'Tweet me a story' contest

Yah, I got myslef enrolled in another one of NYCMMM's contests. This time a cute challenge, write a story in 140 characters with only one restriction: use your assigned word. My word was 'lost' and these are the 3 stories I submitted (from the 16 I wrote ;) )

1.
LMFAO! he CBB TBH 2 her & TILII! He = a SOB! she LOST her BFF & he took off FTASB. IJWTS he's n @SS IMO! BTW, IHA, WDYT?G2G TTYL, CU TOM XOXO

(message me if your 'lost' in translation)

2.
I think I lost interest when he tried to tell me about his memories of his past life as a French Monk. Thanks for the great blind date, mom!


3.
Her tears were the best reward ever. I lost my cynicism when I saw them running down her dirty, worn, old face. It was just a ham sandwich.

Let me know what y'all think!

The 'Au pair Diaries'

A little over a year ago now, I was not in a happy place, finished college, couldn’t find that ‘amazing’ job and had taken on whatever I could get. When that also turned out not to work for me, I decided it was time for a change of scenery. I was time for me to pack my bags and move away from the city I had grown to love and hate at the same time. I had always had a desire to travel but never had the funds to do it. I still didn’t have those funds so I looked for a way to travel cheap and hopefully make some money out of it. Somehow I discovered an agency that asked for au pairs in America. Looking over the options and the financial picture I decided this was what I wanted to do. Without questioning myself for too long, I signed up and the process began. In July 2008 it was finally time for me to get on a plane for the first time and fly to the United States of America, the promised land. My hopes were set high and I really thought this would be the perfect way to step out of my downward circle back at home.

Soon I arrived at my new family’s home and I was welcomed warmly. We had a good connection and communication was open. For about a week. Actually, I should have seen the signs when they had forgotten about my birthday, which in advance they had promised to celebrate with a big party. But within the first week, the mother had to travel for business and it was just the dad and me. And he made me work. If you have ever read the Nanny diary’s, I can confirm right here and now, that many thing mentioned in the book are not exaggerated. Some people really think they own a personal slave. Their house was immaculate and I was expected to keep it that way. Good luck, with a two year old toddler, who has an attention span of 3 miliseconds. I was constantly picking up after him and putting toys away.

But that was not by far the worst, these people, ambitious as they were, expected me to have their 2 year old ‘gifted’ son reading and writing within a few months. Now sure, I saw a possibility in getting him started on some activities, but the main factor in a two year old is motivation, something he lacked tremendously when it came to reading and writing games or creativity. He wanted to play with cars, and planes, and boats or the piano, nothing more. Besides these impossible demands there was another issue. How could I, being 25 years old, ever have thought that I was more than their house slave? How could I have ever thought that I had a right to some free time, my own friends, my own thoughts and my own room? No, I was put in my place pretty quickly. My bedroom was checked for neatness about everyday, I was to treat their property with respect and I could not leave my dirty laundry in the hamper for 3 days. I felt like a 2 year old myself. Everything I did had to be checked. I had to always tell them where I was going, with whom and what time I would be back, just like when I was 17 and living with my parents. Except these people weren’t my parents, they were my employers, who not just acted as my parents but as my slavedrivers.

On top of it all, the dad was seriously mentally ill and gladly took this out on me. Many times he would just burst out into yelling, out of nowhere and he was always trying to indoctrinate me with his crazy Ideas. He was anal retentive and extremely controlling. He would make me get up at 6.30 am to start work at 7.00 am, because he had to go to work early and then I would sit in the living room and wait for him to show up until usually 9.00 am. He would call me and say he would be home by 6.00 pm, and he would show up around 7.30 pm, and even then leaving me to take care of the child, even though my workday was long over. He would sneak into my room when I was gone and snoop around and when he had a chance he would read my text messages on my phone. And worse, when I confronted him with all of this, he lied about it, straight to my face. Needless to say I kept this up for 2 months after which I completely broke down. I had told them I wanted a new family and was supposed to stay with them for two more weeks. In this time he still tried to indoctrinate me and dominate me and manipulate me by telling me I would never find another family, because I was so impossible to live with etc. Two days after my decision I couldn’t take it anymore, and while the 2 year old was napping, I quickly packed my suitcases and called my counselor to pick me up around 5, when they would come home. When the dad came home and saw my suitcases by the door he exploded. I was sure he was going to physically attack me and I had heard rumors about a gun in the house. My counselor couldn’t have arrived at a better time, she literally saved my life that day.

Pretty soon she thought she had found me another family, but luck was not on my side as they did not have the finances to pay for an au pair. Darling as they were they did let me stay at their house until I found a new family and they were very supportive and sweet. I will always be grateful to them for being there for me when I needed some friends.

Matching did not go as well as I had hoped but just as I was about to give up, I met my current family. For the interview the mom and I went out for breakfast and we had a great time. We talked for ever and I had a great feeling about it. The first weekend of October, 3 months after my arrival, I moved in. The first months were great. The kids were fun, the parents were nice but yes, after a while this painting also started showing some cracks. An au pair is supposed to be taken in to the family as part of the family. She is supposed to be fed by the family and if that means she eats different things, these things should be bought by the family. None of this happened in this family. When they planned family dinners or events, they would not invite me until the last minute, by that time I would have plans of course. On Friday nights they all went out to dinner and yes, I joined them a few times, but they never asked me until they already had one foot out the door. When I wanted different food from what they usually bought, I had to pay for it myself, mind you off a salary of $176 dollars a week.

After Christmas things really started to change. The oldest child, an 11 year old girl, suddenly hit puberty and the hormones were flying around the house. She could be very rude, never listened to me and did things her own way. And there was no way for me to discipline her, because the parents never backed me up. I was lost in a horrible world of hormones and now even the kids were treating me as their own personal slaves. After about 2,5 months I broke and I told the mom, crying my eyes out, that I was losing control and couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of comforting me and being there for me, she blamed it on me. I was not involved enough with the children (look who’s talking), I was always relaxing when I should take care of them and so on and so on. This was quite a slap in the face to me and once again completely upset I called my counselor. What to do now? She came through for me again and kept me sane and gave me enough motivation to keep holding on and pushing through. I changed the way I worked with the kids and gave up on raising them. My new goal was to make it through the day without any fights and amazingly, this worked. For about 5 weeks everything seemed to be perfect. The mom was nice to me all the time, the kids kind of listened to me and I had started counting down the weeks until my leave back home.

Until one day the mom came home from a weekend in Denver on business. The dad had gotten the kids up in the morning for two days in a row and I had to go through the house cleaning up his tracks. On Tuesday I also had an assignment for school and because it ran a little late, I had no more time to run out for groceries so I planned to do those that evening. The laundry was halfway done and I was planning on finishing it while one kid was at school for a recital and the other was at tennis. However the mom came home earlier than normal and found my chores not done. She found it perfectly legitimate to start yelling and screaming at me in front of her youngest child, a 9 year old boy. She screamed at me that I didn’t do my work properly and I was irresponsible, especially for someone my age. I didn’t take good care of the kids, I never asked if it was ok to go places and I slacked off on the housework. I slept too long in my free time and she had never had an au pair who had disrespected her so much. And then she stormed out of the room. You can understand that I have just given you the short version, because the screaming went on for about 10-15 minutes without giving me a chance to say anything back. She forbade me to use the car for anything else than work things (I have classes on Saturday that I paid for myself). Then she stormed out it was up to me to comfort her 9 year old son because he was about to burst into tears. I told him it was ok, not to cry and went on with my work as I would have if she hadn’t exploded on me. About twenty minutes later she came down and apologized for screaming at me. She had had some long days and was not happy about what she found when she came home. She said she needed me to work differently and I said that I never had any idea that she was so dissatisfied. I told her that if she didn’t tell me what she wanted me to do differently, how was I supposed to know? And she said she understood. It as a busy time and she had to leave to a recital with the oldest and I was left with the youngest finishing up homework.

Later that night she apologized again and told me I could still take my classes and that she just needed more help with the household things. I wonder if she ever realized how much she broke inside me. I wonder if these people ever realize what it is like, living under someone else’s roof, after being on your own for 6 years, trying to adjust to a new culture, being on call 24/7, never feeling accepted in their house and feeling more alone anyone can ever feel while surrounded by people. Perhaps one day, years from now, I will be able to really tell her the truth, how much she disrespected me by the things she said and did, how uncomfortable I have always felt in their house, how badly I think she was raising her kids, maybe. But for now, I just decide to shut up, work even harder, and take the pain on the way. Because if this year has taught me one thing, it is that I am strong. I am a strong young woman, and although I have a lot to learn when it comes to speaking up for myself, no one will ever be able to say I gave up. Through all of the misery these people have given me (because this was just a glimpse, trust me), I have remained strong and hopeful for the future.

In August this year I am moving to another Family, in San Fransisco. My friend has been with this family for 9 months and she has never experienced anything like what has happened to me during the past year. Whether it is karma or just plain bad luck I don’t know. But I am hopeful that my six months with this family will prove all my newly developed ideas about American families completely wrong. I am just praying for the strength to make it through these last 9 weeks. Please pray with me…..

writers challenge

Ok, so I entered this writing challenge in january, as a motivator to keep me writing. I have to admit that just three months into it, I already cursed this decision, but so far I have kept it up. Knowing myself I reread the rules today and saw that I was supposed to put my intentions to join this challenge up on my blog. So here they are. I intend to stick to this challenge, as another attempt to improve my writing. Check out the contest on:

http://www.aerin.me/Writing_Challenge/About.html

Time to move on...

“Mace, you on that treadmill AGAIN?” Angela tried to raise her voice over the music I was playing to keep me going on a steady pace. The fast baseline of ‘Freestyler’ by Bombfunk MC’s was busting through my surround sound system. Pearls of sweat had formed on my face and I grabbed the remote to turn down the volume.

“Yeah, sure, you know I need to keep in shape!” I answered while still trying to maintain the same pace. It was one thing to work out alone, with some good music to keep you going, it was another to also talk at the same time. Angela gave me a pitiful look but I ignored her as I took a big gulp from my water bottle. I was going to get that firm ass and those sleek thighs, even if I had to work out two hours a day.

Angela walked out into the kitchen to get herself a drink and I tried to get back to focusing on the task that lay beforehand. Thankfully, time had flown by faster than I thought and my alarm was already going off. I slacked off my cooling down period and enthusiastically jumped off the treadmill. Not a smart idea after being on it for forty minutes. With a loud “OOMPH!”, I smacked to the ground just as Angela came walking back in. “Smooth moves Mace, is that also in preparation of your big night?”

I hated how she pronounced ‘big night’ in a condescending way. She knew what this night meant to me. It would be a chance for a new beginning. Stumbling back onto my feet I grunted: “Shut up!” in my defense. Angela just laughed and followed me to my master bedroom.
As I started stripping off my sweaty clothes I continued: “I want to look my best, you never know who I might run into!”

“Yeah girl, you might just meet your knight in shining armor, who knows.” Even though Angela’s voice got muffled a little because I continued my way into the bathroom, leaving the door half-open, I replied: “Hey, at least I am trying to do something about it!”

“Can’t deny that!” I heard her answer right before I turned on the shower. After a quick shower we took an hour and a half to get through all of my wardrobe possibilities and then ordered some take-out and spent the rest of the night on the couch.

***

“Mace, calm down, you will do fine!” Angela’s voice echoed through my apartment from the speakerphone in my bedroom. I was sitting on the floor in front of my bed, in a pair of pants and my bra, my knees pulled up, my arms leaning on my legs and my head resting in my arms. I was trying not to hyperventilate. “Angel, I can’t do this. I am not ready yet!”

“Sweety it has been nine months, it’s time to move on! He has!” She added on, mumbling: “Lord knows, he has.”

“You’re not being helpful!” I said in a scornful tone. I could hear her sigh on the other side of the line. “Ok, Mace, look at it this way, you paid forty bucks for this night. Drinks are included, at the very least you can get yourself drunker than ever for forty bucks!”

I burst out laughing. “Angel you are crazy, but you’re right.” My breathing was still uneven. “I need to lighten up a bit.”

“Time to put your outfit on, remember, you want to say sexy, but also distinguished and independent!” I crawled up from the floor and walked to my closet. I knew exactly what I would wear. I had the perfect black pants that I had bought months ago, one size too small, but thanks to my treadmill they fit now. On top I put on a blouse, with a fine crease pressed into it. The blouse was aquamarine blue, it brought out the color brown of my eyes. Leaving the top three buttons open I showed just enough cleavage to show it was there, but still be mysterious enough about it.

“Angel I need to blow-dry my hair, need to let you go, ok?”

“Are you sure you’re ready? Can I let go of your hand now?”

“Yes”, I sighed, “I am fine now, thank you! Love you, bye!”

By this time I was standing next to the machine and clicked Angela away right after these words. Time to get my hair and make-up ready, both of course had to look like I had put no effort into it at all, which result could only be achieved after at least an hour of work.

An hour later, after checking my butt in the mirror one more time, all ready and a little ahead of schedule I stepped into the elevator of my building.

“Excuse me, what floor is this?” Two bright green eyes looked straight into mine.

“Fifth.” I answered and I added a little smile to my answer. He returned the favor and at the same time stuck his hand out.

“I’m George.” His voice was a warm baritone. Besides the amazing green eyes he had light brown hair, in a neat cut, a dimple in his right cheek and an athletic posture. He was wearing a nice pair of designer jeans and a buttoned-down black shirt.

“I’m new to the building.” He added as he shook my hand after I had taken his. “In fact, I am new to the city.” I had already opened my mouth to introduce myself but he interrupted me.

“I am so sorry, I am being rude, please, speak.” His whole manor had something very gentlemanlike and I found myself very attracted to him.

“I am Macy, 5F.” I said in a way to businesslike way. Again he gave me his nice smile and I suddenly felt the need to lean into one of the elevator walls.

“So where are you from?” I asked him, hoping that I sounded casual this time.
“Other side of the country.” He answered short but amused. “I am from Charleston, North Carolina.”

“How nice to have a Southern gentleman added to our building.” My attempt to be friendly was lame, I knew, but I found myself not knowing anything better to say.

However he laughed at my remark and said: “You might want to leave the gentleman part out.” He added a little wink. Was he flirting with me? By this time the elevator bell dinged and we both had to get out on the ground floor. Southern gentleman or not, he let me step out first and then rushed past me to open the door for me.

“TAXI!” I had walked up to the curve and hailed a cab to get me downtown. No way I was going to take the subway in this outfit!

I got into my taxi and before it took off I glanced at my new handsome neighbor and wondered if my plans for tonight might be redundant. Perhaps I should look at what’s right in front of me. As the city started rushing by though, I quickly forgot about my conversation in the elevator and tried to poise myself for the night ahead of me.

After yet another hectic cab-ride (why do I still keep getting in?) I finally got there about ten minutes before it was supposed to start. I liked being early, especially when I had to go somewhere so far out of my comfort zone. It gave me a chance to score the room, make me feel more comfortable. The other advantage I found out was that I got to pick a table because I was so early.

Ten minutes later, after carefully scoping out the right table, the room started filling up very quickly with men and women my age. I looked at the women to see if there was any competition. I saw a bunch of women who must have been at least five years younger than me, it was more obvious in the way they dressed and handled themselves then by their faces. Women in their early twenties tend to dress a little more obvious. Show more cleavage and legs because in their minds more is less. When you pass twenty five you start learning that less can be more and sexy is not in the way you dress. I noticed a bunch of guys who would definitely go for these younger women, they were already eyeing them from the other side of the room. Well, I wasn’t looking for a man like that anyway. While I was still scoping out a possible date, suddenly a bell rang and a guy sat down in front of me.

I tried to smile and take my time but he started talking immediately, it was obvious that he had done this before. While he was introducing myself I had already decided that I wasn’t going to like him, since he was one of the guys scoping out the half-dressed girls earlier on. I guessed he was in his early thirties, a career man but even though he had the arrogance, he lacked a certain charisma and I guessed he wasn’t as successful as he made it sound. He had dark blond hair and a very standard I-go-to-the-gym-every-morning-posture. When the bell rang it felt like it had been an hour and I couldn’t remember saying much at all.

Soon enough the second guy sat down. I had to look twice and try not to laugh. A four foot five, bald and clearly middle aged guy, with glasses from the eighties and a history professor like tweed suit sat down and stuck out a small but sweaty hand. Out of politeness I took it as he began to speak with a voice more fitting a squirrel then a grown man.

“Hi, I am Donald, nice to meet you!”

“Macey, likewise.” I said with little to no enthusiasm. He seemed to be excited enough for the both of us. He couldn’t sit still on his chair as he was chattering away, constantly asking me the weirdest questions.

“Have you ever been married before? I have.”

“No.”

“What color are the walls in your house? Mine are all neutrals, I like neutrals, do you?”

“Sure.”

“What are your hobby’s? Do you like painting by numbers?”

“Not really..” I had no idea how to respond to this guy and couldn’t have been happier to hear the bell.

By now I had given up on the concept, I looked at the faces around the room, all still full of expectation. I wished I still had the innocent expectations some of the people here had, I had lost my naivety after Branden had broken up with me. He had cheated on me and not only that, just three months after our break-up they had announced their engagement. We had been together for six years and he never even hinted towards marriage, but apparently, while still with her, he had found the love of his life.

Lost in my thoughts I had not even noticed the next guy who had moved towards my table and had sat himself down. And somehow he had not felt the need to draw my attention.

“Are you as bored by this as I am?” The voice, that sounded somewhat familiar, woke me from my daydreams and I focused on the face in front of me. If I had meant to make a funny retort, my words left me the instant I looked at him. And to top of the wonderful impression I was making on him, I started stammering.

“I…uhm…well I wouldn’t say…he…eeerhm…Hi!”

“Wow, so boring it’s got you at a loss for words huh?” He had a slight grin on his face as he said this. Was he taunting me? He quickly glanced to the guy to the right from him, Donald. When he turned back to me his smile had grown wider.

“So this guy must make a really good chance, should I even talk to you?”

That finally broke the ice and I started laughing.

“I am sorry, after the guys that have sat down at my table so far I wasn’t expecting anything good anymore, especially not you!” Oh no! Did I really say that? Now he must think I am some weird sad girl. And just being here already added to that fact. But wait, he was here too!

“So what brings you here?” I dared to ask him. He smiled again and with his slight Southern accent said: “Figured it would be a good way to meet some new people here. Didn’t realize I was going to meet my neighbor, haha!”

I smiled and again found myself at a loss for words. Why couldn’t I just make conversation with a handsome guy? Even if this wasn’t going to be anything romantic, at least it would be nice to have a nice male friend in the building. Suddenly I heard Angela’s voice echoing through my head: “What do you have to lose?” and whether this was her speaking or my un conscious, I decided that the voice was right.

“Well, I’ll be happy to show you some nice coffee places and bars you can check out!” I gave him my warmest “I-am-not-trying-to-come-on-to-you-but-do-you-like-it?” look.

“Well that sounds like an excellent plan!” He leaned in closer and said: “In fact, why don’t we call this thing a night and go find one of those places?” I suppressed a giggle. Did he actually say that? Were they really that tacky in North Carolina? Because here something like that would never fly. And yet I could not stop myself from saying: “Good idea, I have seen enough here!”

I felt like a teenager sneaking out of school as we stood up, as casual as possible, and slowly started walking out of the room. I tried not to look at all the people looking at us, and in an attempt to do that, I looked at him. He gave me a warm smile and suddenly I knew walking out of here with him was the smartest thing I had done in months.

As we walked to the elevator I glanced at the organizers of the night and could see their surprised looks. One of them was definitely not a star in subtleness as she bent over to her college and whispered just a tad too loud: “I hate it when there’s two people who cannot even wait an hour until the night is over before they hit the sack together.” All I did was smile at her. Little did she know.

When the elevator doors closed he looked at me and said: “So, Macy, 5F....” This time his smile was seductive and slowly I leaned into the elevator wall again. This could become a very interesting night……

Torn between two worlds

A little over seven months ago, I moved to the United States from Europe. It was time for a new adventure. Never before had I been to the US, never before had I even been on an airplane. For seven months I have been trying to adapt myself to life here which, when looked at on the surface, is not that different from life in Western Europe. However after a while many differences become apparent.

In Europe we tend to say that the ‘Americans’ want everything bigger and better and this little phrase applies to a lot of things here. For example the infrastructure; houses, neighborhoods, streets, shopping centers, stores and restaurants. Everything is bigger than in Europe. What many people like about Europe, the picturesque little towns, the small old churches, town-squares etc, the United States (for as far as I have seen it), lacks. Although I have seen my share of tiny churches along the side of the road.

‘Americans’ (and excuse me for using thins term so boldly and generally) raise their children with different values. Not just in the family life, where I see a big lack of respect for not just the parents but all elders, but also in schools. It’s very natural to view events that have occurred in history from your country’s point of view. All countries do this as it is ‘our’ ancestors’ history. However the prejudice I had about Americans being ignorant when it comes to Geography has so far, sadly, only been enforced. Many times I have had to explain that The Netherlands is not a collective name for Scandinavia (which is the collective name for Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Finland), nor is it the collective name for the BeNeLux (which is the collective name for Belgium, Netherlands and Luxembourg). My country is not located near Greenland or Iceland and yes, another name for it is Holland, they are not two separate countries.

Less often, but still an annoying amount of times, have I had to explain that no, we do not all wear wooden shoes, live in windmills, grow Tulips and smoke weed all day. The Netherlands is in current society, but also history known for some very big achievements. Have you ever stopped to think about where the names ‘Brooklyn’, ‘Harlem’ and ‘Flushing’ came from? You can find their Dutch equivalents in your atlas (resp. Breukelen, Haarlem and Vlissingen). Ever wondered where the CD came from? An invention from the Dutch company called ‘Philips’. How about the microscope? Yes dear readers, also a Dutch invention, by sir Antoni van Leeuwenhoek.
Now don’t get me wrong, I know many Dutch people think the United States has 52 states instead of 50, and have a lot of prejudices about Americans, so I am not saying one is better than the other. It’s merely the point of perspective.

There are many things I have grown to like about the United States, such as: Low airfares, cheap gas, drivethru banking, stores opened on Sunday, stores opened until 11pm, midnight movies, butter on my popcorn, 500 channels to chose from, $1 movie rental, someone who packs your bags at the cash register, amazon.com and many more. To me, the whole country is built for convenience. You can just hop into your car (if you have one) and the whole world is at your disposal. At first I was amazed at the big diversity in just drive-thru restaurants, and at their frequency. Where in Europe I pretty much had the choice between MacDonalds, macDonalds, MacDonalds and an occasional Burger King, Pizza Hut or KFC, here there’s Zaxby’s, Wendy’s, Arby’s, Chick-Fil-A, and many more. And you never have to drive more than five minutes to get to one. I remember back at home, on a lazy Sunday with an empty fridge we would sometimes say: let’s go and get some drivethru! Even though there was a McD’s just five minutes away from home, we would drive 25 (!) minutes just to go to the drive-thru… How lame was that?

But comparing food I have to say many things here in the US are very bland to me. I am used to foods with strong and distinctive flavors where here, everything gets covered by a layer of either butter, cream or BBQ sauce… Bread tastes sweet and is so loaded with preservatives you can leave it in the pantry for two weeks and it’ll still taste ok. I have to pay 25 bucks a lb for a decent imported Dutch cheese, you sweeten your icetea, but don’t flavor it, Pancakes are yellow, thick and ALWAYS covered with butter, you eat sausage or sometimes steak and hash browns for breakfast and WHY do you have milk and cookies before bed? Another thing that dazzles me is that you can get a fastfood meal for 5 bucks and will not know what to do with half of it, but if you want to shop for some decent fresh ingredients, you might have to forget about going on vacation during the spring.

When I just got here I took some driving classes, just to get familiar with the roads and the traffic rules here ( a whole other chapter that is!), and my instructor would ask me every two minutes: “Do you like…food?” (fill in any kind on the dots) and we would just then pass a place where I could get some. Everywhere there are restaurants, everywhere you can order take-out, everywhere, the portions are too big and everywhere, you can take a to-go box. Try asking for one in my country, the waiter will try his best not to laugh at you. Here, I can order a decent meal and a drink for 12 dollars and will have enough to take home for a second meal. In the Netherlands we used to make a sport out of finding a restaurant where you could eat for less than 25 euro’s (which is about 35 bucks). If we managed to succeed we had a cheap dinner!

Over Christmas I went home and one of the days I was there I went out for dinner with a friend. At the restaurant I ordered a Diet Coke (Coke light in the NL) and after a few minutes the waiter comes in with the tiniest glass (0.25 liters), filled with 3 ice cubes (thank god for that) and a 0.2 liter bottle of coke. After four sips my glass is empty and soon enough I start looking out for the waiter, hoping that he will replace my empty bottle. However when he finally spots me, nearly dehydrated by then, he gives me the option to order a new coke, and another 2,5 euro’s (3,5 dollars) is added to the bill. Excuse me? I was so happy to come back here to the land of the bottomless cup!

However what I do really miss about Europe is its cultural diversity. It took me at least four months here to not get lost anymore because landmarks, no way! Every shopping center looks the same, every community or subdivision looks the same and I got lost everywhere! In Europe, you KNOW when you’ve crossed the border and drove into a different country, when the traffic-signs are suddenly in a different language. And believe me, it’s not that hard to suddenly cross a border from my country. In fact, one of my favorite ways to spend a lost afternoon back at home would be to drive to Germany and go shopping. Especially when I knew I was moving here I loved going over there to practice my English. I would find the smallest town I could find and go into a bank or a pharmacy and start asking questions in English. It soon became a game to time myself in giving them a panicked look on their face. I know, cruelty right? But you would think that in a developed country in Western Europe, everyone would speak English. Apparently not!

All in all there is definitely a balanced scale present and if I were to move back, there will be many things I would miss about the United States. Perhaps it would take me 25 years of living in the US to not feel homesick for Europe anymore. Either way, living here or in Europe, I must admit I feel very privileged to have been able to live in both places. In the future I plan do try and do so in many more of the magical places of the world. After all, although my roots are European and more specific, Dutch, I feel like a citizen of the world.

The price of freedom

I wrote this story as one of four versions of an entry for a short story contest. Allthough edited and revised (once) this story never made the cut. However I would love to get reviews on it, as I put in the effort and know I have much to learn. Fell free to leave me any constructive feedback. Thnx!

Brief synopsis:
I know this is not where I want my life to go. So after years of living in this hell, it is time for me to take a stand and fight for my freedom.


“I told you I have no idea where the money went!” I gasp as he slams me into the wall of the hotel room. “You’d better stop lying to me, cookie!” he growls in my face. I just turn my head away. We have been through this many times before, his threats don’t scare me anymore. He has broken my arms and ribs, bruised my body and hurt me so many times I have learned to shut myself down when he gets like this. I work very hard for this money and I hate it. Right now, it’s my only option will have to be strong like I know I can be.

He releases his grip on me and I drop to the floor. Even though I know it’s what he wants, I refuse to cry. I have cried my tears long ago. I stay seated and watch as he sits down on the bed. “What am I to do with you cookie?” He says, and I know it’s a rhetorical question. He gives me his ugly stare as he reaches to the back of his pants and draws out his gun. Here we go again, I think as he points the gun at me. I stare at him blankly. If we are going to have a sit down I am sure as hell not going to be the first one to give in. I start to observe him. His hair is too long, too greasy and it makes him look like an Eastern European mob guy, although his name is Clarence and he was born and raised in Greenwich, New York. I always wondered where picked up his street skills as he most definitely did not learn them growing up.

Some people say kids become criminals because of their environment. Not this guy though, I think he was born evil. He always dresses a little off. It’s like you can see he has money, but he just doesn’t know how to spend it. He wears a suit that looks like it was once very nice. Now it’s just faded and dirty, as if he hasn’t washed it in a month. I bet it smells murky as well, I am hopeful I won’t find out whether I am right or wrong today, but you never know with Clarence. He can be slamming you against the wall in anger one minute and the slamming you against the headboard in excitement the next. He says he does it to test his ‘product’. He needs to know what he’s selling. He knows I don’t buy into it and just let him have his way to get it over with. I stopped fighting him a long time ago, discovering very early in our ‘relationship’ that it was useless. He would just break my arm or ribs and still make me work.

The only thing about him that looks nice is his tie. He always wears a nice tie and I have never seen any of them more than once. Of course it’s one of his favorite instruments as well. Perhaps that’s why he always wears a new one. After five minutes, he’s still pointing his gun and staring at me. We have done this ritual so many times I am almost at a point where I want stand up and say: “Come on Clarence, let’s cut the crap here.” But I don’t. I let him have his little stare down, knowing it will eventually frustrate him beyond the point of reason and he will either beat me half to death, strangle me half to death or fuck me half to death. I’ve been through all three and no longer have a preference so I just sit and wait. I don’t think he can see how bored I am getting here. I wonder what’s going on in his mind. Is he deciding what he’ll do to me this time? Or trying to figure out where I could have hidden the money, which I have, but in a place where he’ll never find it. Is he contemplating where I ever went wrong?


He has let his head fall down almost between his legs and I can hear him sigh. He is getting just as tired of this game as I am. While he has his head down like this I notice his hair is getting thin on the top of his head and I realize I don’t exactly know how old he is. He sighs again, puts his gun back in his belt and looks at me. I almost mistake his tired look for a look of sympathy and for one whole second I feel the need to get up and crawl into his arms. But then my thoughts get back on track and I can see in his face I now have that vacant look in my eyes again. “Let’s just get this over with, cookie” he says, as he gets up and takes a step in my direction. I refuse to look up at him as it is a very powerful gesture in the power-scale between us. Not that the scale would ever tip my way, but hey, at least it won’t tip further to his side. I see his feet coming closer towards me and try to keep my breathing even. My minds is prepared for what is about to happen and couldn’t care less, but somehow my body always braces itself and so I start breathing more heavily. He bends over and I can smell my guess about his suit was right. He grabs my arm and pulls me up. I try as hard as I can to control my breath but perhaps it is a lost cause. He pulls me against his body and I can feel his hard-on. No doubt about what he’ll do to me this time. “You know I care about you don’t you cookie?” He whispers in my ear.

He throws me on the bed and starts puling at my clothes. I keep reminding myself that it is all worth it. Soon this will all be over and I will never have to lie down and give myself to some desperate guy again. At least Clarence doesn’t go through the trouble of undressing himself, he just unzips and whips it out. I close my eyes and try to picture what I am doing this for. Sometimes it’s hard to hold on t that thought, but Clarence is a fast and non-demanding ‘customer’ . I hear his breathing going faster and soon my head starts bumping against the headboard. Now I am fighting my tears just because it’s hurting my head and for no other reason than that. He speeds up, my head bangs against the headboard harder and faster and suddenly he sighs high and loud, he drops on top of me and I thank god it’s over. After a few seconds he gets up, walks to the bathroom and slams the door.

I pull my panties back up and sit up on the bed. The faded sheets are now all messy from the friction but I couldn’t care less. Clarence turns on the faucet in the bathroom. “Thanks cookie, I feel better now, don’t you? Glad we could work this out!” he yells over the sounds of the running water. After a few minutes he comes walking out of the bathroom. He stops half way through the room and turns towards me. I try to look relaxed on the bed and pretend that the past ten minutes never happened. I hate that he has this power over me. “Look cookie, I like what we have going here, but I have business to run.” His voice almost sounds warm, apologetic. “If you’re money is not correct next week I will have to take stronger measures.” And with that he turns on his heels and stomps out of the room. As soon as I hear the door slam shut I turn onto my side and curl up into a little ball.

After a while I get up and walk to the bathroom. I don’t bother looking at my face in the mirror. I have grown to know the circles under my eyes and the dead look very well. I don’t really recognize the face I see in the mirror anymore. I used to have little freckles, a constant smile and a tingle in my eyes. My eyes used to be a bright and bubbly blue and my mom always said she couldn’t help but smile when she saw my face. She should see it now. I look at least ten years older. My freckles seem to be in hiding, I have dark circles and my eyes are a flat grayish color. My hair used to be a warm and shiny red, it had volume and danced around my face. Now it’s closer to a brown and just falls down sleek. I usually straighten it when I work so it at least looks like I put some effort in it. I take off my clothes and step into the shower. The warm water always seems to have a calming effect on me. Slowly my muscles start to relax and my mind becomes clearer. I try to straighten my thoughts and mentally perform my plan.

Before I know it the water turns colder and colder and I have to get out. I know it’s time to start taking action. I dry myself off, blow my hair dry quickly and get dressed. I am almost getting excited now. Or it might be just anxious. I know so much can go wrong but I have to do this. It is time, I have waited long enough, have endured long enough. I pick up the phone and dial the number I know so well. A familiar voice answers: “Hello?” . “Debs, it’s me. I am ready, let’s get this show on the road!” “I am so happy to hear that, everything is ready for you, give me an hour to get things rolling, I’ll call you when it’s time.” “Thanks Deb!”, I answer and hang up.

The worst hour of my life has just started. There is no turning back for me now. I will have to see this through to the end and it is going to be hard. I start pacing up and down the room. My mind is spinning. Mostly with anxiety and fear. What if he knows? What if he finds out? What if he’s not going to be there? What if he shows up too late? All kinds of thoughts keep bouncing through my head like tennis balls shot from a machine too fast and then hitting the edges and increasing in speed instead of slowing down. I get to a point where I think my head is going to burst. And then the phone rings. With a very silent voice I pick up: “Hello?”, I sound like I am about to cry. It’s Debs. “Sweety, everyone is in position, Michael will be at your door within a few minutes.” And sure enough someone knocks at the door. “Debs, I think he’s here.” I say with a small voice.

Deep inside I am afraid it’s going to be Clarence, who has figured out what I am about to do and has come to take me and hide me in some dark place for good. I drop the receiver and with hesitation I walk towards the door. I can see my arm going up to pull the handle but am not aware of actually doing this. I open the door and there’s Michael. He looks rough and mean and pushes me into the room. As soon as he closes the door he wraps his arms around me and holds me in a close embrace. I wish he had never done this. The tears start flowing and I start heaving in his arms. For a whole minute he does not let me go. Then he slowly releases me and places his hands on my shoulders. I try to look up at him through my tears. “Everything will be alright soon, I promise.” His voice is warm and doesn’t match his rugged look. But he’s supposed to look this way, it helps our little scene.

Then, without warning he slaps me right across the face. I am used to getting beaten but his one slap causes more damage than ten of Clarence’s all together. I fall to the floor and bump my knee. It starts bleeding. I can also feel blood running down my face. “That should do it.” Michael says dryly. I get up and make my way to the bed. He starts tearing my clothes and messing up the bedding even more. Now it’s time for me to act so I start screaming as loud as I can. I scream in absolute horror. Michael hovers over me in an aggressive stance. I almost start believing our little act myself.

And then Clarence storms in. He sees me on the bed and a look of horror comes over his face. He turns towards Michael and prepares to attack him. Suddenly from behind him, through the open door three other men storm in, shortly followed by Debbie.
She drags me out of the room so fast that I cannot see what the men are doing to Clarence. I can hear him moan under some hard punches though. For a brief second I feel sorry for him, but Debbie starts pulling on my arm and takes me to a tanned minivan. Behind the wheel is a girl I have never seen before. Debbie introduces me and with a warm smile she sticks out her hand and says: “Hi, my name is Rhonda.” I know there will be plenty of time to get to know Rhonda during our ten hour drive to the border of Mexico. Debbie hands me a small black bag. “This has your money, a plane ticket to Europe from Mexico City and a fake ID. From now on, you will be known as Cassandra Young.” I look at Debs and tears run down my face again. I am at a loss for words and can’t manage anything more than: “Thank you so much Debs, how can I ever repay you?” She smiles and says: “By never contacting me to let me know where you are. My guys will seriously beat up Clarence, but he will be looking for you soon enough. The only way for all of us to stay safe is if you don’t contact me.” More tears start running down my face now, as I start to realize that with gaining my freedom, I lost my best friend and saving angel.

I get in next to Rhonda and she takes off. “I know what you’re feeling hun.” She says, “But trust me, it’s a small price to pay for freedom.” And I know she is right.