For whatever reason, when I think of the late eighties, I think of child trafficking in and around Houston, Texas. The heat. The flat land, long highways, and congested industrial districts. Maybe at some point I watched a movie about it or read an article. Who knows, but it's what the late eighties are to me.
No more than six or eight, a small girl stares out through a dirty window, sad, missing the life she is quickly forgetting. She knows only the people who own her. Who buy and sell her. In the back of her mind she knows that not every little girl lives this way. She sees them sometimes. Outside. Walking down the sidewalks with their fresh new dresses and mommies. She sees them and longs. She sees them and even at such a young age somehow feels that no other world could truly be worse than hers.
The heat. The dust. The men.
Then, my mind switches. It's twenty years later. The girl survived. She faced peril after peril, but eventually it was over. A thousand years in a decade. Now, she is clean. She has an apartment. She helps other girls. But, she is lost.
She tried dating, once, but that chunk of living is gone to her. No romance. No sexuality. No men. No more.
She tried to find her parents, luckless.
She tried drugs.
She tried school.
Even after years, nothing helps her forget, or move on, or smile.
Now, she survives only to help others survive. Now, she sells herself to the victims. I think about her, and to myself; "I am lucky."
And I am.
No more than six or eight, a small girl stares out through a dirty window, sad, missing the life she is quickly forgetting. She knows only the people who own her. Who buy and sell her. In the back of her mind she knows that not every little girl lives this way. She sees them sometimes. Outside. Walking down the sidewalks with their fresh new dresses and mommies. She sees them and longs. She sees them and even at such a young age somehow feels that no other world could truly be worse than hers.
The heat. The dust. The men.
Then, my mind switches. It's twenty years later. The girl survived. She faced peril after peril, but eventually it was over. A thousand years in a decade. Now, she is clean. She has an apartment. She helps other girls. But, she is lost.
She tried dating, once, but that chunk of living is gone to her. No romance. No sexuality. No men. No more.
She tried to find her parents, luckless.
She tried drugs.
She tried school.
Even after years, nothing helps her forget, or move on, or smile.
Now, she survives only to help others survive. Now, she sells herself to the victims. I think about her, and to myself; "I am lucky."
And I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment