(this submission by Doug was one of many first place contest winners on Christian creative writing (C.C.W.), excellent writing Doug!)-O.E.W.
Seven thirty AM and Lindsay looked at herself in the reflection in the bake shop window. It had been a busy night and it was time to get back to the House for a bath and some rest. She took a look at the bare waist, the cleavage and the side profile. Yep still pretty good. The hair was a mess. She remembered that she had left her brush in the motel room with the last guy.
She had been in somewhat of a hurry to get away from that one – Hydro worker. At one point he had held her head in his huge hands as if it were a softball. Nope she didn’t really like the inside tricks. Too hemmed in. Always made her think of Katie and the disfiguring injuries she had suffered one Friday evening in a construction trailer. Club Members at the House had concluded that she was of little further value. Moved on to Hamilton eight months ago. Poor Katie.
Well back at the House there would be clean sheets, a long soak and undisturbed peace and quiet for a good eight hours. Provided the “white bag” traffic downstairs didn’t get too rowdy. Simple rules for the place. No sales until 1 PM. All cash. No names exchanged. Cars always parked at least as far away as the Shoppers Drug Mart lot. She could see them from her upstairs front window, although the novelty had worn off. All sorts of customers from all walks: the factory, the law office, the car dealership, the college, the fitness club. Some looking for thrills, some needing “the adjustment”, some having forgotten the reason a long time ago.
Every now and then she would recognize a face from one of her trysts. She would ask herself whether she had tipped him off in any way about the place as a source. That was entirely taboo. The Club Members had made it very clear that they were two distinct businesses. She had almost gotten a beating once for something of much less significance.
Saturday morning, and she was walking the street past many smiling shoppers and families from the Kitchener Farmers’ Market. She remembered times when she had come here before as a pre-teen with her Mom. Dad had left for the tar sands which promised great wages. He said that it was just a question of accumulating the right amount of cash. He never returned. One of his cousins had intimated that he had hit the coke pretty hard in Fort McMurray.
A woman, neatly dressed with her young son at her side, was observing Lindsay intently, as other pedestrians shuffled by. Lindsay felt her eyes; felt that she knew; Lindsay looked away as if keenly interested in some merchandise in a window.
Yep that woman was still watching, and smiling. Nothing awkward or condemning in the expression either. With sweet confidence and goodwill she extended a small booklet or tract. Just another Bible pounder? Was this one different?
The title page on the handout read “God says that you do not have to keep living like this. There is much better for you. Trust Jesus to show the way. “