Through the Eyes of a Stripper

 

I felt a few taps on my back, then suddenly I would hear a seductive voice in my ear, “Would you like a dance?”I look back momentarily to catch a glimpse at the young woman, and my eyes would instantly catch her flirtatious smile and the twiddling of her braided hair.

“No thank you,” I replied.

 “So what are you here for if you aren’t getting any dances?” she asked.  

“Just here for the experience—“

“So can I just sit down and chat with you for a few”

“Sure—“

Not a second after she took her seat she began asking questions, the usual, where me and my homeboy were from, was this our first time, etc. We answered them all, shot a few back, and then sat quietly-gazing on at the show as did the rest of the room. As I glanced back her way her profile caught my attention. I asked myself, why would such a seemingly sweet girl get caught up in something like this? After a few minutes of pondering to myself, I decided to ask her directly.  I unleashed a barrage of questions onto her, and she had no problem answering them: How did you get into this? Do you get nervous? How do you feel about your image? Again she gladly answered them, and the overall impression I received from her answers was that she was a single mother, who is doing whatever she feels she has to in order to take care of her child.

We continued in conversation for quite some time, and before she left I would offer her ten dollars for her time, because I knew in her profession- time literally is money. She thanked me and asked,

“Are you sure you don’t want a dance?”

“I’m sure, but thanks”

The whole night my arms were between my legs, with my hands locked. An unconscious gesture I used to subliminally let the young ladies know that I was in an uncomfortable situation, and was definitely not about to accept a dance. It didn’t work so well in the effect of warding them off, they came like unrelenting flies and rejecting them was more uncomfortable than sitting there. For that short hour or so I felt the pain of an attractive woman, constantly being chased by unwanted men.

After the second time I turned down her offer, she leaned back as if she had been caught off guard. She looked me squarely in the eyes, and I could see that what was behind them had changed. She no longer saw green when she looked at me, she saw potential: Potential to have someone who wouldn’t judge her, potential for a father for her child, potential for freedom from a place that demands her to turn her body into a commodity.

“Let me give you my number,” she says.

I smiled in acceptance, and took it down.

“Don’t forget about me!”

“I won’t—“with a wink and a smile as she walked away.

For the next few minutes or so I direct my attention back to the ladies of the night, and notice something strangely identical with the most of them. It was their eyes, they all looked as though they were in space, as if for the moment they were selling themselves they were lost within themselves. I came to the realization that I wasn’t looking at the women themselves, but bodies on auto-pilot, self-taught to put away its surroundings, dance a routine, and collect money. This they must do, or their own shame would be the murder of their soul.

“You ready to go dawg?”

“Yea man lets go see about ol’ girl first, she dancin’ on stage—”

She caught my eyes in delight as we walked by, and I gave her a smile as we stood before the stage. After a few moments she went into auto-pilot and started her usual routine. She bent over in front of us, but I kept my eyes on hers. She looked back to me, and caught my eyes once more, but this time I noticed something different. Her eyes began to tell me something different. At that moment she knew that she would never hear from me again, that I would never pick up the phone to call. I saw the sadness in her face, not necessarily because i wouldn’t call, but because of where she was in life-a single mother of an eight month old child and on stage stripping for money. She was sad because she felt low, like I wouldn’t call because I was better than her. But with my eyes I told her no human can justly say that they are better than the other,  and I am certainly no better than you, who am I to judge? I wish you the best out of life, and the best of luck.