red light redemption ...

I was selling “fabric.” That’s what they told me I'd be doing a few years prior when they brought me here. At the time, I had been looking for a way out of my current situation and met them and they seemed nice enough. And they were going to give me a job and a place to live. So that’s how I wound up on the corner that night, the night I met him. It was the kind of night that aches: lonely, rainy, and full of yearning.

The ground was wet and gleamed in shades of red and yellow where the lights glinted off the rain-soaked cement. I could tell he had been traveling for a while. His dark skin was wind burned and his black hair was long and clumped in dirty dreads. But his hands, though rough to the touch, were gentle as one of them brushed my cheek as he lifted it to sweep hair from my eyes. And his eyes, though heavy with sleep, were kind as they searched my face for something that I didn’t yet know was there. He was familiar and I swore I knew him from some other night or some other life.

I told him that if he was interested I had some fabric for sale but he had to come inside. He said, “The fabric that you’re selling is precious and priceless. It’s the most valuable fabric of all.” It was strange but I didn’t care. He seemed a willing customer and for some reason I knew he would give me more than I asked for. He got off his motorcycle, took off his rain gear, and followed me inside and up the narrow staircase. It always smelled, I thought, like fear in there, passion and violence, hate and brokenness. We reached the top of the stairs and I crossed the room to turn on the lamp. His words fell quiet and tender on my ears.

Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light / Those days are over / You
don't have to sell your body to the night / Roxanne, you don't have to wear that
dress tonight / Walk the streets for money / You don't care if it's wrong or if
it's right

He told me again that the fabric I was selling was too costly to sell and that I should treasure it. “It’s the fabric of your very life; don’t sell it to the wolves.” I was flushed with anger and with embarrassment. Who was he? Who was he to tell me how to run my life? How was I supposed to escape this place? And how would I start over if I did? I was scared though too. I knew they would be watching for the red light through the window. And I reached out my hand again to turn the switch.

Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light / Roxanne, you don't have to put
on the red light / Put on the red light, put on the red light / Put on the red
light, put on the red light / Put on the red light, oh

His voice was like a salve, healing old wounds and soothing the ache left by years of prayers uttered in dark rooms illumined by red lights. He drew me in close to him the way I’d dreamed of someone doing before this nightmare of my life began. His arms embracing me brought old feelings and memories back to me. Feelings of being a little girl being wrapped up tightly in her daddy’s arms; memories of feeling truly treasured and cherished. I felt all of the past escape me and with it all the shame associated with the kind of life I'd somehow found myself in. Outside the door my boss was storming up the stairs, yelling my name. Telling me I had a customer asking for me downstairs.

I loved you since I knew ya / I wouldn't talk down to ya / I have to tell you
just how I feel / I won't share you with another boy / I know my mind is made up
/ So put away your make up / Told you once I won't tell you again it's a bad way

This seemingly familiar stranger knew me, knew my name, and knew who I was and what I was about. All the same, he didn’t care where I’d been; only where I was going and that I was going there with him. We went out the back window. He made bending the iron bars that had kept me trapped inside so long look so easy. We scrambled down the fire escape and had disappeared around the corner across the street under the cover of the night. He was a jealous lover. He refused to share me with anyone or anything. He didn’t want leftovers but rather he wanted my everything. That was made clear to me. A few years have passed since he ripped me from the life I’d stumbled into and hemmed me up into a life much better, one he’d long been preparing for me. Every once in a while he catches me in affairs, pretending to be someone I'm not or forfeiting the distances I've come since that night and I hear him whisper to me:

Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light / Roxanne, you don't have to
put on the red light / You don't have to put on the red light / Put on the red light, put on the red light.

(Roxanne lyrics by Sting)