

  Sarah nodding, but she stays

  silent, like she intuits my fear

  of stopping before the climax.

  I know this can’t surprise her,

  that she’s heard plenty of awful

  things before, but when I get

  to the part about Tears of Zion

  and Jerome, her eyes grow

  wider and wider, and when

  she finally gets the chance to

  speak, she says, I’ve just been

  reading up on teen boot camp

  horror stories. Your Tears of Zion

  wasn’t mentioned, but there are

  several similar places that

  invoke conservative religious

  values to abuse their clients.

  Most parents, however, don’t have

  any idea about their practices,

  which include isolation, denial

  of food, water, and the ability

  to use the bathroom. Sometimes

  they get shut down, but usually

  they just move and set up shop

  somewhere else. It’s very hard

  to regulate them because often

  they operate as “private schools,”

  which have a whole different

  regulatory process than, say,

  rehab facilities or public entities.

  Thank you, God! She believes

  me! A huge knot of tension

  tumbles from my shoulders,

  and a warm wave of relief

  washes over me. Still, tears

  spill onto my cheeks. “I thought

  everyone would think I was

  lying. The only thing is, Mama

  knew what was going on, and

  she left me there anyway.”

  Are you sure, Ru—I mean, Eden?

  From everything I read, parents

  rarely have a clue about what

  goes on in these places. Why

  would your mother leave you if . . .

  She Trails Off

  Noticing the way my face

  turns to marble. “I guess

  you’ll have to ask her that.

  I assume you’ll need to be

  in touch with them. But

  do you really have to?

  I’m so scared that if you

  send me back to Boise,

  they’ll make me return

  to Tears of Zion. Mama

  says I’m possessed, claimed

  by Satan, and she really,

  truly believes that. Please,

  please, find a way to keep

  me at Walk Straight. I’ll do

  anything—work here for free,

  or go to work somewhere else

  and pay you to let me stay.

  Whatever it takes. I can’t go

  home!” But now, she’s shaking

  her head, no. I wish I could

  tell you okay, Eden, but the law

  is very clear that I must report

  your whereabouts to your legal

  guardians, who happen to be

  your parents in this case.

  They have a right to know

  you’re alive and safe. Besides,

  what about your young man?

  She’s completely missed the point.

  Still, I knew this was not

  only possible, but probable.

  I’ll find a way to make it work.

  And she’s right about Andrew,

  if nothing else. “I understand.

  Do whatever you have to do.

  But is there a way for me to

  maybe talk to a judge about

  emancipation?” The word swims

  out of my subconscious.

  That is a possibility. As long as

  you’re at least sixteen, as per

  Nevada law, you can petition

  the court. You’re seventeen, yes?

  And when will you be eighteen?

  “I just turned seventeen

  last month. Right before I

  came here, in fact.” A birthday

  to remember, alone on the street,

  sleeping behind a Dumpster.

  I Learn

  The requirements

  of emancipation,

  which are pretty

  much the same in

  Idaho as in Nevada:

  Must be at least sixteen.

  Check.

  Must be living away

  from your parents.

  Check.

  Must have the financial

  security to be independent.

  Almost check.

  Walk Straight can

  help me find a job.

  Must stay in school

  until you’re eighteen.

  Check.

  And this is where

  things get tricky.

  Both mother and father

  must agree to let the child

  emancipate.

  Guess there’s only one

  way to find out.

  I Also Learn

  The pros and cons

  of emancipation.

  Pro: You can enter

  into contracts without

  a parent’s signature.

  Con: You can be sued

  if you violate said contracts.

  Pro: You can also sue

  someone, if that’s a priority.

  Yeah, me? Sue who?

  Con: Cannot drop out

  of school without written

  permission from

  the school board. No problem.

  I want to be educated.

  Pro: Can go to the doctor

  of your choice and parent

  doesn’t have to okay

  treatment. Wonder if that

  includes mental health.

  And just FYI: Still can’t vote

  until age of majority; can’t drink

  till twenty-one. And worst

  of all, can’t marry without

  parental consent until eighteen.

  Which Brings Me Back

  To Andrew. Everything seems

  to. Six months ago, I believed

  we would marry as soon as I

  turned eighteen. Yes, I knew

  that was young to make such

  a momentous decision, but

  the overwhelming love we felt

  for each other trumped common

  sense. Now, I don’t know if

  even the deepest affection

  can overcome the reality

  of who I am, what I’ve become.

  This isn’t a romance novel,

  not that I’ve ever read one.

  Mama would have gone off

  the deep end had she ever

  found me in possession

  of a steamy confessional.

  Wonder what she’ll say when

  she finds out what’s become of me.

  If she suspected Satan’s handiwork

  in my relationship with Andrew,

  she’ll have no doubt at all that

  he’s holding court inside me

  once she’s privy to why I’m here.

  I Look at Sarah


  Who stares back at me, and I see

  something in her eyes. Something

  dark. Hidden. Something like

  a secret. Suddenly I know. “You

  were in the life once, weren’t you?”

  No hesitation. Yes, Eden, I was,

  although the circumstances were

  somewhat different from those

  of most of the girls here. Once

  upon a time, I was a world-class

  gymnast, used to having all eyes

  on me. After a horrible fall,

  I could no longer compete or

  perform, but I still had a great body,

  and I was only nineteen. I did get

  a few TV commercials and stuff,

  but not enough to cover the drug

  dependency I’d developed after

  the injury and beyond. Someone

  suggested escorting with a high-

  priced service. Believe it or not,

  many failed athletes end up there,

  and celebrity has its advantages,

  including the level of clients who

  are willing to pay top dollar for it.

  She’s so open about it, it’s scary.

  Why didn’t I suspect it before?

  “How long did you do it? And

  what got you out? And why are

  you here?” So many questions!

  Sarah takes a deep breath.

  I escorted for a little over three

  years. I can’t say it was an awful

  experience because, like I said,

  the men who pay upwards of

  a thousand dollars an hour for

  your company tend to be looking

  for exactly that, with fringe benefits,

  of course. For the most part, they’re

  respectful, even kind, if a little kinky.

  What got me out was two things.

  The first was my boyfriend, who

  found out what I was doing and

  issued an ultimatum: Stay where

  I was, or stay with him and he

  would support me through rehab.

  The second was watching younger

  and younger girls being moved into

  the business, and really coming to

  understand just what was at stake.

  Which doesn’t exactly explain

  how she ended up here. “But why

  did you get involved with Walk

  Straight? You were already an

  adult when you started escorting.”

  Yes, and there was some rather

  ugly lobbying being done by adult

  sex workers who don’t like the term

  “sexual exploitation” because they

  say there’s no coercion involved.

  But I saw teens who were promised

  the world and forced out on the streets.

  Maybe not where I was, but nearby.

  I decided to get my degree in social

  work and lobby on the other side.

  I glanced at her left hand, find

  no telltale ring, ask the question,

  though I’m afraid of her answer.

  “So, what happened with your

  boyfriend? Are you still together?”

  No. But I’m with someone different

  now. He fell in love with me despite

  knowing about my past. It’s all about

  the man. But trust me, you can’t hide

  from the truth. It’s persistent.

  A Poem by Veronica Carino

  The Truth Is Persistent

  Once, I believed it possible

  to hide lies behind a wall

  of plausibility, but the facade

  always crumbles. The only way to

  help

  rebuild any semblance

  of trust’s to come clean and

  plunge into apology, hoping

  you don’t drown. I’ve always

  managed to float, but that’s

  me

  and the depth of Cody’s

  deception is hard to reconcile.

  When the details first became clear,

  I thought it would be impossible to

  find

  the compassion to go on

  caring. But when I saw him

  leaning into the opened arms

  of death, a fierce sort of

  forgiveness

  surfaced, transcending anger

  and resentment, buoyed

  by the tenacity

  of my indestructible love

  for him.

  Cody

  How Do I Believe

  Love is still possible

  for a creature like me?

  It’s not just the half-man

  that I’ve become who’s

  undeserving of the devotion

  of someone like Ronnie,

  or anyone at all. It’s the person

  I already was—the one

  responsible for the rest—

  whose right to even exist

  I question. He’s a liar.

  Cheat. Hopeless addict.

  Always seeking the easy

  way out, and unable to admit

  the horrible mistakes he was

  making, despite the evidence

  mounding right under his nose

  and stinking like dog shit.

  And now. Now there’s no way

  to turn back the clock and

  choose another path, let alone

  fix what he’s done to his family,

  his beautiful girl, his so-called

  friends. Himself. All ruined.

  Busting My Pity Bubble

  Mom walks through the door, and

  for once, all smiles. In fact, she’s

  humming. “What’s up with you?”

  She comes over, kisses my forehead.

  Your social worker has accomplished

  some magic. Apparently, Jack’s

  medical insurance is still in force for

  you and me, and with Nevada expanding

  Medicaid under the Affordable Care Act,

  your bills here are pretty much covered.

  Plus, she found a rehab hospital

  with some charitable giving “angels”

  willing to take care of whatever costs

  insurance won’t cover. You can move

  there and start your rehab as soon as

  your doctors say you’re ready. It’s

  supposed to be an amazing place, and

  I hear the food is a lot better, too.

  She laughs as if that’s the funniest

  thing ever. Hate to burst her own

  bubble, but, “What if I don’t want rehab?”

  Her mouth snaps shut, and suddenly

  she looks about seventy years old. “Can’t

  you just put me in a home or something?”

  Yes, she can. Your own home, but not

  till after your inpatient rehab. After

  that, there will be more rehab, so shut

  your mouth and for God’s sake, quit

  feeling sorry for yourself. Ronnie stomps

  into the room and across the floor,

  looking every bit the part of a pissed

  little girl. Man, she is something.

  Why did she have to come into my life

  just as it was ending? She reaches the bed,

  nods once at Mom, and plops her cute

  little behind right down on the mattress.

  It strikes me that she and my mother

  have never met, except for in passing

  at Jack’s funeral. “Mom, this is—”

  Your mom and I have met, interrupts

  Ronnie. In fact, together we have

  formed the Cody Bennett Fan Club

  and Two Woman Cheer Squad.

  Our mission is to get your ass out

  of that bed and on your feet again.

&nbs
p; Mom’s Expression

  Changes to smug.

  I really don’t get it.

  I will never stand on

  my feet again. My

  head begins to twist

  side to side. “Not

  going to happen and

  you know it. Why

  don’t you just leave

  me alone? Go find a real

  man. Someone who’ll

  love you the way you

  deserve to be loved.

  Seriously, Ronnie. I’m

  a sinking ship. Don’t

  go down with me when

  the lifeboat is empty

  and waiting for you.”

  Ronnie turns to face

  me straight on. Last

  time I looked, assault

  was a crime punishable

  by jail time. Consider

  yourself lucky I’d rather

  not experience lockup,

  or I just might slap you.

  Instead, I’ll do this. . . .

  With zero regard for

  my mom’s presence,

  Ronnie leans into me,

  covers my mouth with

  hers. Her lips are sticky

  with cherry-flavored gloss.

  The kiss is a slow ride

  to heaven, and transports

  me back to the post-funeral

  afternoon we spent in bed,

  sponging comfort from

  the heat of our intertwined

  bodies. If Mom wasn’t

  watching, I’d try to assess

  the boner I must be wearing.

  Muscles have memories,

  right? Hey. What happens to

  a catheter when your dick

  gets hard? The sudden

  thought makes me pull away.

  Still, I say, “Thank you.”

  Hurt Surfaces

  In her eyes, and her face grows

  taut in response. Thank you?

  That’s the best you can do, Cody?

  I know exactly what she wants

  to hear, but if I say it, if I make

  it real, I’ll just open us both up

  to disappointment. Mom looks

  almost as eager as Ronnie for me

  to admit it, and that makes it harder

  yet. “Mom, could you please give

  us a few minutes alone?” Her nod

  is reluctant, but she leaves the room.

  Once she’s retreated, I hold out

  my hands and Ronnie takes them

  into her own. “Veronica Carino,

  you are the most amazing girl

  in the entire universe. And the fact

  is, I fucking love you more than life

  itself, which is why I want you to

  find the person you deserve, and

  that is so not me. . . .” She tries

  to interrupt me again, but I shake