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She sighs. Brown with a dash of green. Her eyes look tired. Her posture slumps. Index finger and thumb pinch the bridge of her nose. She sits back in her chair, fingers combing through curls that couldn't bother to be tamed. She gestures with her hand for me to take a seat. I oblige. She mumbles and grumbles to herself about the stupid and naive woman that had just left is.
"Her husband is a god damn creep."
At least someone else can see it.
She shivers. Brown with a dash of green. Her eyes look empathic. She takes a hair tie from a pocket that was hidden from the prying eye and puts the curls that couldn't be brushed through into a neat bun. She swivels in her chair, back and fourth. Side to side. She blows out a breath. A sympathetic smile takes hold of her lips.
"Are you okay?"
Was I okay? Wasn't that the golden question. The one worth a million dollars. The one asked out of guilt. A question asked with no questioning behind it. The question asked after seeing something uncomfortable. The questioned asked after being told horrible news from another. The question no one ever answers truthfully.
I shrug. She nods like she gets it.
Brown eyes with a dash of green. Skin a color that people air brush onto their own. Curls that can't be tamed but look exquisite nevertheless. Thick dark eyebrows. Eye lashes that could cause a tornado if she blinks. Lips adorned with a color that would make Dorothy's slippers jealous. Nails with pale pink polish. A rock on her left ring finger. Rocks through the lobes of her ears. Pale pink sweater made of something I'd never get my hands on. Blue denim jeans with shoes I couldn't afford.
Beauty, money, family. She didn't get it.
She slips a hand under her sweater. She produces a cellphone. Tight lipped smile. She holds up a finger and walks away from the worn desk she sits at and disappears around a corner. I take in my surroundings. Entries. Exits. Windows. Locks. Know where they are in case I need to escape.
I thought it was an old church. It's really just an old building with a peculiar build. Shiny tiled floors remind me of the way they look in schools. White walls with dollar store art decorating them. Separate hallways covered with a blue carpet tinted with grey. Doors on both sides of the walls. Boys walk in and out and around the door and rooms. Some as old as me. Some look like they can't be over the age of five.
Still, I tense. I crack my knuckles. My leg bobs up and down at a rapid pace. I lick my dry lips. My skin itches. I squirm in the seat. My thighs press together. I still haven't showered. Stevens still inside me. I want the acid out of my stomach, I want the memory out of my mind, I need the remnants of his time gone.
She comes back.
Back in the chair that creeks when she sits. Her hands holding onto the arm rests. She swivels back and fourth. Side to side. I hate the movement. She sucks her teeth. Her index fingers scratches away the wisps of baby hairs flittering over her forehead. She smiles, she's looks young.
"Bad news, the girls home a few blocks away is full and the church down the street stopped taking in kids. But, good news, I talked to my boss and he says you can stay here but only for a few days and it has to stay under wraps. Legal purposes and all that. I know that Lady probably thinks I stay here or something but I don't. I usually just stay right here, up front, taking calls, making transfers and placing the boys in their rooms until bed time rolls around."
She taps the keys on the keyboard.
"Not much of a talker huh?"
I swallow. She smiles. Brown with a dash of green. Her eyes are sad. She gives me a once over more than once. Her lips purse. Dios, ni siquiera pienso que quiero saber lo que ese hombre puede haber hecho contigo. She mumbles to herself in Spanish. I'm not sure what she says but I think hear the word that means god.
God.
The Almighty. The man upstairs. Almost every religion has one. Some have multiple. He's supposed to make everything better. Make it bearable. Help when the times get too rough. You're supposed to pray and wait. And you do. You pray. And you wait. And you wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. And nothing. But keep you're hope alive they say. Keep the faith in your beliefs and he'll come when you have reached the lowest you can get.
He hasn't made anything better. He hasn't made it bearable. He hasn't helped when times got rough. I've prayed. And I've waited. I've waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And nothing. But I kept my hope alive. My faith hadn't wavered. I've reached the lowest a person my age can get. Endured the things you gasp about when you hear it on the news. He never came. Not even a manifestation of Jesus' face in my food.
If god is a man I, myself, wouldn't be shocked. Put your trust in him. He will be your savior. He should be your everything.
They tell them at a young age that men are the protectors. They protect the women. They protect the children. They make the money. Cater to them, they say. Let him know how much you appreciate him. Show him your appreciation. Love him. Support him. Cook for him. Clean for him. The man of the house, they say he is.
They tell girls at the most pivotal times of their lives that their better half will be a man. The person she shares her bed with? A man. Shares a bank account with? A man. Has children with? A man. Marries? A man. The most intimate moments and happiest times. A man will be beside her.
Though they don't tell them everything. Flowers and orange sunsets. That's how they paint the picture of men. They don't tell them that men take. They take and they take and they take. But it's okay. Men have urges. Men have needs. 'Boys will be boys' they say. How can they control themselves when she's wearing those shorts and that shirt.
Protectors. Earners. Strength. They group those definitions with the same men who don't stop when she says no. Who snatch wallets and purses from the unsuspecting. Who cant help but to get animalistic when they see the exposed flesh of the opposite sex.
Black as night but clear as day. Predators. Thieves. Weak. That's what men are.
