When you die, you take your secrets with you (542 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 0.75 on 8 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by runswithscissors (View user info) at 2006-04-03 17:17:43 EDT
No little girl wakes up one morning and thinks, "I want to grow up to be a whore." No, that
isnt how it works. Teacher. Ballerina. Doctor. Mother. The list of dreams are limitless.
A whore, at a guess, would fall into the category of nightmare. That dead end job you take
"until something better comes along." Then five years go by. You can't even remember how you
got there or where the time went, other than the fact that it is gone.
Maybe you try to retrace the steps. Maybe you convince yourself this is the best you can
do, or, even one step further, that you like doing it. Maybe you tell yourself, "Next week
I will change." Which holds about as much water as waiting for that elusive "something
better" to come along. Or maybe you just stop caring.
She feels the tears starting. Hates herself for it. Bites her lower lip to make them stop.
"Toughen up! Crying gets you nowhere!" echoes in her mind. She answers herself aloud.
"No where. That is exactly where I am."
Lighting up a cigarette, fighting the urge to pull her coat snug around her chest, she closes
her eyes, remembering a former life. A time, a place where she used to smile.
She finds herself on a beach. It is the Oregon coast. She is walking along the shore barefoot.
Her dog, her little black lab, trots at her side, panting from her numerous failed attempts
to catch seagulls. In her pocket is an agate, worn smooth by sea and sand, almost silky
to the touch. The breeze picks up, chilling her skin. The sun will be setting soon. Time to
go back to the cabin rented by her family. No doubt her mother and younger sister are
preparing dinner by now. B-b-q hamburgers, sweet corn on the cob.....
"Hey," a voice says. Sounds of a car idling at the curb. She opens her eyes, a practiced
smile curling the corners of her mouth. She drops the cigarette in front of her, sliding her
foot forward to extinguish it, exposing the top of a thigh high stocking below the hem of her skirt.
She watches his eyes travel down her thigh, then slowly back up her body, lingering on her
breasts before his eyes find hers again.
"How much?" he asks.
She lets the smile grow ever so slightly, and says, "What do you want?"
She looks at herself in the bathroom mirror, and applies a fresh coat of lipstick. Rummaging
through her bag, she finds a hairbrush and runs it through her hair. He didn't look like a
hair puller, but you cant always tell. "At least he didnt grab my arms," she thinks as she
unbuttons her blouse, pulling it off her shoulders, down to her elbows. Angry bruises slowly fading. "I need to get back into a tank top. Long sleeves are really slowing business down."
She readjusts her clothes, leaving one too many buttons undone. Back to work.
Walking back through the bar, she feels eyes upon her. In her past life, she used to complain
to friends that she could never tell when someone was looking at her. She wishes she had that
problem again. She looks around. It is the bartender, his eyes on her, staring at her, staring
through her, staring at that moment when he would lock the bar doors hehind them and follow her
into the back office. She smiles and gives a wink. His stare doesnt change. She cringes
ever so slightly. A bad night for him means a rough night for her.
"Business," she thinks. When she first started out, and needed a place to 'freshen up,' she
would come in and order a drink, to look like a patron. So she could use the bathroom
guilt free. Not that she was fooling anyone anyway. Hard lesson learned. Dont drink on the job.
Makes you sloppy. Makes you careless. Makes you a target.
After the split lip healed, she went back to the bar. Sits on a stool at the bar and lights
a cigarette.
"Vodka tonic?" he asks.
"No, just soda water, thanks." He simply stares at her. She slides a twenty onto the bar.
Her soda water takes its place. He stands in front of her, hands on the bar. She sees the
wedding band on his left hand, and even though she is new to all of this, she knows that
gold band means nothing.
"Where you been?"
She takes a long drag off her cigarette. "Let's just say, hazards of work."
He nods, but says nothing more.
"So. I have a business proposition for you..."
He listens.
Now she can come and go from the bar as she pleases. No need to buy a drink or leave a tip.
So long as this is the last stop of the evening before going home. Before going to that
one place that is hers, and hers alone. Where she can shed the clothes, wash off the makeup,
and stare at her reflection in the mirror, searching for traces of the woman she used to be.
User Reviews
Submitted by Flying_buttmonkey (user info) at 2006-04-04 07:40:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I liked this
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2006-04-04 07:10:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No little girl wakes up one morning and thinks, "I want to grow up to be a whore."
__________________________________________________________________________________
Haven't you READ 'Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl'?!?! That chick was certain from 13!
*hangs head*
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-04-04 06:35:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Not too bad.
-Dave
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-04-03 23:57:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
"My favorites are the lies and secrets you take to the grave."
http://www.ubersite.com/m/56292
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-04-03 21:49:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
learn to paragraph.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2006-04-03 20:02:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by AlexorGM (user info) at 2006-04-03 18:12:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-04-03 17:34:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
You can't hide your lyin' eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you'd realize
There ain't no way to hide your lyin eyes