The M & M Club

I have two sisters, both younger. Our names all start with M. When we were growing up with our mother, we called ourselves the M & M club. This of course included eating the wonderful colored candy. There was only the plain version, and way too many brown ones. We fought over the greens and reds.

We were always very different. I was dramatic, a reader and a bit of a loner. My middle sister was good, a hard worker and very sensitive. She cried a lot. My youngest sister was fearless, dancing in circles for hours, draped in beads, and a hat. She loved being naked with accessories. We would grow up and follow these paths of personality. I married young, worked in a library and school. The good sister works in law enforcement donating time and money to worthy causes.
The youngest, she is a provider, a modern day working girl, the internet her virtual street corner. Forty seven, without teeth, though she does have an upper plate. Her lower one was stolen by her twenty year old, convict ex-boyfriend. She is a recovering meth-heroin addict, catering to octogenarians, mentally, physically disabled social security recipients, foreign visitors, judges with specific proclivities and other assorted characters.
I learned of her career choice when she called me at 2:00 am crying hysterically that she was in jail and I needed to call Roger to bail her out,” But wait he doesn’t know my real name he knows me as Vicki.”. She then proceeded to give me names and numbers to call without a breath in between, just sobbing. She was so distraught she had relieved herself and not the liquid way on the jail floor. She said the black girls wanted to beat her up for stinking up the place.
I sigh and say I will do what I can. It is very late, even in California where she lives. My husband doesn’t even turn over, so accustomed to crazy calls in the dead of night. She does a stint in County, finds Jesus and vows never to use Craig’s List again. She has learned much from her cellmates.

She embarked on her improved career with some business acumen, peer networking, and confidence. She can now pay her child support. She risked jail for nonpayment and ironically by her method of making payments. The state ignores her failure to file federal taxes. They just want the money, for her five children living with fathers and grandparents after the courts rightfully declared her unable to care for them. With a rap sheet inked with burglary, solicitation, driving under the influence along with other offenses, traditional employment is difficult, a living wage impossible. She is making more money than she has in her life, all conveniently untaxed. She is independent and concurrently dependent on men.
She takes great pleasure in sharing her work experiences in graphic pornographic detail. Here is an edited example.

The Tale of the Lost Toy: It was the night before my sister traveled home for a visit hoping for extra spending money she had a “date” with a patron, who spoke very little English. He had a request involving a battery operated utensil. No problem, she applied ample amounts of petroleum for the procedure, but mid-application she screamed. Oops, during this session was in the same league as a surgeon or a barber’s oops. The still moving object was not visible anymore. After several attempts at ejection the language barrier became more pronounced accompanied by anxiety and impatience. This was supposed to be a relatively quick exchange. She had to pack. He made a frantic phone call to his father asking for advice to dislodge the object, after demonstrative pantomiming from Vickie; he emerged from the restroom, triumphant. She found the forgotten plaything still vibrating in the bathroom sink.

Her life is a sad contradiction, if you choose to see it that way. My sister embraces her career choice sticking it to the man literally and figuratively. She does not apologize or conceal her profession, with legal exception. It is her choice. She is happy to be paid for these acts instead of bartering or taken without consent. She has a semblance of control.

She does not worry about aging or tomorrow, one day at a time.