My freedom

It was a gloomy place. The red, purple and pink lights with their grim energy were wrapping the floor, the walls and even the filthy faces and shrunken eyes of the men around the table. The place smelled like weed, alcohol, dust, but more of power and I did not why but the most of… “freedom”.

Suddenly, I was grabbed by the elbow and was sharply turned around by a woman with dark mascara on her evlish eyes and with a welcoming smile flashing her teeth plastered all red due to the chewed tobacco.

“New?” She asked in her hoarse voice.

“Yes” I said, realizing that my voice sounded totally unfamiliar and fragile.

“Okay then, let me now acquaint you with the place and of course the rules. So, this the bar, that is the staging area where you would dance and occasionally on the pole.Upstairs are the rooms. Three pair of regular clothes and rest is all fancy and common for you all. And Now the rules: Never ever settle for rate, lower than you have been told. Never be friendly or dainty with the customers. Drinks and drugs are the must. And most importantly: No place for “love” and tears in here. We are the women with no emotions. No status. No rights. Stoics.”

While getting familiar with her rule book, I was picturing myself in the little cotton frock with a pure laugh that crawled around my mother, who, while braiding my hair used to tell me stories of freedom and courage. And while decorating my ear with a lily flower, she used to say, “You are born with so much love my doll. Everyone is. Love is innate. It never goes away and you, my princess deserve to be loved, the most.”

I still do remember my mother with her face, just like an angel emerging from the clouds.  Pink and glowy. Would she be frowned knowing what I am now? Would she be disgusted by me? I wonder.But then each time in ten years, when I look into the mirror, when I see my darkened eyes and the “mascara” hiding my painful tears..I get my answer. No. She would smile from the heaven and still LOVE me, the most.