The Big Apple
I had never expected it to go this far.
Not really.
But when a prostitute tells you that
she’s been raped by your drug-dealing boss,
you tell her to go home.
I thought she was drunk.
I thought she would call a cab.
I didn’t think she would drive.
I didn’t know she would die.
Now I am in jail.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
Not really.
I meet a boy in the gay bar.
He is drunk, on the verge of a blackout.
He is half my age.
Hits on me.
I tell him to go home.
He wants me to stay.
I take him back to my apartment.
He wants more.
I say no.
He pukes on me.
He wakes up, and thanks me.
I tell him to go home.
He wants to stay this time.
I know what he would think of me if he knew I was in this drug business.
I say no.
But he stays anyway.
I puked, but I wanted to stay.
He is secretive, a tad scary, but intriguing.
I want to know more.
I ask if he’s been to a gay bar before.
He says no.
I ask if he’s ever been with a boy before.
He says no.
I ask if he’s disgusted that I hitted on him.
He says no.
I want to be with him.
I wonder what he thinks of that.
It has been sixteen years since the last time
I ever worked as a prostitute.
Sixteen years since I got pregnant.
Fourteen years since I got pregnant the next time.
I lost my first. The dad doesn’t know him.
The second is with me still, I love Sam to pieces.
I wonder if either of the parents wonder about
the woman they drunkenly got with one night.
Probably not.
Sam is going to school again this year.
I am a barista now; long hours and coffee stains.
No more short nights and accidents.
No more daring to forget what I have seen.
I am the daughter of a prostitute.
I dream of knowing my father.
Knowing why he chose to forget my mother.
I am being watched.
By a man with a black coat.
He comes to school and asks about me.
“Sam?” He asks them.
I don’t know why he wants me.
I want to ask him sometimes.
Ask why he cares.
Ask if he wants me.
Instead, I stayed outside and let him watch.
I sometimes wonder about all the bad things
I’ve done while in prison.
Kidnapping. Drug dealing. Robbery.
But nothing close to rape. Even murder.
I did not kill that girl. But I am going to fall for it.
I think of all the girls I’ve taken home.
All the ones who I’ve pushed away.
Why would they love a criminal?
It’s happened to men like me.
Love: dysfunctional until the end.
Me: not falling for it.
Stuck paying for a crime I didn’t commit.
Since Day 1.
This young man is convinced we are in love.
I try to shake him off, he comes back,
drenched in rain and tears, at my house door.
I do not know why he wants a man
who has done terrible things.
Terrible: extremely or distressingly bad or serious.
I find myself telling him about my past
against my will.
He finds himself telling me about himself.
He tries to get himself into things that don’t concern him.
I am beginning to get concerned.
He looked up my DNA test.
He says… he says…
He says I have a child.
The boy, named Sam, is in that spot again.
I wonder whether he knows he has a father.
A father that actually wants him.
It disgusts me that his mother kept him from him.
Whether mistake or not, my love deserves
His child.
The boy stands up.
He is alone in that chilly spot by the wall.
His hair falls down his chest.
He is not a boy at all.
The girl stares back at me.
I gasp.
The DNA test said that my love had a boy.
Not a girl.
Who is this girl, named Sam,
And why is she here?
Sam comes home differently now.
She has a strange look in her eyes.
She says she is in love.
I don’t know why that scares me.
I lost my baby before, will I lose her?
I worry that I will have to show my life to some
Boy who doesn’t understand
Us, or her.
I can’t tell anyone why she doesn’t
Have a father
Or
Why her mother works a crappy job
At 30.
I can only say
That I wish her the best.
I watch that man as he runs away.
What did he see that he gasped for?
I want to run away too.
Away with this stalker man of mine
And hopefully to somewhere where
I don’t have to be whispered about.
I wish that I could
Do things that ended up bad
Or things that ended up just terrible.
But instead I am stuck in stasis,
As it pleases mother best.
I won’t lie to her, this man that I love,
Is all I think about.
My jury date is coming soon.
I can’t help feeling betrayed.
My boss did nothing.
I was the witness, it was fair play.
You shouldn’t help a prostitute.
Especially one that got used to being
Not one.
That’s what he said to me.
Now I will rot in this prison.
No family.
No legend.
I have no price to pay.
This business is deadly work.
I want to see my son. No, my daughter.
I can’t help but think of her.
Sam. So innocent.
Sam: name of God.
So unlike me. Or her.
I think of that woman who has kept me
From her.
From our child.
I want to see her.
I want to see her now.
I ask this young man to take me to her.
I will see you soon, my love.
I take my love to this girl.
I am not sure why they got the gender wrong,
But I keep my mouth shut.
I don’t want to get smacked like last time.
He was drunk. And angry.
It didn’t matter. He felt sorry.
I was at fault.
But now this woman is at fault.
And she will pay for keeping my love
From his child.
Don’t worry, little girl,
Your new family is coming.
I hear the door banging.
He asks where his daughter is.
I am afraid.
What does her father want?
I open the door. Wait.
This is not the father of my daughter.
He does not seem to care.
He sees my daughter and runs to her.
I do not recognize the man behind him.
He is just looking at my daughter.
My daughter.
I try to explain. They stare at me.
My son is dead. His name is Sam.
Sam is Sam Junior.
Sam had a disease, a bad one.
I find out I have a dad.
And he is taken away just as fast.
I don’t know why they have come for me.
My brother is dead.
This is his dad.
My dad is still gone.
And my love, the one who watches,
Is his love.
Not mine.
I don’t know why this hurts.
I want to ask him why he looked for me.
Was it for him?
Probably.
But not for me.
I find out I have a daughter.
A daughter. With a woman I took home.
She told me through the see-through wall
On the phone.
About my fourteen-year old daughter.
I see her waiting.
She is beautiful.
Just like her mother.
She explains so much.
Needlessly.
I already forgive her.
I wish them the best.
I tell her to say thank you to the men who found
Her. For me.
Sometimes life can be evil.
Sometimes life can be terrible.
Sometimes life can be lovely.
Sometimes life can be backwards.
Sometimes life can be broken.
But life is always connected.