Page 2 of The Broken Places

“And do you take drugs? Now?”

“Yeah. Well, I’m tryin’ to get clean. But you know ...”

“What’s your drug of choice?”

“Heroin.”

“Okay. And why do you think you followed in your mom’s footsteps as far as the prostitution?”

Cherish shrugs. “I mean, I need money. What other way do I have, you know?”

“How far did you get in school, Cherish?”

She looks away for a moment as she twists a piece of her lank brown hair. “Ninth grade, I think? Maybe tenth? I can’t remember. I was flunking out anyway, didn’t matter, so I just stopped going.” Her eyes meet his. “I never got good grades. When I was in elementary school, I used to try to hump the boys in my class. Freaked the teacher out.”

“Did the school address it?”

She zones out again, then meets Jamal’s eyes. “Address it? With who? With my mom?” She looks away. “I got sent to the principal’s office a lot. But he was gettin’ some too.”

“The principal was molesting you?”

“I guess. But I was okay with that. He had this big bowl of candy on his desk, and he’d let me take as much as I wanted afterward. It wasn’t so bad. But anyway, I never got taken away from my mom or nothin’, soI guess the teachers didn’t call anyone but him.”

Jamal remains quiet for a moment. “Has anything bad ever happened to you while working the streets?”

Cherish pauses, her eyes moving upward for a moment. “Sure. Yeah. I’ve got beat up a few times. Once real bad, spent some time in the hospital. And you know, I’ve been stiffed out of the money after servicing a trick.”

“The streets can be rough.”

Cherish nods, tucking her hands between her knees. “Yeah, they can. You gotta be careful. Especially if you don’t have no one taking care of you.”

“So you don’t have a pimp, then? You work on your own?”

“I did have a man, but he got shot three months ago. Killed. So now I’m on my own.”

“Killed? I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

She bobs her head, removes her hands from between her knees, and begins picking at a sore on her thigh. “Yeah. He was one of my sons’ fathers, so ... you know, that was hard.”

“How many kids do you have?”

The first flutter of what might be despair moves across her expression before she sighs. “Two. I got two boys. They got taken by the system, though.” She looks away, zoning again.

“I’m sorry.” Jamal gives her a moment. “How old are you now, Cherish?”

“I’m twenty.”

“Twenty years old. You’ve been through a lot for someone so young.”

“Yeah.” Cherish laughs again, that same hollow sound. “Too much.”

“Do you have any aspirations, Cherish?”

“Aspirations? Like goals?”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes slide to the side again. “I’d like to get my kids back.” She picks at that wound again. “But I don’t know. I’m just tryin’ to survive, you know? Just tryin’ to stay alive.”

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