We lay in bed, he was on his side facing the wall, his back to me. I was staring at the ceiling. He was asleep and I was pretending, dreaming of love.
I pretended that we were a couple in love. I was madly in love with him and he was madly in love with me.
As I pretended, I whispered out loud, softly, gently, "Max, you're so good to me. I love you and I know you love me too. You make me so happy and I hope I make you happy. The kids adore you. Sam is 10, he's smart and strong. Jenna is 7, she lights up a room and Pete is 5, he has the smile of an angel. They're wonderful kids and you're so good to them."
I get home in the morning and pay the babysitter. The kids are up and we have breakfast together. I pack their lunches and drive them to school. All they know is that mommy works the night shift.
Three kids with three different men, the only true gift from my job. They ask about their dad and I say he's dead. They ask why they look so different from one another and I say it's genetics.
I make more money selling my body than I would doing anything else. I have no education, no skills and no talent. It's easy money, it pays the bills, it puts food on the table and it provides for my family. I hate it and I wish my life were different.
At this point, I feel as though I'm too far gone, I'm beyond redemption and there's no point stopping. Who would have a woman like me? What else could I do?
I've reached a silent resignation. I've dissociated myself from my body. I float above the humiliation, the shame, the loss of dignity, the lack of love. My emptiness is complete. All that matters is my children.
I hate my job and there are days when I scream inside, "Why can't you just love me for me, without expecting anything in return? If you know that I'm doing this for the money, why not just give me the money? Why not just look after me and care for me? If you know I need to eat, to put a roof over my head, to put clothes on my back, why not just help me do that, without humiliating me, without subjecting me to this shame, without stripping me of all my dignity. If this was your mother or sister, how would you feel? You don't want your family doing this but it's okay if I do? Why? You don't care about me, all you care about is yourself."
And I am faced with my responsibilities and life goes on.
I do all my grocery shopping and errands in the morning because that's when the late night partiers are sleeping. I don't want to run in to them anywhere.
One day, while I was at the park with my kids, a guy came over and we started chatting. He said I looked familiar. I said I'd remember. He insisted he knew me and I said I don't forget a face. I don't. He'd paid for my services before.
He asked me out on a date and I said, "I don't date men who sleep with ..." I was going to say prostitutes, but I said, "women on their first date." He said it was just coffee. I declined.
I changed my wigs, my perfumes, my outfits, my makeup, even my accent. Three months later, he came in again. He didn't recognize me. And I was still pretending, dreaming of love.
Copyright © 2014, Carter Kagume. All Rights Reserved.
