I’m not really human anymore. I gave up that right when I was thirteen, when I thought anywhere was better than where my parents were.
I see in the mirror what everyone else sees when they see me: whore. Garbage. I’m invisible to the good, decent people who would never walk on my side of the street or stray from their tidy wives. Maybe that’s why I can see myself in the mirror – I’m not one of them.
But my daughter might be. I don’t know what she can do with my genes and the guy’s genes, but maybe despite all the garbage from us she’ll be better than us. Maybe she’ll even have superpowers like I do. But maybe, instead of being invisible to the good people, she’ll be invisible to the bad ones.
That’s what I imagine during the long work nights when I am the disposal for a long line of other people’s garbage. It’s where I go when I think this might be the time I die. I see her glowing with sun and innocence, wondering about her mother but at least safe from her.
I’ll be dead anyway when he finds out I’ve given her away for free to good people, and wasted all the money he could have made. It’s okay. This is the best way I could have imagined to die.
© Esther Rohm
Response to our Inspiration Call on May 2, 2017
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Categories: Featured Writer's