A short story
By David Alberto Muñoz
My name is Amanda Miller. I was born practically in a foster home. My Mom dropped me as a baby in front of a Fire Station in Phoenix, Arizona. They tell me I was practically a new born, not even 24 hours when they found me. Since that time, I have been traveling from home to home, searching for the perfect family. But unfortunately, that never happened. When I turned 18 years of age, my Dad at the time, Mr. Nelson, told me I needed to find my own home, my own way of supporting myself, because the state would not be paying for my expenses any more.
“I guess you won’t be getting any money either…right Dad Nelson?”
I don’t think he liked what I told him very much. Because after saying that, he told me I had a week to get out of his house.
It has been like that since I can remember. The names have changed, I even went into Mexican homes, with names like Gonzales, Martinez, even people with French names, like Durand, or Moreau, but I only lasted a little bit of time. If you ask me why, the only answer I can give, is they didn’t like me at all.
Since I can remember I have been abused, physically, emotionally, and sexually especially. And from everyone, not just one person, or sex, males and females, many of my foster Dads and Moms, my siblings, anyone who could get inside my bed at night used to do it. It was always the same.
“You are such a beautiful girl Amanda. Let me see your body. It is just a game. OK? Don’t tell anyone, it is going to be our secret.”
And slowly but surely, the game turned into rape…many…many times.
People used to blame me for everything that happened in the house. It didn’t matter which house. It always ended with me being the guilty one, the bad behaved, the terrible girl that doesn’t want to learn. They used to hit me hard, with a belt, with a whip, with their bare hands, in my behind and sometimes with my undies down. It hurt a lot! It never mattered how hard I tried to fight back. They always made me do what they wanted.
It got to the point I got used to it. I learned to use my body in order to get more food, more privileges, more things for myself.
“If you don’t buy me what I want Dad Adams, I am going to tell Mom Adams what you have done to me.”
“Shut up stupid girl!”
Sometimes, even though I would tell my Mom, she would not believe me. She would slap me in the face and said to me:
“Don’t invent fantasies about your Dad or he will punish you for being such a bad and ungrateful girl.”
When I started going out with boys, I learned all boys are the same. They all want to touch you. They all want to do things to you. I don’t think there is a single man that truly wants to help you. And all of them tell you the same thing.
“It is going to feel good. Don’t worry.”
But that is not so. What they do is hurt you. Even the ones I liked hurt me. If not physically, emotionally.
When I got pregnant, I was only 16 years of age. And my parents at that time were very religious. They kicked me out of the house. The state told me I did something bad, something that was illegal, a terrible thing.
“I’m sorry Amanda. We don’t know if we are going to be able to find you another home, because now you have a baby, another mouth to feed. That costs money you know.”
I always wondered who was my Mom, my real Mom. I always wanted to ask her. Why did you leave me? I guess when I had my child I knew. I could not support him, and I could not give him a good life. I left my son with a foster family. They told me they adopted him and that he is happy now. I am not sure about that. I never saw him again after I turned him into the agency. I don’t even know his name.
I am 20 years old. My last foster family disappeared. The state, all the agencies that used to help me also went away. I didn’t finish High School because it was very hard moving around all the time. Sometimes 3 or 4 times in the same year. So this is how I end up selling my body in the streets. I’m still young and I guess I am not bad looking. Sometimes I find good customers. They pay me $20 or sometimes even $30 dollars, and they buy me dinner, and take me to a nice hotel. And if they are like a sugar Daddy, they would even buy me clothes. I like that.
There are some bad ones too. They hit me and do weird stuff to me. Things I don’t like to do. Well…I never really liked to have sex, maybe only once or twice. I don’t know…But this feeling is from the beginning. They all came into my bed when I was a kid, and I assumed that was what every girl must do.
Now I know different…
My name is Amanda Miller. I don’t even know who registered me as their kid…I don’t know why my name is Amanda…sometimes I get hungry…but I got a customer coming by…I hope he is a good client…I hope he doesn’t hit me…I hope he treats me right…
“Last night, around 3 o’ clock in the morning, the body of a prostitute was found in the corner of Van Buren and Central Avenue. She was a woman of approximately 50 years of age. Police said they knew the victim. She had been working the area for at least 20 years if not more. Her body showed signs of rape, and physical abuse. The only possession she had was a card, in which a name was printed. It read: Amanda Miller, I am 20 years of age. It is believed by police that she used to advertised herself like that, as a young kid. And perhaps, the last customer decided to take some type of ill revenge against her. No record exists in our state of such a woman. May she rest in peace. In other news…”
© David Alberto Muñoz
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David Alberto Muñoz
Se autodefine como un cuentero, a quién le gusta reflejar "la compleja experiencia humana". Viaja entre 3 culturas, la mexicana, la chicana y la gringa. Es profesor de filosofía y estudios religiosos en Chandler-Gilbert-Community College, institución de estudios superiores.