Pungent. That is the only word I can really use to describe it. Pungent. It’s a smell I’ve grown accustomed to, but despite my best efforts, I gag. He smiles at me like it is some milestone he’s reached, some achievement.
After he thanks me, he pushes the stained sheet out of the way as he makes his way out of the warehouse. He probably shook hands with Amanuay before getting into his black Lexus and driving back to work. He better hurry. He took a little longer than usual and he only has forty five minutes for his lunch break. I check the Mickey Mouse watch that Anchali gave to me before Amanuay sent her with Mother. I haven’t seen her in weeks, but that’s not uncommon around here.
Amanuay comes in and splashes perfume on my chest and inner thighs. Pungent. He’s talking to me, but I can’t make out the words. My attention is locked on a small girl walking in with Mother. Her eyes are swollen shut and she has a slight limp. Her tiny feet keep stumbling over the rocks on the dusty warehouse floor as she desperately clings to a one armed teddy bear. Mother rips the bear from her hands and shoves the little girl forward into an empty room; Anchali’s room. Well, now I know what happened to her. Mother’s bracelets clang together as she walks back past my room lighting a cigarette. A trail of smoke creeps into my room and invades my nostrils. Pungent.
Amanuay kisses my cheek and promises to get me more of the magic sleeves that men should wear; I just have to be a good girl for the rest of the day. I mindlessly nod, but I can’t stop looking at the sheet concealing the little girl. Against my will, my memory wanders away…“No! Please! I just want to go home. My father promised he would be back for me! The lady with the bracelets wasn’t supposed to take me this far. I am begging you. STOP-“
I shake my head. That day is in the past and this is my life now. I lie down on the bed and twirl my fingers around the red tassels that hang from the edge of my blanket. This is the worst part; waiting. This is the time that you have nothing to do except think, and thinking is dangerous. I think of the old life, I think of Anchali, but most of all, I think of the frangipani tree. In the old life, I would lay under the tree for hours and dream about becoming a butterfly, flying carelessly around the pink blossoms with the warm sun shining on my wings.
I snap back to reality when a young man enters my room. I smile the special smile Mother taught me and pat the bed, inviting him to me. He nervously shifts his weight among his feet and won’t look me in the eye. He doesn’t come to me.
We both look towards the hallway when we hear screaming and crying. It comes from the little girl’s room. Mother found her first customer fast. I bet she was a virgin; Amanuay will get a lot of money for that. I bow my head, perhaps in loving memory of her innocence.
“What is your name?” The nervous man finally asks me, wiping the sweat from his head with his sleeve.
Learned hesitation silences me. Mother always told me never to reveal anything about myself. Just do what they want as quickly and quietly as possible. But, if he asked, he obviously wants to know.
I whisper, “Chariya.”
He sighs and smiles. “What a beautiful name, Chariya.” He looks over his shoulder before he walks towards the bed. I start to unbutton my dress but he stops my hands.
“No, Chariya. I don’t want that.” I reach for his belt buckle and again, he stops my hands. He brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes and examines my face with such curiosity and pity; drowning in his own thoughts. He kisses the top of my forehead, just like my father used to do. Tears well up in my eyes; I couldn’t remember the last time someone touched me so gently.
“Chariya, I need you listen to me.” He looks towards the sheet, and continued with urgency, “I am here to help you. I work for an organization in America. Do you know where that is?”
I nod. He continues, “I work for an organization that helps girls like you. I am here to take you to a safe place.”
I feel as though his words were flying at me like firecrackers. Each one explodes in my ears and muffled the rest. Take me away to a safe place? What would Mother do? I want the man to leave my room, but then I remember the frangipani tree.
“You’ll take me home?” I asked.
“Chariya, you were sold to these awful people by your parents. Going back to them would not be safe.”
“Will I get to use the special sleeves in America?” I ask after a moment of thought. He looks at me with a perplexed look on his brow, and it softens as he realizes what I mean.
“You won’t have to. Chariya, you won’t have to be with men anymore. You will go to a special school for girls like you. Eventually you will go to college and learn how to become whatever you want to be in life.”
I close my eyes and remember the way the sun looked glimmering off the purple wings. I smile at the kind man. “Could I be a butterfly?”
He smiles and chuckles a lighthearted laugh, “Of course.”
All of a sudden, Amanuay swings open the sheet and starts yelling at the kind man in Thai. He grabs him by the arm and shoves him towards the door. I hear him call out something about tomorrow over his shoulder, but Amanuay had slammed the warehouse doors before I could respond. I did not get any more special sleeves.
The next morning, I wake to the smell of smoke. It is not from Mother’s cigarette, though. It is from a fire. I gasp and the burning smoke enters my lungs and scorches deep in my body. My legs are paralyzed, so I lay here in a familiar tranquil state. I lay here and think.
I know neither Mother nor Amanuay will come for me. I know they drugged most of the girls, so they would sleep through the agony. I know I was not so lucky, because I allowed the kind man to distract me from my purpose. I will lay here and wait for the smoke and the flames to battle which will get to take me first.
As I feel my last breaths escaping my lungs, my eyes slowly close. I can see the frangipani tree. I am lying under its hypnotic blossoms, and when I inhale my last breath of the warehouse, it is not smoke I smell. It is not the stifling odor of burning cement. It is the sweet fragrance of the petals that I lightly dance on. Pungent.