A Forgotten Tomorrow Read online

  And what a mistake to think doing deals for Big Jon was the way to go. Big Jon is a well-known drug dealer and gunrunner in the city. He makes his mission look easy and justifiable, as he drives around in his loaded Escalade with one hundred dollar bills practically pouring out of his pocket. He is a big guy, probably weighing about two hundred pounds – but he always looks smart. He is never seen wearing anything other than designer clothing and expensive diamond jewellery. Many kids in this area that know of Jon idolise him for that reason alone. I would say that he probably has five or six people working for him, selling meth and cocaine to whoever will buy it. The gun-running, however, is his main source of income and he is good at it. He makes sure of it – working at night and all alone. No one in their right mind would cross his path in the wrong way because surely there would be trouble. Elijah’s next goal after doing some dealing was to work alongside Jon personally, selling illegal weapons and ammo.

  Well, Elijah didn’t get that far, but I can’t think about that right now – it only brings a deep sadness that I can’t budge. So instead, before I go to work, I need a fix.

  It may be sad, but meth is the only thing right now that helps. It helps me get out of this misery, this hell-hole that I call my life. Sometimes I feel incredibly lonely – alone and unwanted. It feels like I am the one who everyone directs their anger or hatred against. Am I really that horrible? Is that why I never had a family to love me? Damn, I can’t keep thinking – it’s driving me insane.

  The thing that worries me is that I only have one bag left now from what Elijah gave me. Like I said, I’m not an addict. Meth gives me the most amazing feeling. I only use powder form. One or two lines do the job, and for about twenty minutes I feel incredibly relaxed, calm and happy. It’s a state of bliss that is indescribable. A feeling I never managed to have, before now.

  Granted, I never thought I’d be one to use. I remember thinking that all the girls on my block who used were ridiculous – and disgustingly skinny. I have probably lost about ten pounds, but I don’t look that disgusting. Well, at least I don’t think so, and apparently neither do my customers. Ten more pounds, though? Now, that might be going too far.

  So I will lie here, under my blanket and enjoy this sensation for a while, then head off to work. My blanket is comfortable and warm, I love it. It also reminds me of Elijah.

  My mind slowly drifts to a night, a couple of months or so ago. That night everything changed, for both me and Elijah.

  It feels so real, as if it is happening all over again. But I smile…

  I had been alone for most of the day, doing nothing at all, really. I went to the park and fed the doves a little bit of stale bread that I picked from Flannigan’s trash, then walked the streets until dusk.

  I remember being excited because I was going to see Elijah later on. That was something I never really felt with him before. We were best friends, and we liked to hang out together, but this really was something new.

  He didn’t make definite plans to come see me before I went to work, but I knew that he would. It was becoming a habit and I knew he would want to get out of his house for a while.

  Anyway, I was sitting alone under my bridge for a couple of hours before I heard footsteps and the shuffle of gravel, as someone walked towards me. No matter what, even though I was expecting to see Elijah, I felt a quick chill shoot down my spine. It’s an unnerving feeling being alone in a pitch black area. I’ve seen horrible things happen to people and heard many other stories; I refuse to be another statistic.

  But there he was, that familiar figure emerging from the shadows. I actually had to push back the giggle about to escape my mouth as I watched Elijah walking towards me in all of his glory. He was always so predictable, with his Bose headphones attached to his ears – music was definitely a big deal to him: hip-hop to be exact. His clothes were always nicely pressed and he never left home without a gold chain around his neck. Fake, of course.

  I will never forget how remarkably sweet and caring he was when he gave me my new blanket. He seemed a little embarrassed because he wouldn’t look me in the face as he threw this bag on the ground in front of me and unzipped it, revealing a blanket. My blanket.

  That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. It might sound lame, but it’s true. The blanket is huge and made out of fleece, so it does the job, you know? Immediately I got rid of my ratty old blanket. I’d used that one for a year, so it was a giant mess. There were big holes which let in all the cold air, making the comfort of warmth hard to come by.

  It was that night that I really began to think that I might have liked Elijah. I couldn’t get over the feeling of it being weird though. We were really good friends and I didn’t want to ruin that. I couldn’t help but find him attractive, even through his forced ‘tough guy’ demeanour. It was humorous actually, because deep inside he really was a sensitive and caring guy – not tough at all. The sad thing is, I never did get to tell him…

  Where was I? Oh yeah, how everything changed.

  Elijah was a talker, rarely giving me any time to speak about anything. I didn’t mind it though; it often made me feel like I had a normal life, even if only for a moment. Sometimes he would go on and on about his life at home, and how he couldn’t stand his father. I didn’t understand that either, because in truth, his dad cared about him and was only being protective. That isn’t a bad thing. He talked about girls sometimes too, which never failed to make me laugh. He acted as if he was the next Don Juan.

  That night Elijah was talking about something completely different, though. It’s been over a year since I have been in school and I actually miss it, so when he started talking about wanting to quit I couldn’t understand. He only had a year left until he would have graduated, but he thought that he could make a good living out on the streets, that an education didn’t really matter.

  Thirty minutes went by fast, and by the end of our conversation I was scared. Scared for him and what he wanted to do with his life. But what could I have done? I didn’t have the right to preach to him about what was right or wrong because, let’s face it, I work on the streets seven nights a week. I should have preached to him, though – and maybe then he would have made it.

  Anyway, after Elijah rambled on about his goals in life, he made it known that he wanted to work for Big Jon. I told him upfront that I thought it was a horrible idea and that he could get hurt. He thought that he could handle it and be successful. In my eyes, selling drugs is by no means being successful, but out here, when someone has their mind set on something, they do it. I thought that if I didn’t help Elijah, he would try to take it into his own hands – and that scared me.

  I’m not close to Big Jon in any way, but we are at least acquaintances and Elijah knew that. I have spoken to him in passing during the midnight hours plenty of times, and he has always been polite to me in his own way. Of course he holds no respect for anyone like me; that’s the way it works, I know that.

  That night I made the worst mistake by telling Elijah that I would talk to Jon. I seriously didn’t think Jon would go for it, though, and so felt quite safe making that promise. Also, I guess I was afraid that I would lose Elijah as a friend if I didn’t. That was a stupid way to think. He probably would’ve understood. Maybe he would still be here today, sitting next to me, joking around the way we always did. I can’t help but blame myself.

  I really need to snap out of it! With all of the thinking about that particular night, I’ve ruined my buzz, and now it’s already time for me to go to work.

  Normally my high doesn’t make me obsess about any certain thing, but lately I can’t help it. I just miss him so much. The only friend I ever had.

  CHAPTER 3

  Walking to work isn’t exciting either. There is nothing spectacular to see, it’s miserable. The street lights are dim and the cobblestone roads are filled with trash in this part of town. It’s as if this area is forgotten, far from the world of executives, desperate housewives and
children at play. It appears to be a ghost town, except for the gang of men and young boys joking and carrying on by City Liquors, and clown-faced women who are walking around in six-inch heels, looking for a catch.

  Getting through the night feels like forever sometimes, evoking misery and the anxiety that I’ve managed to hide all day long. At night, I must become someone that I’m not. But I guess that after a year of being out here on the streets, I really am that other person.

  Most nights it takes at least an hour of standing at my post on the corner of Benz Street until work starts coming my way. I call it work for a few reasons. One being because it sounds more appealing – to me. What I do disgusts me, so it is a lot of work on my part to make it through the night.

  The other women that walk this street don’t seem to mind their job at all. They happily talk to one another and speak to every man that drives their way. It takes me a while to ground myself, control my mind and become appealing to those who pass by.

  I don’t have a certain technique, but I do have something the other women on this block don’t – I’m young and reasonably attractive. I lie about my age frequently. I have even managed to get away with being twenty-one years old, when I am really only sixteen. I would never get any clients if I was honest about my age. Besides, this job isn’t about honesty, it’s about money and that’s it. There is no satisfaction.

  Once I manage to get over the nauseating feeling in my stomach, I am able to make myself available. I will walk towards the street and down the sidewalk at a slow pace in a way that I would normally not walk. I have to actually concentrate on swaying my hips for appeal. I gaze into almost every car that slows down when passing, batting my eyes and smiling in a way that is sure to catch someone’s eye.

  As horrifying as it may sound, I do have a couple of regular clients. It doesn’t make the job any better, it still disgusts me, but at least I know what they are about and how they treat girls like me. They also don’t make me do anything out of the ordinary, like some men do. People are sick and want what they want, sometimes the unspeakable. I guess that’s why they come to the block, instead of asking their girlfriends or wives – which many of our clients do have. If their wives knew what they were doing, they’d be devastated.

  I am getting off track. The point is, it’s a horrible job and I am ashamed to announce what I do. But, just in case I haven’t been very clear, I’m a prostitute. I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined I’d end up out here on the streets like this. When I ran away from home a year ago, I had a plan – and this was not it. But life is hard. Survival is the key and I was starving, freezing and withering away to nothing. I did what was needed to survive – and still do.

  It has been a slow night tonight, with no work for at least two hours. There are normally close to ten girls out on the block, but tonight there are maybe six of us out here. I think Michelle, the oldest, is the only one who has been picked up. In many ways I am relieved, yet at the same time I’m really in need of some money. I haven’t managed to eat anything all day and I need a shower. If I gather enough money tonight, I can get a cheap room during the day tomorrow and clean up a little. I need it, bad.

  Through the thick fog that has settled in, I manage to see a set of headlights coming my way. When the car slows down and pulls up to the curb next to me, I can tell by the outer appearance that the driver is probably hideous. I have learned over the past year that a car actually says a lot about a person. The chocolate brown, beat up and rusted El Camino looks about fifty years old, and cars like that are never a good sign.

  I walk over to the car with my lips curled and a scandalous smile upon my face. I place my hands above the passenger side window and bend down, revealing my cleavage and face to the driver. At first, I can not see his face because he leans over to wind down the window. Once he does, the scent of stale cigar smoke and rotten fast food reaches my nostrils quickly. I try hard to stand my ground, seeming interested in the overweight, unshaven and obviously unclean man who is looking up at me. His smile only makes his appearance worse. His teeth are chipped and rotten, which I am sure is not helping the smell that seems to surround me.

  I bend down even closer to the window and give him a quick wink. With that, he jolts with excitement.

  “You lookin’ for some fun tonight?” I ask, while quickly stroking his arm.

  It is always best to tease the men a little bit, give them a small taste of what’s to come. This almost guarantees that they will want your services. Anyway, once I touch his sweaty arm he surely is ready to get me into his Camino.

  “Get on in here,” is all he says to me, as I open his rickety door and sit down on the coffee-stained seat.

  He decides to drive a couple of miles down the road to the cheapest motel on this side of town. Even though it’s only a short distance to the motel, it feels like an eternity. Every time I look over at him, his beady eyes are focused on me. Of course, I try to keep his attention by occasionally touching his leg or giving him a flirtatious wink, but honestly, his gaze makes me feel a bit sick.

  The Sunny Days Motel isn’t charming in any way. It looks more like a roach hotel. I don’t even know how it stays open, because there are always vacancies – there are never more than three cars in the lot. The rooms always smell like mildew and the beds are very old and worn out. None of this matters to me though; it’s not like I’m going on a summer vacation. I will go in, do what needs to be done and hopefully leave within the hour. I only give my customers an hour, unless they are paying me very well.

  After he parks his car, I get out and wait for him to return with the key. Ten minutes seem to pass until I see him walking towards me. In those ten minutes I have been able to smoke a couple of cigarettes and touch up my makeup. I only started smoking a few weeks ago. I realised that it helps calm my nerves, because even though I appear serene and collected on the outside, I am truly full of anxiety.

  As he gets closer to me, I am able to see the grin on his face. He is like a kid in a candy shop, anticipating the moment he will get his goodies. I walk towards him a bit, smiling and once again giving him a flirtatious wink.

  “All set, sexy?” I ask, getting even closer to his sweaty body and putting my fingers through his hair.

  Not a word escapes his mouth, but his body language says it all. He flashes the room key and then walks a few steps down to room number eight. I stand back only a little and rub his back as he wiggles the key to open the door.

  Once the room is revealed, my stomach turns. I walk in behind him, take off my heels and close the door. He quickly sits on the bed and stares directly at me with the most sickening look upon his face. I hope the next hour passes quickly – yuck.

  It took me an hour and a half to get back to Benz Street. He ended up dropping me off two blocks away, and why wouldn’t he, considering he’d got what he wanted, right? Like I said before, I don’t expect any of my customers to respect me. Anyway, once I make it back to my post there is only one girl left on the block. Two in the morning is the witching hour out here. You never know if work will pick up or stay at a standstill. I don’t mind waiting a while to be picked up again though – I need time to rejuvenate.

  The man who picked me up earlier was pretty gross, but at least he wasn’t asking for anything out of the ordinary. I managed to weasel thirty bucks out of him, so even if I don’t come across more work tonight, at least I will have enough cash to check into a roach motel for a quick shower tomorrow. Or maybe grab a bite to eat.

  Every night I manage to stick to one major rule in the hope of keeping myself reasonably safe. Some girls out here don’t have any self-appointed guidelines, which I think is crazy. They all tell me that keeping any restrictions on what I am willing to do will make me lose money in the end. I don’t care though, I’d rather be safe – protection is always needed. One day I am getting out of here, and I don’t want to go into the real world with some sort of STD or a kid in tow.

  Most nights, Benz Street
is full of ruckus. Often the noise comes from a group of guys standing across the street drinking liquor and fooling around or fighting. Occasionally I get pestered by an addict of some sort, or the homeless, asking me for money. But tonight it is very quiet.

  I will be out here for another hour or two, hopefully getting a little more work. I try to leave the area before dawn, avoiding any police officers that might pass through.

  I’m not sure what I am going to do yet. It’s a hard decision. Do I shower and rest, and starve for the day? Or get a little bit of food? Sometimes it is hard to decide between the two. Showering is needed, and meth and food don’t really go together.

  One thing crosses my mind though; if I do go see Jonah again tomorrow I can probably score some food, which would save me for the day, making it possible to get a room and shower. I don’t know, though. I’m not so sure it’s worth it, having to tell him all the sappy stories of my life. Also, I don’t see how revealing my past to him makes a difference in him helping me. I didn’t say I wanted his help anyway.

  CHAPTER 4

  I stopped at a little sandwich shop on my way back at about four in the morning. The shop isn’t twenty-four hours, but opens at the crack of dawn. It’s very small and doesn’t get a lot of custom, which I like. I try to stay away from places that are filled with people, because they look at me as if I have the plague or something. My breakfast of choice is a bagel with sausage, egg and cheese. It fills my stomach and is dirt cheap, coming to only five dollars with a drink.