Right now I’m thawing from the cold and thinking about how I used to wear less and not freeze to death.
Right now I’m remembering that just down the hill lie all the memories of the times that I used to sell myself and my body.
I can’t believe it’s almost 20 years ago when I stood out in the cold wearing next to nothing: a string and heels and I waited in line with my fake id and my nervousness and a pocket full of the money I had stolen earlier from the register.
That would run out quickly and I would then make the decision of whom to choose.
Upon who would I prey? Who would I use for cash, for drinks, and for drugs and then let him or her and then THEM use me?
It’s a non-verbal agreement, really.
I didn’t ever really want to give myself, but it didn’t matter.
I didn’t give my soul; don’t worry.
Just my body.
If I had put enough into that body, then I could reach oblivion and not feel and not remember all I/he/she/they/we had done.
Right now I am remembering what I used to try to forget. The only evidence I had to take with me would be what I woke up to, the scary scene I faced when I opened my eyes.
I couldn’t close them again and hope it would all go away like I did when I was a child with the boogeyman.
No. I had to get up and get dressed and figure out how to get out of here.
…so I can go to work and rob the register and decide what I would wear or not wear tonight.
I would wear myself out while trying to wear everyone else, to try them on to see what they felt like, to see if they felt better than my own skin.
Maybe this person would be the escape. Or, maybe the gun that I obsessed over on the headboard of that man’s bed. Right now, I am remembering that gun.