5

PAINT CHIPS

Story by Susie Finkbeiner Illustration by Jackie Dumbleton

’ d been walking the track for over a month . It didn ’ t take me long to figure out where to go to meet the men who paid higher prices to use me . I learned how to look at them , what to say . Every day , before going out , I wondered about my future . If I even had one . How long could I do the drugs before overdosing . When the date would come that got pleasure from strangling me . How long I had before Mack got tired of me and dumped me under a bridge . No one would care about one more dead whore . Every once in a while a girl disappeared or rumors spread about how she was murdered or moved away . Sometimes , they did it to punish the girls . Other times , they moved them or killed them because someone was poking around . Asking too many questions . Trying to rescue their daughter or friend .

I tried to mind my own business . I didn ’ t become friends with the other girls in the motel . Early on I realized that it was important to switch up dealers and neighborhoods just to keep myself safe . Survival wasn ’ t easy . But I knew I had to do it by myself .

One night a man pulled up and rolled down the window of his SUV .

“ Hey , you want a date ?” I asked , flipping my hair and swaying my hips . I wore a pouty smile . “ Get in ,” the man said , unlocking the doors . “ What ya want , handsome ?” I asked , climbing in . “ What all do you do ?” He licked his lips , ogled my body . “ Everything ,” I said . “ Anything you want .” “ Tell me .” He wrinkled his nose . I listed everything I did and how much I charged .

He touched me as I spoke . “ Hey , I get paid first ,” I said . “ Sounds fair .” He handed me a few twenty-dollar bills . As soon as I put the money in my pocket the door opened and someone pulled me out . “ You ’ re under arrest for solicitation ,” a woman in uniform said as she handcuffed me .

She stuffed me in the back of a squad car and drove me to the station . She glanced back at me every few minutes . Her eyes squinted .

At the police station they took my mug shot , fingerprinted me and told me to sit in a small room . The officer who arrested me entered the room . She sat on the edge of the table , looking down at me .

“ Can we get a bigger room ?” I asked . “ I ’ m a little claustrophobic .”

“ Nope ,” she answered , flipping through a file .

“ What ’ s your name ?” “ You want my real name or my street name ?” “ What do you think ?” “ My name ’ s Dorothea Schmidt .” “ How old are you ?” “ Thirteen .” “ A little young to be out selling yourself , huh ?” she asked , harsh voiced . “ Walking the track like a big girl , huh ?”

“ Yeah . I really enjoy my job ,” I said , rolling my eyes . “ How long have you been a prostitute ?” “ I don ’ t know . Almost a year maybe .” “ What ’ s your pimp ’ s name ?” “ I don ’ t have a pimp .” “ Really .” She pointed at the tattoo on my arm . “ You don ’ t happen to work for Mack ? Big fat guy ?”

“ I don ’ t know what you ’ re talking about .” I paused . “ Seriously , lady . Do you really think that a kid like me wakes up one day and just decides that she wants to be a hooker ?”

“ Oh , honey ,” she said , her tone patronizing . “ Do you know how many times a day we hear that ?”

“ Then maybe you should start listening .” I leaned forward . “ If I stopped doing this , they would kill me . Do you even understand that ?”

“ Well , you don ’ t look like you have a leash around your neck .” She pointed to the track marks on my arms . The proof of my heroin habit . “ And I see you aren ’ t too good to party .”

“ I ’ m not talking to you anymore .” I folded my arms across my chest . “ So either lock me up or let me go .”

I spent the night in jail . They released me before the sun broke the darkness of the morning . That day Mack beat me up for not bringing him enough money . He didn ’ t care that I ’ d been arrested . He told me I should have been more careful . ◆

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