Page 2 of Virginity Sold

I’m a sweaty mess as I try to calm my heartbeat. Even if I could fall back asleep after that, I know I can’t. The sun shining through the threadbare curtains tells me it’s time to get up, so I toss the covers off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor, it sends shivers down my spine.

Standing slowly, I trudge over to my closet and sigh, staring at the few measly garments hanging. I pull out my last clean waitress uniform and shut the door. I need to make a trip to the laundromat. Thankfully, I don’t have to work tomorrow.

Not even bothering to shower since I did last night, I get dressed in the sickening pink uniform and slip on my white tennis shoes before heading to the bathroom. Once in there, I pee, wash my hands, and pull my hair into a ponytail. That’s as good as it’s going to get.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, my sunken eyes, surrounded by black circles, stare back. I look like shit. Damn it, I should probably just put a light layer of makeup on. Just some concealer, foundation and mascara to give my face some color so I don’t look like death.

Ten minutes later I’m done. I turn the light off and walk out, heading down the hall. The foul, stomach turning smell hits my nose before I ever enter the living room. I breathe through my mouth as I try not to gag, knowing what I’m about to come face to face with. Bypassing the living room all together, I go straight to the kitchen and get the paper towels and disinfectant. Anyone else would be repulsed, but not me. After ten years, it’s become normal.

When I step into the living room, I find my mother, her upper body slumped halfway off the couch, the tips of her honey brown strands sink into the vomit.

I squint, checking for the subtle rise and fall of her body that shows me she’s still breathing. But I don’t see it.

My heart races and sweat beads on my forehead. Please God, not today. I can’t handle it.

I step around the pile of vomit and place my fingers on her neck, right over her carotid artery, and apply gentle pressure.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the faint pulse.

She’s alive. Well, she is for now, but one day I know she won’t be. I’m going to find her face down, in a puddle of her own fluids. I’m just thankful it’s not today.

I take hold of her hair and lift the strands, wiping them with the paper towel. It takes everything in me not to empty the contents of my own stomach. Once that’s done, I roll her body back onto the couch. From the intensity of the alcohol seeping out of her pores she’s going to be out for a while. That, and the fact she didn’t even groan when I moved her.

Once I’ve got her positioned on her side, so she doesn’t choke if she pukes while I’m gone, I clean the mess off the floor.

“Lenny,” she whispers, just as I finish.

“Yeah, Mama.” I don’t look over at her, continuing to place the soiled napkins into the plastic bag so I can sanitize the area. Thank God we don’t have carpet.

“I need some money.”

Of course she does. I roll my eyes.

“What for? I just gave you a twenty yesterday,” I remind her, as I spray the cleaner on the spot.

“Twenty ain’t nothing. Come on now, give me some money. I need some more booze.”

“I’m not giving you anymore money so you can drink yourself into an early grave. You’re barely forty-two, Mama, and you look like a sixty-year-old woman. Drinking is killing you, and in return me. I’m tired as a dog, working just to keep a roof over our heads, lights on and food in the cabinets.”

“Give me the money or I’ll just go whore myself on the street. You think you pay the bills? No, I do. I’m the one who took care of your whiny ass after your father left us. You’re the reason he did. You were such a spoiled little brat.”

Standing up, I pick up the bag and place it in the trash can, ignoring all the insults she’s hurling my way. I don’t need to hear to know what she’s saying. It’s the same thing every day. Instead, I get my purse, keys and jacket off the hook by the door and leave.

When I step outside, I take a deep breath. The neighborhood is quiet, not a soul on the street yet. I shut the warped, peeling wood door behind me and lock it. Mama will be out within a few minutes and won’t think to do it.

I give a wishful stare at my old ‘96 Impala in the driveway. It finally broke down two months ago and I haven’t had the money to repair it. One day I’ll be able to afford it, but until then it’s walking, Ubers, and buses to get where I need to go. Today I’m going with the cheaper of the three, walking.

I’ve promised the landlord I’d give him this month's rent and the remaining five hundred from last month at the end of next week, and I’m still more than six hundred dollars short. Not to mention the light bill is due in two days.

My stomach growls as I open the fence and step onto the broken sidewalk. I should’ve taken the time to make a sandwich, but I didn’t want to continue listening to my mother blame me for my father leaving.

For the longest time, I believed her. Then I grew up and came to understand the monster he truly was. The best thing he ever did was leave. If only Mama had left, too. Maybe I would’ve had a chance at being placed in a good home. I could’ve gone on to college and become more than what I am.

But she didn’t. Now I’m doomed to live paycheck to paycheck, stretching my dollars just to live, but never truly enjoying life.

Some days, I wonder if death would’ve been a better choice.

Chapter 2

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