casper

It was 4:30 a.m when I woke up. I had a text message. My stomach twisted as I read it. I weighed my options carefully, and typed a one word response. I set the phone back down, my heart pounding.

I'm so sick of this shit. I can't clarify. Maybe I can explain it, some day.

I waited for another buzz of my phone. But got nothing. This angered me further. I had slept for three hours. Insomnia is my nightly companion.


Two hours later, I sat up, and took the dogs out, alone.


I don't like running for exercise, and rarely do it. But I needed to expel the frustration that had been churning in my chest for days.

It was beautiful outside, and I admired the neighborhood which I rarely explore. I was nearly the only human awake. Kittens stared at me from beneath parked cars, and my dogs panted happily.


A while later, I turned back, having met a construction zone. Breathing deeply into the back of my ribs, I felt the rush of my breath through pursed lips. It was the only sound, except for the sweeping of my shoes on the street.


There was a junkie on the sidewalk, across the street from me. Turned away, I could see the dark, slender body writhing and slapping it's body on the pavement. Moaning. The person was begging for help, but speaking to no one in particular.

I considered it. I had left my cell at home. The person hadn't noticed me. My dogs were smiling up at me, waiting for a destination.

I ran them back home, without taking off the leashes, I let them into the back yard, and promised to return. I grabbed my phone, and dialed non-emergency.


By the time I had navigated through the menu options, I had returned to view the junkie.

Her wig slipped off to reveal a He, and his head was winding crazily around, as the pleading words for help continued, without tone. Slapping his legs, he rolled up one pant leg, and fell on his side.

I described this to the dispatcher.


I stood in the shade, still panting. I bent to stretch, and gazed around me. Several trucks drove by, but no one stopped. A white cloud caught my eye, and I discovered an old lady. Lounging on her porch, sipping on her pipe. She was perhaps 20 yards from the junkie. She did not look at him, or at me.

I thanked the dispatcher, and hung up.

When the police cruiser appeared, I motioned to the driver. A blond female cop turned gaze to the direction of my outreached arm, and nodded her head, mouthing the words, "Thank you."

I went back home.


Fourteen hours later, I swung open the black door to the inside of Lucky Devil, and rushed downstairs. I was still buzzing from the event which had just ended, and I'm never late for work.

There was a new Mid girl.

"Mid" is the shift between 4-9, and it can be brutal. There is no DJ, no bouncer, and often the strangest of patrons will venture in. Money is typically unimpressive, and sometimes downright saddening. I do not miss them.


I wiped down the stage, and began my set. The Clash told everyone to "Go straight to hell, boy...." There were two men at my stage.

One of the Mid girls, tall and wearing a pot-leaf bikini, approached my stage, leaned down and began whispering into my patron's ear. He smiled. I moved closer to them, cocked my head to the side, and cut into their conversation with a hard stare.


Never take a customer from another girl's stage. Never.

I found out later, that she was from Seattle. Seattle girls are the worst. Everyone is a product of their environment, and those clubs up there are brutal, and the antithesis of mine.

Sharks.

She walked away, but when the man looked up at me with nervous eyes, I knew he was getting up. As he stood, he pushed his single dollar toward me, and shrugged, "I'm sorry, but you're still my favorite."

The hypocrisy of the comment amused me. And I merely raised one eyebrow, and turned away.

She took him into the private room, and emptied him of his real money.

When finished with my pathetic set, I walked from the stage with $4, and walked downstairs.

There was a girl I did not recognize. She was scheduled to work the night shift with me. I found her, in the bathroom. She was shuddering, sobbing over the filthy sink. Her face was swollen and black with makeup. The bouncer told me her name was Colby.

She had tripped, walking the floor, and fallen on her face. She was drunk, and something else too.

For some reason, without feeling any emotion, I wet a paper towel and wiped her face, cooing into her neck, and brushing her hair back.

She could barely speak, she was loaded.

I directed her to the tall chair, and examined her naked body. Her pink underwear was inside-out and backwards. She had no shoes on. Her tan, lanky body was covered in scratches, in various stages of healing. She smelled awful, and was hiccuping snot, still shaking.

I raised an eyebrow, at my Bouncer.

Justin the Bouncer looked on, "She said she got in a car accident today."

I shook my head. The deep, half-dollar sized gash on her right ankle wasn't fresh, it looked about two days old. Her feet were calloused, and two toenails were broken.

I asked her where her shoes were.

She only turned her head away, and groaned.

She had lost her shoes, somewhere in the building.

I took a breath, and was surprised and pleased when I heard my mother's voice; " That's a real nasty boo-boo you got on your foot.... You don't want that to get infected, do ya? Let's get that bandaged up."

Justin disappeared up the stairs, and returned with three First Aid kits.

I folded some gauze and taped it diagonally around her ankle, wrapping a nude cloth bandage over it. Justin secured it with pins.

He rumbled softly, "This might poke you, let me know if it does, we can reposition it."

She nodded. I reached for my water, "Hey, I don't want this, you should drink it."

She took the glass, and held it to her chest, cradling it. She took a small sip form the black straw.

Her body shook, and she began sobbing hysterically. She let me hug her shoulders from behind. I instructed her to breathe with me. I pressed my chest to her sticky back, so she could feel the rise and fall of it, and follow as such.

"Okay, honey. You're here. You're safe. What's wrong?"

Finally, she spoke. "I suck."

I laughed, "We all suck sometimes."

She groaned again, and cried more.

Justin and I exchanged glances. He went upstairs to tell the DJ that she needed to go home. She could not possibly work tonight.


We were alone, in the room. My hands encircled her shoulders. I leaned in, hoping she would raise her eyes to meet mine.

"Listen, You're in a good place. Everyone is nice here. Okay? It's okay, it's early, and the night will be mellow. My name is Elle, it's very nice to meet you."

She looked up, her wet lidded eyes bright pink.

"Hi."

"Hi Colby. You know..." I smiled, attempting to look sheepish, "You're a very pretty girl....but your breath fuckin' stinks."

She actually laughed. I told her I'd get some gum. I heard my name from above me.


I had to go onstage again.

When I came downstairs, she was wolfing down a salad. She smiled at me. She stood, now dressed. And let out a deep sight.

She grabbed her bag, and left, without a word. I wonder if I will see her again


I didn't feel much of my own emotions for the night; they didn't seem relevant.

When I walked past the bar, a few minutes later, a woman I recognized motioned me over, giggling. "Oh my gawd, did you see that girl eat shit?! That was crazy!" Her balding boyfriend agreed, nodding and grinning.

A spark of anger, and I managed a tight lipped smile. "Yeah. Poor thing. It's too bad."

Realizing their good time was lost on me, they turned away.

What makes me so angry, is that I know that Colby wasn't crying because she tripped. Doubtful. What we witnessed, speaks of years of abuse, and maltreatment. I tried to give her my strength and patience, I wanted her to soak my energy through her skin, when I held her. I later washed my arms and chest, in the sink. Staring at my lines around my eyes, as I scrubbed in silence.

I found out that she had arrived on shift in such a condition. She had told one of the other girls, "My whole body hurts. I got in a car accident today. I don't want to work, but my boyfriend said I need to. I'm so tired."

I really feel like the only person in this world, at times. Although I have tears in my eyes now, I felt nothing, all day. I'm trying to be a good person. I do terrible things sometimes. For which I feel no remorse. And then I do them again. But I think I'm carving out a space in my Self, for something better.

I left with $50 last night.

But I wasn't upset. Because, hey, it can always be worse.

Love,

Casper-Elle