HELPLESS

o2

I slipped a quarter into the payphone, then quickly dialed the number of my parent's house. This would be the first time I had spoken to them since I had left, nearly three days ago.

The streets around me were a hub of people walking; no one seemed to pay me much mind, despite payphones being highly unused. It was probably assumed that I was a drug dealer, or some kind of illegal worker.

Not that that wasn't untrue - I had somehow ended up sleeping with another man for money the night after the first; despite still have enough money to survive me a while. This guy was nicer, and without a ring on his finger. He paid well, and then gave an extra tip. He always seemed to be worried, asking if I was okay, if it hurt, if whatever was happening was uncomfortable. He seemed too kind to be in the work force. And even as kind as he was, I stilled took money from him. I felt horrible, but I needed to survive.

The phone's ring finally stopped, and the sound of it being picked up on the other line surprised me.

"Hello? Who is this?" My mother's familiar voice sent both fear and anger down my spine.

"Hello, Mother," my heart beat quickened. I was scared of her touch, even from far away.

"Oh, my Vinh. How we've missed you. Where are you?"

"I'm somewhere far away from you, Mother. I'm not coming back."

"Of course you're coming back! Don't be silly."

"No, I'm never coming back to you. Even when you're dying and wishing you had never done those things, I'll never come back to you. This is one last call to say goodbye."

"Don't be so drastic, dear. We've had our differences but-"

"Did I ever tall you I was gay?"

"Honey, please, don't be silly. You're not gay, It's a phase."

"Mother, I loved him. We kissed. All those days I said I was off studying, I was with him. I loved him, Mother. And you made me leave. You made me leave the person I loved because I was scared that you'd beat me until I couldn't move. You and Father made me scared to love him. I hope you're happy with that. This is our final talk, Mother. Fuck you, and goodbye."

I hung up, then sat down on the bench, immediately putting my head into my hands. I didn't want to cry, I knew I shouldn't be crying, but the tears came out all the same. Each one leaving behind a wet trail on my skin, falling off of my chin and onto the black pants I wore. Each breath was ragged. I wiped at my face, and tried to compose myself, to no avail.

I sat there until the bus came, and by the time it came, I was no longer crying. The remnants of me wiping at my face remained, but otherwise there was no evidence of the previous tears that graced my face. I gave the bus driver a few dollars and took a seat where no one else sit. I let my head fall against the cold, clear window and slowly drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of the moving bus.

I woke up on my own, and by the time I woke up the bus had filled up to where people sat on both sides of me. I guessed it wasn't too unusual for homeless youth to sleep on the buses, because they didn't send so much as a glance my way.

The bus came to a stop and I got off. I wasn't sure where I was anymore, not that I ever had any idea. I tried looking for signs, but only came across advertisements. Wherever I was, it was in a city, busier than the last. People walked past, bumping into me ever so often, without so much as a second glance.

To them, I was just another commuter.

I walked around for awhile, trying to find out what I could do to possibly speed up my trip, but all I found were streets lined with shops, food, and other things. Each step took my either closer or further away from my destination, and I didn't know which was which.

The sky above was threatening of storms; gray and blue mixed together to create a terrifying painting. Cold rain would begin to pour, and I had no where to go. I couldn't go home, I couldn't go to a friend's house, I couldn't go anywhere but to a place that would possibly let me sleep there.

The reality of what was going on had hit me a while ago; no longer was this a trip across the country. I was homeless, I had limited money, no shelter, no job, nothing. I was in new places, places I didn't recognize, and I couldn't tell where I was going. Each street connected to another, creating a complex maze.

And just as had been previously predicted, rain started pouring down. There was no steadiness to this type of rain, only an irregular pitter patter that hit the ground in ferocious splashes, coloring the concrete a darker shade than it was before.

It took my a while, but I ended up finding a place safe from rain; a bench that was probably made for homeless. A small awning covered the top, creating a momentary shelter from the relentless downpour.

I had somehow made it to the risque part of town. Flashing neon lights sat on every store, place, whatever. The streets were glowing with the color; pink, red, blue, yellow, green. Every color blended together to create what would be a magnificent mixture of colors, if only for the fact that it was in a place where strip clubs lined the street.

I sat on a bench right in front of a gay club, my eyes watching as people of different ages, shapes, and sizes went inside. I was tired, I wanted to sleep. Even the bench felt comfortable, but I knew better than to sleep in public places. People were cruel, and I didn't want to become a victim of a rape-murder.

A young guy of maybe twenty six strolled out of the gay bar. He was clean shaven, he wore nice clothing. He was obviously rich. I watched him walk away from the entrance, and then pass by me. Our eyes met, but then disconnected. I leaned back, letting my head hit the back of the bench with a small thump.

"Um, excuse me?"

I opened my eyes, and there sat the twenty six year old guy.

"Are you.. maybe, selling?"

I felt scared for a moment - did I look like a drug dealer? Then it hit me - it wasn't drugs he wanted. I nodded, not speaking.

His face briefly transformed into a smile, but he quickly went back to his previous, more stoic expression. "Follow me, then."

The guy lead me out of the risque part of town, and then to a hotel, like the first guy I had ever done this with. We went up to the third floor, and he lead me to a hotel room.

He opened the door and closed it behind him after I had walked in. It was obvious that this hotel was expensive, as everything seemed to be of high quality. Even the coffee maker was sleep, brand new looking. 

He moved past me, sitting down on the bed. The guy was good looking - he was young, he was fit, he was what any girl, or guy, would've wanted. So why was he sleeping with prostitutes? It made very little sense to me - but I wasn't about to deny money.

The guy beckoned me with a look, and I followed. He glanced down, and I got down. His commands were a series of glares - there was no more speaking. It was intimate in a way that I couldn't grasp a hold on.

This time, the affair didn't start with kissing. It went straight into it. There was a nervousness in his voice, he seemed unsure of his actions, and that did not seem to please him at all. And, even though I hadn't done this too often, I knew that him not being pleased was bad. So I take charge - I did what I thought he wanted and made sure he wanted it.

After the whole thing was over, he thanked me, and told me that I could shower, sleep, whatever. The gesture surprised me, but it was a gesture all the same. So, I did as he told; I took a shower. But I didn't sleep, as the feeling that something was going to happen kept biting. After the shower, I got dressed and told him that I had to leave - something had came up. He didn't protest.

I left in a hurry, not even taking the money from the guy. A bad feeling had risen in my gut, a bad feeling I didn't like. Something told me that if I had stayed I wouldn't be a story of a runaway, I'd be a story of a murder.