THE ENCOUNTER THAT CHANGED MY LIFE
I started running furiously after the stranger that felt like stealing my handbag on my way out of the coffee shop not very far away from my apartment, and after he foolishly tripped by himself I went on him, kept him down, snatched my handbag and checked if it still had all my belongings. Needless to say, I kicked him heartily where he deserved to be kicked. As I looked up with the triumphant look still drawn on my face, I saw that a little girl across the road was staring at me. “I wish I was like you,” she said, expressing her admiration. I smiled, crossed the road to her and whispered in her ear: “You wouldn’t want to be like me, sweetheart. Ever.”
I always managed to catch a glimpse of them when they looked at me wandering around the streets, and they always failed to hide their “who-is-this-outlandish-person” expression. Sometimes, when I felt like I shouldn’t care any less, I treated them with the usual poker face, but when they occasionally got on my nerves I couldn’t help but ask them why the hell do they make such a big deal about who I was and what I looked like. They wouldn’t answer back; probably because they knew they weren’t to judge or criticize me just because they were better at hiding their so-called sins behind bedroom doors, and I’d let them walk away awkwardly while I kept walking down the streets that I loved. In their eyes I always was some kind of a disturbing, bizarre person. I dare say they would even think that I was somehow unearthly or a disgrace to humanity, and this is just because I was a streetwalker.
When many people that I used to know found out what I had been doing they asked me why, but they could never understand…they couldn’t understand someone who no longer knew about home and shelter and affection. They had a home and I did not. My home had once been a welcoming house in Los Angeles where I’d lived with my parents. As an only child of a loving family, my childhood had been magical, until my father died of pneumonia and my mother had to re-marry after a few months for financial sustain. He, who I curse while I call stepdad, turned out to be a complete swine. He started using me whenever he felt like it for his own pleasures. Despite his threatening I would sometimes try and open up with my mother about this but she always replied with “we don’t talk about these things here, Margeary.” Eventually I left the place I once had called home and went out on that open road, ready to live a life of sin and to be the whore I had been turned into. Because, frankly, I never really cared about what is sinful anymore. I found a cheap apartment in the darker side of Los Angeles. I changed my wardrobe and soon afterwards the streets became my addiction. I’d always walk around pretending to be seeking someone until I met a car or a wanderer who was interested. A few months later I got employed in a brothel not close to where I was living, and I’d walk to the brothel every other night smelling of cheap perfume and with my favourite pair of fishnet gloves—only to return to my place with the stench of drunk men and wine. At least I could make a living.
During my days off I was a completely different person than the ratchet at the bars. Most of the times I woke up early in the afternoon feeling like I had been smacked all night, which to a point was accurate. I wouldn’t brush my hair and my lashes were falling off. I’d remove my fishnet stockings and gloves, take off my three or four layers of make-up, take a long shower and stare at the cracked mirror in front of me which for a while showed the helpless girl who sought sincere attention. It was evident that I wasn’t in my best psychological state ever. I always felt trapped inside my own psychological damage. After this daily “me-to-me” moment of realisation I would fetch some food from the grocery that was twenty minutes away from where I lived. Fortunately the people who were there frequently never really cared about me so I wouldn’t receive the hard stares I’d receive during other days. After a light breakfast I’d lay on my couch and strum on the guitar I had brought with me from mother’s house. My guitar was the only thing that made this hellish apartment feel slightly more like home, as although my identity and dignity had been removed from me, my love for music could never be taken by anyone. So I would just play random melodies for hours… just me and my guitar.
It was the morning after one of these days when I realised seven months had passed from the day I’d left the house, and after being used by strangers for seven months, I decided to be myself for the rest of the day. I did not care that I could get fired, I just wanted to have my former self back at least for one night. That evening, I did not walk to the brothel in my fishnet gloves, but I walked to my favourite bar in casual clothes and with my guitar firmly in my hand. As soon as I entered the usual customers seemed overwhelmed. Of course. I was one of them daily whores. Even my two prostitute friends I had made there squeaked awkwardly in surprise. I sat by the bartender in the small cornered bar and started playing my own song which I’d been working on for weeks. I instantly caught everyone’s attention, but my eyes went on a young, burly man who was sitting by a table, having a drink by himself, and I played for him. As soon as I finished, everyone stood indecisive for at least a minute. As I kept my eyes fixed on this man, he suddenly stood up and started applauding me. The first few followed reluctantly until everyone was cheering for me, the rebellious whore that came into the bar with her guitar. The man, brown-eyed and with a smile on his face, came to me and told me to get out of the bar and I didn’t feel like refusing. As we walked to his car, he asked me if I was hungry, and upon the realisation that my stomach was grumbling furiously, I accepted his request for dinner. “This turned out much better than I thought”, I said to myself. Halfway through the dinner I caught him staring at me. “When I entered the bar I never thought I’d meet such an attractive girl.” Great. One of them, just like all the others, they all want one thing. But as soon as I was wondering whether to stay or not, he started asking me about my personal life. I was not the kind of person who would share my thoughts and past, but for that moment I just felt like spilling everything…I couldn’t find someone who actually seemed like they cared… before that night.
By the end of what I realised had ended up being a very personal date, I got to know Taylor, the thirty-two year old man from Los Angeles. He was single and he worked in a glass factory. What put a fixed smile on my face was that he also had a love for music, as he made me listen to his recordings of him playing the piano. He gave me his number and, with me giving him directions, he drove me to my apartment, where he kissed me and promised me we’ll meet again. And we did. I felt so lucky that I finally found someone who was willing to offer me protection. He’d pick me up right after work every other day and every weekend and we’d hang out till dawn- sometimes by the beach, other times at his place and practically everywhere else. He told me I could quit my job as I deserve much more, and shortly afterwards he got me employed as a waitress in a luxurious hotel, which was far more dignifying than a slut. Eventually, my few whore friends ended up quitting or in mental hospitals banging their heads against the walls that imprisoned them. This man made me forget the whore I was, he saved me from myself.
It’s been four months. I can’t even believe how much my life has changed in these four months, how twenty-four year old Margaery, the wrecked up streetwalker in high heels, now means the world to a man. And he means the universe to me, and not even all the stars in this universe can ever sum up how much I owe and love him. We’re laying down on the sand on Venice Beach, admiring the sunset. I just feel like pausing this moment and live the rest of my life in it. Because I was scared I’d never find any answers, and I found all the answers in his eyes. I was lost and now I’m found. Because I have found my true self again, and this encounter changed my life completely. Oh, Taylor, I have nothing without you, I’m nothing without you.
