Taboo – A Memory from the Dominican Republic

I saw her looking out from the doorway.

She’s young. Yes, very young. Too young for her job, for sure.

The little kids — brothers and sisters — run in the front yard. Pounding the dry dirt into their souls. The kicking the blue ball, and then hitting it with a broken stick. Someday they will be working, too. But, they don’t know it. Not yet.

She is barely older than they are, yet she has work to do. Her parents prepare her. She is, after all, the breadwinner for the family.
Her 13-year-old face is made to look twenty. The only money the family had was invested in her makeup, bought from the local farmacia. They apply a carefully, not to waste it. She has to work tomorrow, you know.

She’s leaning against the door jam. Eyes, bright only with the blue shadow on her lids. Otherwise, lifeless.

No mascara, though. Mascara is a luxury. Too expensive. Maybe next week with the money she makes. Rouge. Yes, rouge to make her cheeks look becoming.

But, most importantly her lipstick. So red. Her lips lay limp upon her face.

Her eyes looked down, as her ride drives up. Yes, it is time to work another night. Time to work another night of this so-called love.

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker
www.BelleKarper.com
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