Roxanne

Roxanne you don’t have to put on the red light.  Young men frequently said this to me.  And as their hands fondled my breast I would laugh on the inside, because even they were no match for my red light.  They  would touch me within my core and plunge in and out of me while leaving just enough greenery so that I can do it again tomorrow.

I silently looked out my window, and watched the men burrow in. I waited for my next customer.  I hoped he would be a "newbie" which is what I called the young ones, someone that I could teach.  They were always enjoyable, and reminded me of earlier days when I didn’t feel so ancient. 

They were virgins and they were shy.  Their guilt was evident, but I was what they wanted and there would be no stopping them.  Guilt lay in the background while desire took over.  They felt comfort through satisfaction, and realized that I fulfilled what they were missing. 

Sometimes a newbie would become so enamored by me that they would say “Roxanne you don’t have to put on the red light.”  But those were the ones that I would never see again. They would go back to their own world realizing they had spoke empty words to me, and though they wanted to return they were too embarrassed to do so. So when I was told not to turn on the red light, I would sneer in response because I knew it was needed… that was how they found me. 

One winter night the freezing air that came before the snow, hovered over the streets and a young man rang my door looking to use the phone.  His eyes were a cool brown, and it seemed as though innocence had not yet left him. His suit seemed slept in, and I assumed it was because he had been driving a great distance. His car had broken down, and he needed to contact his brother who awaited him in the next town.  He was lost and I knew I had the advantage. 

I gave him an alternative to a continued long journey, along with a quick thrust of my breast and a smile that would leave him weak.  I told him that we had rooms available, and I would take care of him.  He took me up on my offer, and called his brother, after much discussion his brother agreed to pick him up at the hotel in the morning. 

When I checked him into a room, Lydia and Sandra instantly wanted to follow him and make their bid.  I sent Lydia in first, she was tall and slender, her hair was a dirty blond short and stringy, I wouldn’t call her pretty, but she had sex appeal.  I knew she would fail with him, he was too new and she was too traditional.  I sent Sandra in next. She was young, beautiful and had long curly black hair a full bosom and irresistible blue eyes.  I was slightly worried about her, but when he turned her down I knew why.  She was too close to his age, she was too real.  He pictured her as one of his friends, and he was too wholesome to oblige.

I left him alone for a while, I didn’t want him to feel overwhelmed and then I finally knocked on his door.  He quietly told me to come in.  I asked him if everything was okay. He said he was fine. So I told him if he needed anything to knock on room 237, and wished him a goodnight.

A couple of regulars rang the bell, so that Lydia, Sandra and the other girls were occupied. I took a seat at my window like usual and watched the people pass by with curious glances. I smiled to myself when they would sometimes stop and consider.  No matter how many times they passed by, they never ignored my red light.

A quiet knock touched my door, and I knew it was him.  He wanted an extra towel for the morning, and I told him that I would bring it to him shortly.  Before going back to his room I freshened up and I stuck a condom on the side of my lingerie.  I did not knock when I entered his room for the second time, I watched him pace back and forth clearly his thoughts were racing. I stood there until he would leave his thoughts and realize that I was standing there.  His large brown eyes grew twice their size as he jumped out of his skin, and I smiled at his reaction although loud laughter was trapped inside of me.  “You scared me.”  He grabbed a hold of his loosened tie and tried to straighten it with no luck.  I could not lose my smile as I apologized.

“You seem worried about something is everything ok?”  I ask him as I made myself comfortable on the bed. I enjoyed watching his eyes follow me and the huge gulp that confirmed my suspicion of his thought process.  I asked him to sit down with me, which he did.  He began to tell me about how he couldn’t cut it as a musician and was going to join the family business with his brother.  I wanted to hear him sing, but he left his guitar in his car a few miles down the road.  He offered to sing acapella, but instead I asked him why he was quitting. 

He said he was 26 and was tired of borrowing money from his family, he thought he would have made it by now, but he realized that he was a failure.  The sadness in his eyes spoke to me and I wanted to touch him but held back.  I asked him to sing for me, and he did, his song talked about girls on beaches, drinks and parties, and though his voice was beautiful it was as if someone else was singing.  “You’re laughing at me.” He said quietly.  I denied this, knowing that he would not believe me, because though I could physically hold in my laugh, it would always find its way out through my eyes.

“It’s just that, the song, its not you.”  I brushed his hair away from his eyes.  “Did you write it?”  He shook his head no. “Maybe you should write your songs.” I brushed his cheek as he stared at me.  “I love your voice though, you shouldn’t give up.”  He kissed me. He was passionate and moved rapidly, but his touch was tender.  I found myself being pleasured in a way that I had never been before, he made love to me.

I got up to leave, but he held me close and wouldn’t let go.  So I fell asleep in a man’s arms for the first time and it felt good.  When I woke up he was gone, and I thought I imagined it all, but cried because I knew I didn’t.  He left money on the bed, with a note saying “Thank you.” It scared me that I had felt so much being with him, feelings that I had heard about but thought I would never experience. 

Days, weeks then months passed and I cried every night, I cried not because I missed him, but because I despised the memory of him.  He had woken something inside of me that I never knew was hidden. I could no longer look out the window at my red light with delight, because each night I was reminded of the emptiness my life had become. 

The girls began to notice I was losing my luster, and went after my customers.  I no longer cared because I loathed the men who climbed on top of me, and would only take one customer a night.  Occasionally a newbie would tell me that I didn’t have to put on the red light, and then he would leave me money and never return. 

Through my time of sadness I relied on a skill I learned years ago from Nicole, the woman who turned me on to tricks. She advised me to rid myself of what she called a rambunctious and therefore hideous laugh.  She said men didn’t like a woman to laugh at them. At first it was hard learning to contain my laughter, but I soon became an expert.  And just like my laughter, the feelings and the memories of his touch began to fade away.  Only my eyes portrayed the sadness of what I was missing.

Soon winter began bringing with it a violent snow storm that left the streets white, the air cool and the roads calm.  It was on this day he returned, informing me that he had become a writer of songs, and without much pause he sweetly sang to me his first success. “Roxanne you don’t have to put on the red light, those days are over you don’t have to sell your body to the night…”

Unchained Melody

Living on the sea was an easy way of living for me.  Often times I would wake up and go for a walk around the deck ending up at the edge of the boat, looking out at nothingness.  Shortly Richard, the deck hand would appear and say, “What are you thinking about Captain?”  And I would shake my head, and say “Nothing.” Richard would in turn shake his head, and continue to mop the floors.  As I would continue to stare at the nothingness, I would remember a time when I felt nothing. 

It began one morning when I was awoken by my father wrestling my mother with a pillow that covered her face.  I followed the noise to their room and watch my mother’s legs flip and flounder like a fish out of water.  Until they lay still like the calming of the sea.

I stood there in the doorway frozen, eyes popped out of my head.  As my mind screamed, “Run!” my legs would not move.  And my father turned to me his eyes were bloodshot red, his beard soaked with liquid, dripped all over my mother and the bed.  He began to sob, quivering uncontrollably.  I finally was able to get a hold of myself, come out of my stupor and began to back out of the room and into the hallway. 

It was then my father turned his teary gaze on me once again, I no longer recognized him.  He seemed much taller than I remembered and his eyes had no focus.   He jumped off the bed and grabbed my collar in one fell swoop.  I screamed, “Father!” He pinned me to the wall and at first just stared at me in anger.  Tears were forced out of my eyes as I made an effort to breathe. I called to my father one more time, squeaking out, “Father Please!”

He let go of me and I fell to the floor. As I crawled backwards, trying to make my escape, he followed me.  Hovering over me with every inch I moved…he was mad.  I found myself in a corner, no escape trapped between two walls.  We stared at each other, until finally he breathed, “She’s dead.” I knew she was dead, but hearing him say it made me scream.  I couldn’t stop myself. I screamed so loud so uncontrollably that without a punch to the face, I may have never have stopped. 

When I woke up it was dark outside and we were by the river.  We, included my mother, father and me.   I sat in a chair on a rock path in the river, and as I tried to move my arms I noticed I was tied down.  I wanted to scream again, but my voice was held silent with soft tissue that hovered over my tongue and touched my throat.  My father was moving briskly, he had an anchor in his hand and he dropped it in the river. A long chain connected to the anchor remained on the rocks and he tied the end of the chain around my mother’s ankle and rolled her lifeless body into the river. Her sweeping blond hair was the last I saw of my mother as she disappeared underneath the chopping waters.

My father stared into the waters for what seemed a lifetime as I sat helplessly awaiting his return. When he finally looked over at me his rage had left him, but I still did not recognize my father.  He walked slowly to me, and stopped right in front of me.  I struggled to lift my eyes to him, he said, “Your mother is in the river where she belongs, but she will never make it to the sea.”   Those were the last words my father ever said to me, and he disappeared into the night. 

I was found the next day by an old man I’ve seen frequently.  He often walked by the river, to keep his youth he would say.  His name was Laurel. I stayed with Laurel until they found my uncle Todd who came from out of state to pick me up.  He was a governor and my father’s brother, he hated my father, and he hated me. He screamed at me, “Speak dammit, where is your mother?” In my head I said, in the river, but no words came out. I felt numb, I felt lifeless, I felt nothing…so no words came out.

His wife, Lisa was sweet and kind and she would come in my new room at night and give me warm milk and cookies and sing to me, and soon after I would fall asleep. She did not have any children of her own and she treated me as if I were hers.

Months later they found my father and he was put on trial and found guilty for killing my mother and another man out of state.  His name was Jeremy Calding.  Jeremy Calding’s body was also not found, though the evidence of his death was spilled in red blood all over his kitchen.

Lisa came to me the night of my father’s execution and she said, “My sweet child, won’t you speak? You have nothing to be afraid of, your father is gone.  Your beautiful mother is at peace, and her spirit lives. Won’t you let her hear your voice? She is waiting for you to speak my child.”  Lisa was full of strength and patience she had a stoic beauty that my eyes rested on with ease.  She caressed me with her words and I attempted to speak, but nothing would come out.

She ruffled my hair and with a knowing smile she said, “Its ok, you will speak when you are ready.   But you are safe now.”  She got up and walked to the door, then hesitated.  She turned to me, and whispered, “I’m not sure if I should tell you this, but your father he couldn’t chain down your mother, or poor Mr. Calding.  Your father…he screamed as they began his execution.   He screamed, “They were chained to the river!”  Those were his last words…but it wasn’t true. Your mother’s spirit could not be tied down. She is free as you are. I believe your mother and this Jeremy Caldwell are making beautiful music together, an unchained melody.”  She said this to me with her back turned. And as she opened the door and slipped out, she whispered, “Be free.”

Lisa never stopped loving me, even though I wouldn’t speak.  My uncle was hardly around, he was often away on a business trips and when he was gone my Aunt Lisa would take me everywhere.  She would talk to me as if I responded.  Others looked at me in pity, or laughed and pointed or simply whispered but she would act like they didn’t exist.  She often charted a boat for us to go sailing.  At first I was nervous and uncomfortable.  Lisa saw this and told me, “The sea is where your mother lives.  I thought I would take you here and tell you some things about your mother.”

I was interested in hearing about my mother, I missed her.  She first told me about her beauty and though I remembered her beauty vividly I listened enthusiastically.  And then when she was done speaking, my mind would wander to my own memories of her beauty.  She had blond curls that flipped and turned every which way.  They would not be tamed.  Her eyes were green and were sad even when she smiled.  She would say to me, “Jeremy I’m so happy to have you.” as she would play with my own blond curls.  I would respond, “Mom, I’m so happy to have you.” And she would smile sadly. 

Her lips were thin, like her body when I hugged her I could wrap completely around her. Lisa would tell me she was like an angel, and would always wait a moment before adding…”A sea angel.”  

On my 14^th birthday, my uncle left town and we went out to sea.  Lisa brought along a jewelry box.  I wasn’t surprised to see the jewelry box, because every year Lisa pulled out the same box and gave me something out of it that belonged to my mother.  The first year it was a single pearl, the next a topaz ring, following that it was a bracelet and the next three years jewelry of some kind.  This year she unfolded a paper, and she told me she would read to me a letter that my mom wrote to Jeremy Caldwell.

She read the date, and I silently gasped when I realized the date matched the date of my mother’s death.  Lisa paused, slightly before continuing, and then she began,

“Dear Jeremy,

Oh, my love…my darling. I’ve hungered for your touch a long lonely time.  And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much…are you still mine?  I need your love, Godspeed your love to me.  Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea…to the open arms of the sea. Lonely rivers sigh, wait for me…wait for me.  I’ll be coming home…wait for me.

Love Alissa”

It was quiet on the sea as Lisa folded the letter that read my mother’s last thoughts before being murdered in her sleep.  I could no longer see the water that we floated upon because the water in my eyes blurred my vision.  Every memory I had from the night my life was changed forever, flew into my mind attacking me all at once.  I began to scream, and swing at Lisa. 

Lisa yelled, “Jeremy!  Jeremy! Its ok… it’s ok!” But I continued to swing and Lisa took my punches and engulfed me, holding me tighter until I couldn’t swing anymore.  She rocked me back and forth, as I repeated in a distant whisper, “He killed her, he killed her!”   

My breathing slowed as I grew quiet, my thin frame felt weak as if I had taken a beating. When I finally pushed myself away from Lisa she was staring at me eyes glazed over with an unmoving smile on her lips. We stared at each other in bewilderment and when she gained her composure all she said was, “You spoke.” And we sailed back in silence.

Living on the sea was an easy way of living for me.  Often times I would wake up and go for a walk around the deck ending up at the edge of the boat, looking out at nothingness.  Shortly Richard, the deck hand would appear and say, “What are you thinking about Captain?”  And I would shake my head, and say “Nothing.” But my thoughts were on the sea, my mother, my father, Lisa and a man called Jeremy, my namesake… and lonely rivers flowing to the sea.