Solstice

PROLOGUE.

      They said it was something about the way she walked. Her pumps tapped the cement lightly, like she was a ballerina. The way she sashayed down the street like she was diamonds or gold—her confidence was on point. Some people told her she wasn't shit. They didn't understand her hustle like I did. They don't understand what she had to go through what she got. To me, ole girl was Mother Teresa. She wasn't a saint and she wouldn't front like she was either. She never passed judgement on anybody and never thought she was better—but in my eyes she was. She brought back so much and never asked for nothing in return. I admired her hustle — her drive to get what she wanted in life. She didn't take any handouts or any type of "gifts", she could get it by herself.

"Aw, look at her," they would whisper. "She walkin' down here like she the queen of New York or some shit." Girls on the corner would laugh at her. They sounded like wild hyenas, cackling, trying to tear her down until she was dust. They'd hate on her to convince themselves they was better because they worked a nine-to-five. They thought their jobs were more reliable because they had a boss to tell them when they could clock in and out. That wasn't true. Solstice wouldn't have been working a week and would be straight—she had more of reliable job than them bitches could ever imagine. She deserved everything that she got because the streets was grimy and she knew how to work her way around them. You couldn't imagine the shit she had to go through.

The average person would love to think that people do this shit out of choice. Folks on the outside looking in think that prostitution is easy. They be thinking that you just sit on the corner, wait on somebody, jump in they car, do what you gotta do, then bounce. For me, they ain't no thrills in this shit. I get nothing from it. This is last resort because it's not like somebody gonna save us. Who are we to think that?

I think Solstice had something programmed in her mind. I don't know what it was. She didn't have any kids, but at the same time, she had the mother's instinct type thing. She wanted to protect you. She didn't want the streets to eat you alive, she'd want to show you the game. Solstice had trial and error like everybody else. She talked like she lived a thousand lives when she was only twenty years old. The world chewed her up and spit her out, and wouldn't wish that on nobody. Not even those hating hoes on the corner.

And naw, Solstice didn't have a sob story, neither. Her daddy didn't molest her. Her momma wasn't no crackhead that used to beat on her. Sex work is a supply and demand type thing. If niggas didn't want it, it wouldn't exist. Folks always blame the girls for just capitalize off another way to get money.

From young, they'll sell you the American dream. That's the lie they tell since Kindergarten, and the lie they'll tell you until you graduate high school. They tell you, "Oh, just get good grades and go to college. You got it made from there!" That's bullshit. Degrees barely mean nothing no more. Especially if you want to do something creative. Being a lawyer or doctor may bring in the pay checks, but that's not what I want do in life. Besides, nobody wanna be in school for that damn long.