Traffick

  me by allowing me to

  be abused by a long

  parade of johns.

  He hooked me on

  the vicious Lady, to

  keep me at his mercy

  completely, and within

  that addiction, he made

  me suffer. He swore

  I was beautiful, and

  then he made me ugly.

  I won’t forgive him.

  But how do I forget

  him when I can’t fall

  out of love with him?

  I Don’t Mention That

  To Naomi, who’s heard it

  before, and won’t accept

  my emotional attachment

  to a man she views as evil.

  She isn’t totally wrong.

  Neither do I argue tools and

  toolboxes with her.

  She’s only doing her job,

  and it doesn’t include

  convincing me, just repeating

  the stuff she tells everyone.

  Before I can leave, however,

  she tosses a wrench at me.

  One last thing that might

  help your recovery, especially

  in the early stages, when

  things are likely to be most

  difficult. Find a purpose, and

  I don’t mean just returning

  to school and getting decent

  grades. Try volunteering

  somewhere—at an animal

  shelter, or maybe mentoring

  a child who needs help learning

  to read. Retrain your focus

  away from yourself, toward

  others. Happiness requires

  cultivation. I’m here to show

  you how to plant seeds of change.

  Planting Seeds of Change

  Sounds good, and that’s what

  I tell her, right before I go.

  But the truth is, I’m scared

  of change. Every time I try

  it, something goes wrong.

  Still, I’ll be out of this place

  in a few days. I’ve only been

  here three months, and I’m not

  sure I’m ready to go, but there

  it is. Rehab costs a ton, and while

  Mom would probably like to see

  me stay longer, Dad’s paying

  the bill, and I don’t think

  he believes seeds of change

  have actually been planted.

  Maybe he’s right, because

  the idea of going home scares

  the crap out of me. What if I

  go ahead and relapse right here

  instead? Would he have to let

  me stay then? Wow. I might

  have found the solution.

  There’s still the problem with

  having no cash. What could I

  barter? The answer comes rushing

  at me, slams against my gut.

  Duh. My body is a commodity.

  I just have to find the right dealer.

  Now That a Different Seed

  Has burrowed into my brain,

  it sprouts and grows quickly.

  I’ve overheard this girl, Dana,

  talking about disguising

  her highs. I seek her out, hoping

  Naomi et al. will be happy

  I’m making a new friend.

  I find her, just finishing breakfast,

  plop down across the table.

  “Hey. Delicious cardboard

  pancakes, yeah?” She looks up

  from her plate, offers a smile.

  Frisbees, you mean? Dana

  swallows what’s left of hers

  anyway, then asks, Did you

  need something from me?

  “I was wondering if you might

  happen to know where I could

  score something to help me sleep.

  Every time I actually doze off,

  these goddamn nightmares wake

  me back up. I’d give just about

  anything to stay out an entire night.”

  She looks me right in the eye,

  trying to figure out where I’m

  coming from. Whatever she sees

  seems to satisfy her. I might.

  But that’s all she says, so I go

  ahead and add, “The only problem

  is I don’t have any money, so I’d

  have to work out a trade.”

  She studies me harder. What

  do you want, and what can

  you give in exchange for it?

  I shrug. “Powder or pills,

  doesn’t really matter. What

  I’ve got is a talent for great

  sex.” Still, she makes me wait.

  How old are you, anyway?

  And are you really sure you

  want to fuck up your rehab?

  “I’m sixteen. Age of consent

  in California, so whoever is safe

  that way. And yes, I’m sure, or

  I wouldn’t be asking. Will you

  help me, or point me to someone

  else who will? I’ll be generous.”

  My delivery arrives on Sunday.

  She reaches her hand across

  under the table, rests it on my knee.

  So have you ever been with a girl?

  The Unexpected Question

  Gives me pause.

  I figured she’d hook me

  up with a male staff

  member who’d cut loose

  with a finder’s fee.

  The truth is, though

  I’ve been with more

  men than I want to

  consider, I haven’t ever

  had sex with a girl.

  But how hard could

  it be? “Of course.”

  The lie slips past

  my lips like custard.

  You’re pretty. I can

  spare a couple of pills.

  No powder. Too risky.

  Sunday night, my room,

  after lights-out. I promise

  you’ll sleep like a baby,

  no dreams, good or bad.

  Until then . . . She flicks

  her tongue, serpentlike.

  You can dream about me.

  Now That I’ve Determined

  A course of action,

  I can hardly wait to put

  the car into gear, even if

  it might mean motoring

  over a very steep cliff.

  I’ve chosen a dangerous

  route, and yet I feel safer

  than I did an hour ago.

  Not like my morals

  are going to take a hit.

  Guys. Girls. What can

  it possibly matter?

  I suppose I might have

  believed I could put

  Las Vegas all the way

  behind me. But something

  like that tails a person,

  teeth bared for the bite,

  doesn’t it? Guess I’ll have

  to develop a tough butt.

  God knows the rest of me

  is tougher. I think back

  to Lucas, how devastated

  I was learning he never

  cared about me at all.

  I was just a little girl

  seven months ago.

  What am I now?

  I Don’t Feel Guilty

  Until Sunday, when I, too,

  have a visitor—my mom,

  who arrives all excited about

  the prospect of my coming

  home at the end of the week.

  We sit out on the patio,

  bundled against the chill.

  The sun does its best, but

  it’s no match for the sharp

  November breeze.

  Mom doesn’t seem to notice.

  So, I’ve talked to your school,

  and it’s no problem for you to


  start midterm. They’ll bring

  you in for an assessment next

  month to see how far you’ve

  managed to catch up, okay?

  I nod, robotlike, knowing

  it doesn’t matter at all what

  they’ve got planned. Safe.

  You won’t believe this, but

  I’m actually going to attempt

  to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

  I’ve been taking some culinary

  classes, and I think I can manage

  it, with your and Kyra’s help.

  She’s flying home for the weekend.

  I want us to feel like a family.

  Yeah, well, good luck with that.

  I half listen to her talk about

  everything she’s got planned for me,

  though she frames it with the word

  “us.” Through the window, I see

  Dana talking with her visitor,

  who might be her sister. They

  look alike. All I can think about

  now is what’s coming later,

  and anticipation creeps along

  my spine, manifesting itself

  in a huge crop of goose bumps.

  Mom notices me shiver. Cold?

  Let’s go inside. I should probably

  think about leaving anyway.

  Whitney? I want you to know

  how proud I am of you for

  hanging tough in the program

  and digging yourself out.

  I was so scared for you. And me.

  I know I haven’t told you enough,

  but I love you very much, and

  I promise to do better as a mother.

  She gets to her feet and I join

  her for the short walk to

  the front door, noticing

  Dana’s wink as we pass.

  Despite guilt, game on.

  Fortuitously

  Dana’s room is only three doors

  away from mine. I wait almost

  an hour after lights-out before

  venturing down the hall and

  slipping inside. She waits for me

  in bed, two little tablets in hand.

  “What are they?” I ask, hoping

  for the exact answer she gives.

  Oxycodone. You into opiates?

  Oh, darling, if you only knew.

  “I’ll try anything once.” I pop

  one, put the other into my pocket

  to save for right before our next

  drug test. Tonight I’m going to

  sink down, down, down. It’s a slow,

  lovely drop, and oh, how I’ve longed

  for this feeling! Denial is pointless.

  Okay, baby. Payment required.

  Take off your clothes. Sex is better

  naked. She watches me strip, pulls

  back her covers, and I shimmy in

  beside her already nude body.

  There’s a pretty girl. Kiss me.

  The one thing I never did with

  a john was kiss them, or let them

  kiss me. But, even as a form of payment,

  kissing Dana isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s nice.

  Maybe it’s the oxy, or maybe it’s

  because she’s a girl, not in spite

  of that fact, or maybe it’s just because

  I’ve missed being intimate with anyone,

  but the heat of her skin, which is satin

  soft, and the rich perfume of her

  femaleness turns me on completely.

  No, I’ve never been with a woman

  before, but everything feels familiar,

  from the curves of her heavy breasts

  to the invitation between her slim thighs,

  and my mouth and tongue and fingers

  know exactly what to do to pay my debt

  in full. She signals the end with a shudder

  and quiet moan, then draws me

  into her arms, laying my head

  against her chest, where I can hear

  the stutter of her heart. That was

  outstanding. I’ll expect you back

  tomorrow night. When I start to

  question her, she shushes me.

  Those are eighty-milligram oxys,

  and go for thirty a pop. How

  much do you think you’re worth?

  Good question.

  A Poem by Andrew McCarran

  How Much Is It Worth

  To discover the girl

  who infuses every day

  with light, even when

  she’s not here—it’s enough

  to know she’s woven into your

  life,

  a luminous ribbon.

  A promise of happiness.

  How much can be forgiven,

  when the excuse

  is

  existence, no other way

  to reach tomorrow?

  Morality becomes

  meaningless

  when you’re wandering

  the streets, the way home

  lost to you. Forbidden.

  What is the future

  without

  hope for a rainbow

  on the far side of the storm,

  no hint of sunshine

  to shimmer through the gray

  in a world emptied of

  Eden.

  Eden

  Last Week

  I chickened out. I swore to

  myself I’d tell Sarah everything

  she wanted to know about

  my background: Boise; Pastor

  Streit, Assembly of God minister,

  not to mention my father; evil, in

  Mama disguise; my younger sister,

  Eve. I hope she’s okay. She always

  was smarter about dealing

  with our parents than I. She’ll be

  a freshman this year, at least

  if she pretends to do exactly

  what Mama tells her, and

  wouldn’t our mother be surprised

  to know that my little sister

  is every bit as rebellious as I am?

  Was. The rebellion has kind of

  been shaken out of me. Damn.

  That thought makes me sad,

  because it means Mama won.

  So yeah, I took the coward’s way

  out. Kept my mouth shut, and

  now I regret it, mostly because

  I just got another e-mail from Andrew.

  He’s the only person in the whole

  world who can help me rebuild

  my confidence, which makes

  perfect sense, since he was the one

  who built it for me in the first place.

  Knowing he thought me worthy

  of his love was all I ever needed.

  And now, he cyber promises

  he’ll love me, no matter what.

  My beautiful Eden. Desperation

  drives people to places they’d never

  ever go otherwise. Whatever

  horrors you suffered in the desert,

  whatever lengths you decided

  were necessary to remove yourself

  from that place, I stand firmly

  in your corner. You don’t need

  forgiveness. The person I must

  learn to forgive is myself. I could

  see trouble brewing, and I chose

  to love you selfishly. I won’t make

  that mistake in the future. I promise.

  I’d give everything I own to hold

  you again. Tell me how to find you.

  Tell me what I have to do to get

  you back in my life. Your Andrew.

  My Andrew

  Straightforward, like Andrew

  himself. I wish I could believe

  it can be as easy as telling him

  where to find me. Come to Vegas.

  I’ll meet you just off the strip,

&n
bsp; where I once gave a tooth-impaired

  guy a BJ for twenty dollars.

  Of course, if you want oral sex, no

  charge other than your continued

  misplaced faith in me. In us.

  I need to be pragmatic. Believing

  in miracles is what led me here

  to start with. “Hey, Almighty, giving

  source of love, please bless the unlikely

  love I’ve found with Andrew.

  Remember how I asked you that,

  not even a year ago? Remember the faith

  I invested in you, despite the example

  my father, ‘your representative on

  earth,’ demonstrated on a daily basis?”

  Am I actually talking to God, and

  not only that, but talking out loud?

  Glad there’s no one close by to hear me.

  Pretty sure everyone at Walk Straight

  has given up any notion of him, if they

  had one to begin with. Little

  evidence of God in the backseat

  of a john’s car, or some seedy

  motel room, and even less in

  the eyes of your pimp when he’s

  beating you while ranting about

  your failures as a good little

  prostitute. Almost every girl here

  tells a similar story of being scooped

  up by some predatory man when

  it was obvious they had nowhere

  else to go. Runaways, most of them.

  I suppose if I’d been on the street

  for very much longer, some smooth-

  talking guy would have latched

  onto me, convinced me I’d be safer

  in his care than on my own. A few

  more days, struggling to eat and

  clean the ugliness from my body,

  I probably would have been grateful

  for the intervention. Instead, I found

  a helpful priest. So maybe God was

  watching out for me after all. I whisper,

  “Father, forgive me. And if it’s your

  will, please bless Andrew and me.”

  My Counseling Session

  Is after lunch, which I can’t eat

  because of the nerves tap dancing

  in my stomach. I practically crawl

  to Sarah’s office, coaxing myself

  the whole way to go ahead and tell

  my entire tale of woe. I knock on

  the door, hoping something has called

  her away, but no such luck. Instead,

  she invites me in with that chirpy

  voice, and I have no choice but to

  comply. A whooshing fills my ears

  as I sit across the desk from Sarah.

  She takes one look at the way I’m

  shaking and gushes, What’s wrong,

  Ruthie? Did you see a vampire?