I’ve Confessed None
Of that to the great people here
at Walk Straight, a place founded
by an ex-prostitute determined
to help reshape the tomorrows
of teens who want out of “the life.”
My caseworker, Sarah (who still thinks
I’m “Ruthie”) has been after me for
information. To live here, my legal
guardian has to sign off on it. I was
never arrested, so I’m not in the juvenile
justice system, therefore not a ward
of the state. When I first arrived
here, I told them my parents
were dead. That lie is catching up
to me. Walk Straight has been patient—
their goal is to take kids off the streets
and give them a safe place to live.
But there are legalities involved.
I’m scared to return to Boise and live
under my parents’ rule again. I’m also
terrified of seeing Andrew, who I love
more than anything in this world,
because he’ll want to know why—and
where—I vanished last spring.
I just don’t know how to tell him.
I’ve Been Courage Building
For weeks, and today is the day
I’ll give Sarah the information
she needs to ruin my life the rest
of the way. But it’s the only real
roadway into the future. I truly wish
Andrew could be there, too, but
he deserves someone better than me.
Someone clean. Unbroken. Worthy
of a love so intense it will leave her
breathless. Suddenly, my eyes sting.
You okay? asks Shayleece, noting
the onslaught of tears. She’s one
of thirty-two Walk Straight girls—
about my age, with dark-chocolate
skin and huge espresso eyes.
We haven’t talked much, but then
neither of us is the talkative type.
“I’m all right. Just thinking
about someone back home.”
We are at lunch, which today
is a delicious (not) tuna salad
sandwich. I never cared for tuna,
anyway, but in this setting, with
everyone eating it at the same
time, the fish smell is nauseating.
Shayleece doesn’t seem to notice.
Someone special, huh? Bet it’s a guy.
She waits for my nod before
continuing. Like a real boyfriend?
Ooh, girl! I want one of those someday.
Okay, maybe she is the talkative
type. I remain tight-lipped, except
to say, “He’s the most amazing guy
in the world.” If I think one more
time about him kissing me beneath
the broad Idaho sky, I’ll go completely
crazy. It’s the best memory I own,
but when it rises, smoke, I choke
on the knot that forms in my throat.
I’m suffocating at this moment.
I don’t want to talk about Andrew,
so I refocus the conversation,
which I guess is what we’re having
between bites of yucky tuna sandwich.
“You never had a boyfriend?”
Oh, hell no. My mom, she would
have killed me. Sex for love, which
means for free? Nah, she wouldn’t
have put up with that for one second,
and Daddy would’ve killed the guy.
Now That She’s Opened Her Mouth
It’s going to be hard to slam it
shut again. Because when I ask,
“You mean your mother knew
you were turning tricks?” she has
no compunction about sharing
her entire life story with me. Oh,
yeah. My mom’s the one who put
me out on the track. Well, she did
it for Daddy. See, she was one of
his “wifeys,” too. And know what?
Daddy was maybe my real daddy,
ain’t that a hoot? Mom was fourteen
when she started tricking, and he was
her man, so she didn’t use no protection
with him. She was fifteen when she had me.
“Wait. Your mom wanted you
to prostitute? How old were you?”
My own mother insisted I had to
get married before I even allowed
a boy to kiss me, let alone . . .
We needed the money for rent and
stuff. I was thirteen, but no big deal.
One of Daddy’s friends broke me in
when I was nine. As Daddy says,
tight pussy costs a pretty penny.
Unless You Can Coerce It
Crush what’s left of a little girl’s
childhood into dust. I know
it happens, but it’s hard to picture,
and she doesn’t even seem that upset
about it. How can that be possible?
Shayleece finishes her sandwich,
chases the last swallow with a big
gulp of chocolate milk, starts on
her giant oatmeal raisin cookie.
Who broke you in? she asks bluntly.
“You mean who did I give
my virginity to?” I realize few
enough girls here actually gifted
it to someone. Maybe only me.
“My first time was with Andrew.”
He your boyfriend? Her voice
drips incredulity, but when she
assesses my body language and
finds only truth reflected there,
she asks, So how you end up here?
“Want my cookie?” I shuttle
my tray across the table so she can
enjoy the second dessert. “This will
probably sound stupid, but I think God
sent me here. See, this priest—”
No. I don’t mean here at this table.
I mean in Vegas, in the life. I never
saw you out on the track. Daddy
woulda loved getting hold of you.
He’s always scouting for white girls.
I don’t really want to talk about
Tears of Zion with Shayleece,
so I tell her, “It’s a long story. Let’s
just say I had no choice but to run
away, and the trucker who picked
me up hitchhiking was headed
in this direction. I’ve got a question
for you, though. How did you wind
up at Walk Straight? Does your mom
know you’re here?” I watch her stuff
the last bite of cookie into her mouth.
My mom’s dead. A few crumbs fall
from her lips. Daddy makes his girls give
him five hundred every day. Mom was
short too many times. He got mad, beat
her down. I got home right as he put
the gun to her head. I ran ’cause Daddy
saw me, but didn’t know where to go.
A girl out on the track told me ’bout this
place. She said they’d keep me safe.
The Sex Trade
Is a violent business. Pimps
competing. Pimps keeping their
girls in line. Big city, small town,
makes no difference. “Did the cops
ever find out who killed her?”
Oh, hell yeah. Word got around
on the street, and you know, one
person said something to someone,
probably someone who runs other
girls, and eventually it reached
the police. Plenty of Daddy’s DNA in
that place. Then my counselor here
made me fess up about my pimp, so
now they’ve got him for murder and
for trafficking children. I still qualify.
That busts her up, and the way
she laughs, head thrown back
as she squeals and snorts, makes
me grin, despite the fact that it
isn’t funny. Am I still a child?
Okay, well, it looks like lunch
is over. Thanks for the cookie.
She pushes back from the table,
stands. If your boyfriend really
loves you, he’ll forgive you.
On Weekdays
We’re required to attend classes
both a.m. and p.m., the goal
being to earn our high school
equivalency certificates so we can
move on to productive jobs and
become solid members of society.
That’s assuming we stay long
enough to make all that happen,
and I don’t think I will once Sarah
contacts my parents. Then again,
I can’t imagine returning to Boise
High, pretending to be an ordinary
junior, a little behind on credits
because . . . Exactly why? Beyond
school, what about church? Papa’s
church, where he preaches everlasting
hellfire for infractions as insignificant
as divorce or using birth control. How
can I sit there and listen, all the while
remembering the things I’ve done?
How can I bask in the glory of God
when I’ve trolled the streets on Satan’s
arm? Shayleece claims Andrew will
forgive me. But how can I forgive myself,
or expect the Lord to offer redemption?
These Thoughts
Intrude on my concentration
this afternoon. I’m happy when
I can leave US Government behind
in favor of library hour. I requested
computer time yesterday. I don’t know
if they bother to monitor what
we view online. Probably. Doesn’t
matter to me. My tastes are benign.
I check e-mail first, always hoping
for some little word from Andrew.
I’m not disappointed. Hello, my heart,
he writes. Hope you are well and
that you’re coming home soon. Wherever
you are is too far away. God, I miss
you. I dream about you every night.
Sometimes those are good dreams.
You and me, here on the ranch,
playing with Sheila (who’s not
a puppy anymore . . . funny how
fast they grow into dogs!), or just
sitting on the porch, watching
the cottonwoods flicker in the breeze.
But then come the nightmares
where I see you in the distance, faint,
but no matter how hard I try or how
fast I run, I can’t catch up to you,
and when I reach the place where
you were standing, you’re gone.
Vanished, just like you disappeared
from my life. Please come back to me,
or at least tell me where you are so
I can come find you. I promise, no
matter what has happened, we’ll make
things right again. I don’t care what
your parents think. All my love, Andrew.
Beautiful words. I want to believe
them, need to trust in him. But how?
The love we shared ran marrow deep,
but the Eden he knew died behind
the walls of Tears of Zion. “Ruthie”
is who I am here in Vegas. Walk
Straight needed to call me something,
so I offered my middle name, Ruth.
Sarah added the “ie” to make it feel
“friendlier.” Less biblical, for sure.
But I don’t want to be Ruthie
anymore. She represents a short
chapter of my life I’m determined
to edit out. And if I’m no longer Eden,
who’ll I be if I return to Idaho?
Heart at War with Head
I think about how to respond.
At some point, I’ll have to break
down and tell him the truth. Not
possible to construct a solid future
on a foundation of dishonesties.
Doing it this way would give him
time to consider the implications
and change his mind about wanting
me back in his life. He wouldn’t
even have to write a reply to say
goodbye, he could simply excise
me from his life with his silence. Plus,
I don’t have to look into his eyes,
absorb the hurt and anger that will
surface there if I admit the ugliness
face-to-face. I’m a coward. Too
cowardly, in fact, to come clean
right now. To keep moving forward,
I have to maintain at least a minimal
amount of hope that Andrew and I
can be together again. Still, I need
to give him something, so maybe
a bare-bones explanation of why
I simply evaporated one day.
The story begins with Mama.
Backward in Time
That’s where I take him, not so
far back, not really though
it feels like years ago, and what
has transpired between then and
now has aged me more than months.
“Dearest Andrew. I am safe, for
now, in a shelter in Las Vegas.
I do hope to return to Boise, but
I’m not sure when, because I told
them my parents were dead,
something I plan to rectify today.
I won’t tell you everything now,
but want to confide some of it.
Remember the last time I saw you?
My family was at church, at least
I thought so. But when I got home,
Mama was there, and I was sure
she’d beat me again. Instead she brought
me into the kitchen, made tea laced
with sleeping pills, and as I passed
out, she blamed Satan for me falling
in love with you. I woke up eleven
hours later, out in the middle of
the Nevada desert, at a rehab
center called Tears of Zion. . . .”
I Describe
My routine, the lack of sustenance
and human company. Underline
the hopelessness I felt when I learned
my time there had no set termination
point. Now comes the hard part,
but without it there’s no explanation
for how I got here. “All I could think
about was finding a way to escape,
to get back to you. One of the orderlies
had a crush on me. God forgive me,
but I promised he could be my boyfriend
if he helped me get away.” I won’t give
Andrew the disgusting details; he can assume
them or not. “It worked. When we stopped
for gas, I hid from him. A nice rancher
gave me a ride and I wound up in Vegas.
I tried to call you, but your phone was
disconnected. I didn’t know my parents
had you arrested until your mom told
me. I’m so sorry. For everything.”
I spend a few minutes stressing over
how to sign off. “Love” isn’t strong
enough, and he used the preface “All
my.”
I choose, “I’ll never stop loving you,”
hit send before I change my mind.
A Poem by Cory Bennett
The Disgusting Details
Of life in hard-core juvenile
lockup don’t really need
to be repeated. My brother
Cody would never let me
live it down. I won’t argue
the system got it wrong, that
I’m
not qualified to be here.
Break into a home,
then whup the owner’s
ass until she’s lying
still
on the ground,
they’ll put you away
if they catch you. Problem
is, there isn’t
a kid
in this place
who won’t walk away
tougher, meaner, calloused,
no hint of child left
inside.
Cody
Imprisoned
I thought a lot about being locked up
when they first sent my little brother
to jail. Not saying Cory didn’t deserve
it, or that it didn’t maybe save his life.
The path he was headed down
could have ended with him slamming
face-first into a brick wall. But it made
me a little crazy to consider the day-
to-day of containment in a little cement
room, only let out for meals, classroom
bullshit (like anyone there gives a fuck
about school), and an hour of exercise.
Yeah, that pretty much seemed like hell
to me. But, with luck and good behavior,
Cory will be released one day. He didn’t
manage to kill the woman he knocked
senseless, and since she recovered, he’ll only
be incarcerated until he turns eighteen.
The cost of my indiscretions, which
should’ve resulted in nothing but pleasure,
was life, in prison in a useless body.
One Day Blurs
Into the next, a huge brown smear
of hospital shit. There’s nothing to do
but watch TV, hour upon tedious hour.
The food sucks, but even if it was gourmet
I’d avoid it because eating only means
someone’s gloved finger massaging
my anus to make me take a dump. Not
that I can feel it, but knowing that’s what’s
going on is more than enough to drop
me into a cavern of depression, a place
I fall into regularly, with or without