Erulisse Dances

 

What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger – A Fictional Narrative

 

 

The saying goes “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I don’t know if I can ascribe to that, or even support it, but I’m older, I’m stronger, and I’m not dead yet. I guess I’m proof that I have lived that saying, even though I hang on tightly to my cracks, rarely opening up enough for others to see them.

 

My first cracks came when I was young. We were aways moving – Da trying his best to support us, but also unable to stay away from the bottle for long. Soon enough we had used up the charity of others as the money for food transformed into his drink. Da was a fisty type of drunk, as fast to strike out as quick to apologize the next day when he was barely sober again. Ma took his blows too often while trying to protect me as much as she could. I was young, too young to realize that most people didn’t have to hide in kitchen cupboards or hallway closets while their Da was on a tear.

 

I left him after Ma died. She had intercepted the worst of it – keeping Da away from me as best she could. She had shored up my cracks and my insecurities, telling me that I was strong, that I was beautiful, and that I would grow up to make her proud. I admit to being strong, but I don’t think I’m beautiful – not anymore. I’ve learned that beauty carries too much baggage in this hard life.

 

I hope I would have made her proud. When he came up to me, stinking of the drink and planning to use my body the way he had used Ma’s, I hit him hard over his head with the iron skillet, tossed my few items into a pillowcase, and lit out on my own, leaving him on the floor near the threadbare sofa. I thought I might have killed him but I didn’t want to stick around to find out for sure.  

 

I’d no skills – I was a fair cook, if all ye wanted was eggs or moldy toast fried in rancid bacon grease, but my cooking skills would bring me no money. Still, I was determined that anywhere would better than staying home with Da, his liquor, and his grabby hands. I had a small amount of money but not much, and I knew it would go quick, if I could even keep it for one night. I pinned the small money bag to my underclothes to keep it safe from others and hunted for a safe place to sleep. I found one – behind a dumpster near a fire escape, watched over by the rats and probably other equally disgusting critters. At that point, though, I didn’t care – I was exhausted, totally drained, and I had no more power to move.

 

Over the next ten-days I moved around, foraging food from dumpsters and trash containers behind the small food stalls in the park, or digging through the trash near convenience stores. On the third day I found a half of a pizza. It was a feast. I didn’t pay attention to the eyes upon me, nor did I hear the whispers that followed me as I looked for safe places to stay each night. I felt invisible. The weather was good, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. I suppose I was beyond tired and hungry, and I allowed my guard to slip. I knew that could lead to death or worse, but I was too afraid to strike up talk with others on the street. Truth be told, at this time in my life, I didn’t really care what happened to me and death wasn’t looking like a poor option.  

 

They trapped me in a short alleyway with only a single entrance. I was herded into it, blind to the fact that it was fenced off at the end. Stupid! Just like my Da had always accused. So maybe I deserved what came next – the grabbing hands, the rough handling, the laughter as the three of them pulled me away from my corner and spread me and my things out on the ground at their feet.

 

“You’re in our territory”, the spokesman said roughly as he kicked my legs apart. “If you’re in our territory, you’re our property. We haven’t had new cunt for a while. Let’s see what you have to offer.”

 

They confiscated my small amount of money, of course. Keeping money in your underwear is no help when the underwear is torn away. They were rough with me, laughing when they realized they were my first. I retreated behind the mental walls I had erected as a child and only came back to myself when the leader kicked me while he zipped up his pants.

 

“You’re new in the area, and I think we might have use for you. You’ll clean up all right. Bring her along, boys. We’ll wash her and train her up well and make some good money off her. Right now, we need to mark her as ours, so we’ll drop by Marcos’ place on the way. It’s early yet and we’ll enjoy her a bit more before we train her to earn her keep.”

 

Late that night, or more properly, early the next morning, I shuddered but pulled myself together. My nipple ached from the ringl Marcos had forced through it. On the ring was a charm with a symbol that  that would identify me as one of the gang’s “girls”. I was now their property. In those early morning hours after hours of pain and humiliation, my Ma’s words echoed in my mind – “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” “I’m not dead yet”, I repeated to myself. My life had just developed more cracks, requiring more glue consisting of new experiences, a new life and new determination.

 

Several years later, after I had left that life behind and started yet another life, I saw him - only once. He was sitting on the ground leaning against a rusted chain link fence near a dumpster, drinking from a bottle hidden in a paper bag. He looked bad – like he was homeless and drunk all the time. I had nothing but memories of him, and those weren’t something I wanted to look back on. Not when it came to my Da. I turned my back to him and walked back to the Town car. I settled into my seat and nodded to my driver. As the car pulled away, I felt no regret as I left my father behind me.

 

My current owner is rich, married (not to me, of course), and only requires me to be with him while he’s in town. I have made choices in my life – some good and some bad - but I can live with my choices. I’ve patched up my cracks time and time again. My cracks are fiercely patched by golden wrappings – fine clothes, a rich car, and a “give no shit” attitude that I’ve honed to a wicked edge. I wasn’t sure where my life would be going when I ran out of my home that day long ago, but I was sure I would land on my feet. After all, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”, I mumbled as I felt a little more of my humanity fade away.