Fiction

Margaret

By: Kabaw

Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com

I heard the beeping of the B03 and K10 Public Utility Vehicle (PUJ) in the busy street of Noloc.   Brakes were squealing. I missed the chirping of the Siloy and Tukmo in the countryside. Our house before was situated in the boondocks of Danao.  It has been ten years since my mother and I moved here. My mama didn’t know how to read and write. My grandparents didn’t send her to school because they think that education will not make her opulent. She spent her teenage life tilling the soil using a bolo under the heat of the sun. We moved here after my father left us for another woman. Saddened and entangled about what to do, my mama dared to change residence to look for opportunities. I was seven years old when she started this job. With my impeccable eyes, I often left by my mama along the street whenever an outlander or potential punter came for her service.  Several years later,  she noticed that only a few customers needed her service. She realized that she was getting old and no longer attractive to the eyes of her client. So she prodded me to be her substitute.

 After I got up on the bed, I had felt shame and guilt every time I stripped off my cloths. I often gazed at the window and looked at the luxurious cars hoping that they will carry on passing by without stopping before the inn.

 A guy left and another guy came in. A knock always disturbed my silence. The moan echoed in the four corners of the room as my stark-naked shadow danced like a serpent. My eyes still sobbed every time the slamming and the kissing happened. Pain, not pleasure, I felt. Numerous hands have already touched my hips and thighs. Some hands were adorned with rings.  Whenever I saw them, a notion popped up in my mind that these men found satisfaction in me, not in their wives. Other hands were young and tender like mine.

There was this one instance that a lad came in and grunted like a crocodile waiting for flesh and nibbled like a dog waiting for a small drop of water.

“He was not a novice!” a silent thought broke in.

He stood and got his wallet shortly thereafter.  He was good to go after checking his pen and book in his bag. I had his allowance.  Before I put on my cloths, I sat on my bed and covered myself with a blanket. I paused for a minute.  A serious thought always wheeled on my mind: “What if I am not like this?” I always saw my mama outside in this empty room after this tedious job.  My mother always asked me how much I got.  She became more lively calling for the next customer after I handed in the money. I worked all day every weekend.

This is a dreadfully long narration.  I need a break. I have to rest. My class will start at 7:30 tomorrow.  

By the way, I am Margaret. It is not an easy job. Please don’t share it to anyone and please don’t judge me!

Categories: Fiction

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