A slight breeze from the ocean behind me blows against my legs. I pull down the hem of my dress so that it barely reaches mid-thigh, but I immediately fix it again.
I want so badly to cover more, but earlier tonight I was threatened another beating if I continued to cover up. Not good for business, he said. Men needed to see more if they were going to choose me.
My hand involuntarily found its way to a tender place on my back where I had received my last beating. That time I had lingered too long with a woman who stopped to speak with me. I tried to get her to leave but at the same time I desperately wanted her to stay. She had a sort of — I don’t know — calm surrounding her.
It was strange but somehow made things better. She seemed to understand that I couldn’t talk but she offered me a stack of condoms, saying they were free. I took them quickly as my pimp began to creep toward us.
She left soon after that, but the look in her eyes — the kindness she showed me — that did not leave so quickly.
Her eyes were what I tried to remember when he led me behind a wall at the beach and beat my back over and over. He took the condoms. He took my dinner allowance. And he took my will to do what I wanted to do.
But he couldn’t take the memory of what I saw in those eyes.
They weren’t judging me like some of the women and men who passed. They held something that I can’t even describe. All I know is that I want that. I want that, but how could I get it? How could I ever find that woman again?
I thought back to that pack of condoms given to me. There was a message written on them & it looked like maybe some kind of contact information. But I was only in school for a brief time as a child — I could read so little that I probably wouldn’t have been able to understand anyways.
I straightened. There was a man walking this direction and I desperately needed him to pick me. I had never been good at the seductive looks, but my smile usually drew them in. I had been faking that smile since the time I was 12 — it was the one thing my customers always commented on. But this man looked at me only briefly before walking briskly past.
Tangled emotion welled up within me. I never wanted anyone to touch me, and yet the rejection still stung, especially at this hour. There were only about 30 of us still working this street at this hour, & some of the others were less attractive than me. I needed the money — why wouldn’t they choose me? What’s wrong with me?
How did I even get here?
But I knew. I began this path so many years because it’s who I am. I remember my own mother doing the same when I was a child — it’s how we survived. There were nights we had nothing to eat, there were nights we slept on the beach, and there were nights where my mother took me with her and her client. Every day was at the mercy of the men who passed by and hopefully would pick her. I had to help. I did help.
My mother was reluctant in the beginning, but then she saw a thirst within these foreigners for what I had to offer and the money that my time could bring to us. I cried myself to sleep every night, but mother always told me what a good girl I was for taking care of our family. Though she continued to work, it slowly became my job to take care of her and my little brother. This is why I was born. This is the only skill I know. I could take care of my family, & I would.
I look further down the street to my friend. She had finished working for the night, but stayed on this side of the street so that I could keep an eye on my son who slept peacefully next to her. My son.
He was the reason I had to stay out here. Many men had walked by, but tonight they seemed to have no interest in me. Please, please let someone come. I just needed a little more so that we can rent a few hours in a room and so there’s enough food for him to eat.
Two Russians approached. I tried not to let the distain show on my face. The way they handled us could be worse than our pimps. But I needed the money, so I prepared to give them my most winning smile. I never got to.
They stopped at the girl before me and they were now in a heated negotiation. One of them was becoming frustrated and I feared for what that would mean for her later. His friend looked like he could walk away at any moment, which meant only one thing: she would have to convince them to stay with her and she would have to take the dirt cheap price they were asking.
She put her arm around one of them and gave him a flirty smile. They left and I shivered. I dreaded the oh-so-typical story she would tell later about how she was treated.
“Just one more”, I thought.
One more would be enough to feed my boy and then we could get real sleep somewhere.
Another man slowly approached. I knew that look in his eyes: he didn’t even see me as a woman, I was more like a piece of meat that would be consumed by a man who had already had more than his share. A deep breath proceeded the smile I put on.
How much was a question I understood in any language.
It was now 4:30 in the morning. I knew if my price was too high, he would quickly leave and find a cheaper option. This was for my son.
I typed into my cell phone the number for him — 500 baht. The equivalent of just over $16.
The man snorted and I could tell he was about to leave. I quickly erased the sum and typed in lower. 300 baht. This was just under $10 — surely he’d take me for that much. But again, he made to leave and I stopped him.
“100 baht!” he demanded.
100 baht. Just over $3. That is what I was worth to him.
The price was so outrageously low — how could I? But then I looked to my right and saw my son. He had spent too many nights out here when I couldn’t bring in the business I needed. He deserved a bed. He deserved to eat. What choice did I have?
At that moment, a small group of white women passed me. Several put their hands together and bowed respectfully to me, making tears prickle in the back of my eyes. One looked me directly in the eyes and I saw the same thing the other woman had had. And somehow, it was more than that. She knew exactly what was happening, but her eyes held no judgement. Instead they held…strength?
Strength for what?
And in that split second when our eyes met, I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to deny this customer and walk away. She continued walking but I saw her glance back.
Should I deny this man & walk away? Was it crazy to go for the price he was asking?Could I have the same strength that this woman seemed to think I had?
No. No, I know who I am. I know what I’m worth.
It’s now 4:35 in the morning and I will leave with him because I need to feed my son & I am exactly what he thinks I am.
I am $3.
As we walk past the group of women, I notice their heads bowed as one of them speaks. Some of them are holding hands. I feel something so strange in seeing them…like something warm in a cold place. Like some sort of light in the midst of a very dark room. I can’t explain it & I turn to look at them in my wake.
But as my customer draws me closer, the feeling fades. With sadness, I go to perform my job, but with an ache greater than my heart has ever before experienced. I want to run, but that is not my life. My life is this, so I just go to work.
