Just Saskia by justsaskia / 23d // keep unread // preview Her Story Will Not Go Untold. She had a smile that could light up the place, let me tell you, even a place as dark as that. My friends nicknamed where she worked “the cage” because it was so dark and when you walk through the door you feel as though you enter a box you can’t get out of. Only those red lights to outline their bodies. I hate how dark it is in there, sometimes I don’t want to go in, but I always push through, because I know she will be there. I would turn the corner and she would have that smile, my other friend said she could be on a church welcoming committee with a smile like that. She would press her hands together in anticipation, grinning at me, “Hiiiii, what do you have for me today?” Her blonde ponytail and wide eyes made her seem like a little girl. Sweet was how we described her behind her back. “You know that sweet girl with the smile?” And we’d know who it was. I remember once I was in a hurry and I asked what she wanted before we had exchanged a greeting. She stopped me. First “How are you today?” It embarrassed me, that I was going to rush by. It’s not how much soup we sell. It’s about the girl. This sweet one in front of me. I never forgot to ask how she was doing again. – I wasn’t ready for the words when they came. “She committed suicide.” Her friend told me but I kept having to confirm. It was her? The one with the smile. My eyes filling with tears I leaned against the door of the brothel as her friend poured out words I couldn’t comprehend. Words like depression, pain, eating disorder, medication, and the story of a boyfriend she feared was using her for money. “She always asked me if he really loved her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth, I told her she would be the only one who would know for sure.” Oh Sweet One, how your heart must have ached all this time behind your smile. All those days you would thank me. “Thank you for coming here.” She’d say as she took the soup. I remember her thank-you’s as much as I remember her smile. I always pray that what we offer would bring comfort, but Oh Sweet One, your pain was to deep for me to see in that dark place. You drowned yourself to drown the pain and now your smile is etched in my memory and your story goes untold. Oh daughter, oh sister, oh sweet soul. This was not how it was meant to be. I walked away from the window shell-shocked, feeling as though a wall of tears might unleash on this place of sorrow. We both prepared ourselves, Ashley and I, to push through and keep walking that day. For a moment I felt what it was like to push the pain aside as we walked past all the girls with whom she’s worked beside for as long as I have been here. We kept smiling on the outside. I held back the great ache as I met the eyes of the other girls. Still working in this place. That’s the hardest part Sweet One. You are dead and nothing stops. They all go on working, the men keep filing through with pockets full of Euros to fund their pleasure. At the expense of what? Only the other girls know but they are better then I am at hiding sorrow with a smile. – Later I sat on the couch of my pastor, pressing a mug of hot mint tea to my cheek as the tears welled up again. I spoke of her smile and of my shock at a word I still can’t quite grasp. suicide I told them how that same day I stood in front of 30 students to talk about prostitution. All their questions left my thoughts scattered like broken glass. “How do you get through the hard days?” They asked me. I didn’t know. I thought of her smile. This was not how it was meant to be. “What made today hard?” A girl asked and the tears threatened while I shook my head. “It was just a hard day.” But it is not just that it is hard to realise she is gone. It is hard to realise that she is gone, and no one knows. Her terrible story goes untold. But she, like all the rest, has a story that should not go untold. Tears deserve to be spilled for a human life cut short, prayers for her family must be said, her life must be honoured and acknowledged. I want them to hear of your smile. I want them to know that you lived. That you mattered. That your life is just as valuable as the lives of their own loved ones. You are loved, Sweet One. – I asked my pastor if I should write about her, this girl with the smile. He said for myself I should, and so that others would know. So that the darkness and injustice does not go unsaid. So that we acknowledge and remember. I though of how Rachel Held Evans and her friends held a ceremony to remember the women of the bible who stories were dark and unjust and often go untold. They felt it was important to acknowledge and remember. The injustice this girl faced was not a far off story from long ago. It happened here, in this time. Her story is dark. Her friend told me, “The bad men always go for girls like her, cause they look so vulnerable, they know they can do whatever they want to a girl like that.” She suffered until she could not stand it. Today I remember her. I filled my little attic with flowers because that is what you do when someone dies. I took the day off, because that is what you do when you mourn. Sweet One, If we don’t love you and grieve for you, I am so afraid that no one here will. And for you, who reads this story, I ask that you mourn with me. Even for a moment. Say a prayer for her family. Say a prayer for all the others who silently suffer behind their smiles. That we may know and see and acknowledge the unfairness and hardship that they endure. May God Have Mercy On Us All.