Saving girls…
As we opened the door in a bar, we saw a girl. My friend whose boyfriend said “Here’s another experience.” Don’t worry — we don’t speak now. The girl…my age maybe. Maybe 20s. Dancing on stage. Older men were clapping in the audience. One she pulls up and dances with. When she turns, I see that she has no shirt on. She looks out of it a bit. They pull at her, ask for more.
There was a man on the side watching her every move, but in a different manner than the other men. She went to him every so often. He followed her. Then she went back on stage. One of the men in the group began talking with the man and pointing at her. They looked in a very serious discussion. After they finished talking, he sat down and looked at myself and FRIEND and waved us over, patting his lap. His attire was different from the others. He was wearing a suit, and had slicked back hair. I shook my head, signaling no. I wanted to leave but not without ANONYMOUS FRIEND NAME. She took her time to smoke her cigarette.
The girl dancing notices my discomfort. She mouths the words “sorry” and covered up her boobs for a nanosecond, repeating “sorry.” It is an unexpected thing. Like she wants dignity and respect and to comfort me that this isn’t her. This isn’t her…It takes us all out of the moment. Then, she goes back to dancing. She pulls one man up on stage and dances over him. He looks like he could have been her grandfather. Maybe I have been sheltered all my life. I turn and look around for what to do. Seeing my frantic face, one man in the audience pretends to bow down to me, as if saying, “Oh, because you are so high and mighty?”
I go back out to the bar area with my friend. I should mention it was her birthday so that’s why I came up. I didn’t know the life she was creating, with her boyfriend an abuser. I didn’t know this would happen. I know to get out as soon as possible.
We still laugh and carry on. I have to. I am staying at her house. I have a ride home the next day. She also helps me get professional “modeling” photos which mean a lot to me. This “friend” also introduced me to my fiance at the time. He was evil. And she helped me to get my modeling photos to a brand manager for modeling and his brother who did more of lifestyle branding. These men also abused me but I escaped before anything real could happen. So obviously…I knew to leave her.
As my friend and I converse and listen and dance to the band playing, the GIRL plops herself on a bar stool and stares at me for the rest of the time. It is a pleading stare. It is a stare of love for me. I can tell she is upset; affected; validated to be a human being; responding with empathy to my discomfort. The “pimp” I’m assuming keeps trying to “comfort her.” He paces back and forth right next to her, head down very serious. She will not look away from me. That stare…I know it means something happened between us. Do I want to call it good? I don’t know.
I hold her gaze. It’s an understanding. She doesn’t want to do it. She wants me. And I did all I could for her. I leave never knowing her name or story.
There is one other time something similar happened. I drive by someone in a shadier area who has their leg out and is clearly a certain type of worker. I had an inner knowing to look at her like I recognized her and was in shock because of it. I didn’t know why I looked at her that way. She reacted to it. I realized it was a guided reaction, as if I reacted if she was truly in trouble I may have called the police. So instead I looked at her thinking one thing and not realizing the situation til I left…and she caught my gaze and it sobered her to the moment that I could have sympathy. Her eyes widened, a look of desperation crossed her face.
Neither of them wanted to let me down.
But I create a YA character Skye to save girls like that. I know the danger they can get themselves into. It’s terror.
I hope it works. I commit to that cause.
Sarah
