Emery

2.

 Andrea Jones. My mother. A brave woman, just like the meaning of her name. She decided to name me Emery, which means Powerful. 

Andrea works tirelessly to keep the brothel running. She was always busy, talking to the clients, negotiating prices, or managing the women who worked for her. She didn't even have time for men. She always told me, ''Men only want one thing, The peach between your thick thighs.''

One day, I mustered up the courage to ask her a question that had been nagging at me for weeks. "Ma," I said tentatively, "why do you do this? Why do you let these men come here and..." I trailed off, not sure how to finish my question.

My mother paused and looked at me with a mixture of sadness and resignation.

"Emery" she said, using my full name for the first time in a long time. She just usually called me 'Emmy'. 

 "I do this because it's the only way I know how to make money. It's not an easy life, but it's the only life we have right now."

I didn't understand all of what she was saying, but I could tell that there was more to it than just money. I wanted to ask more questions, but I knew better than to push my luck.

As I grew up I began to realize that my mother's work wasn't just about the money. I started to notice the way she interacted with the women who worked for her. She was protective of them, making sure that they were safe and taken care of.

"This is no way for a little girl to live," one of the women, named Jasmine, said to my mother one day. "She should be in school, learning and playing with other kids."

My mother sighed, her face lined with worry. "I know, Jasmine. But what can I do? I can't afford to send her to school, and I can't leave her alone."

The brothel brought money, but just enough money for rent,  to feed us and pay the girls. Not enough for school fees. And so, my life continued in this strange, unsettling pattern. I was homeschooled by Aunty Susan, who was one of my mothers girls. She was quite good at maths.

 I learned to read and write, to add and subtract, to understand the world as best I could, but there was so much I still didn't understand. Why do  men pay to sleep with a woman, night after night? Why did my mother tolerate their behavior? Why did she always seem so sad, even when she was smiling? 

Why...