Poland, Winter, 1978

I stood there, shivering slightly, staring at the doorknob. The dull metal stared back, daring me to open the worn wood door. My feet screamed at me to decide and make it snappy. They were half buried in snow that left drifts around the door and the thin leather that passed for boots was never quite enough for Polish winters. I reached down, brushed my gloved hand over them, and nearly knocked my luggage back down the five snow-covered steps, the tracks of the bags still visible. Ugh. Maybe I should leave. But, where would I go? How would I get there? My new white bike leaned against the shed ten kilometers away. Just then, I heard the knob turn and the door creaked open. A dirty eleven-year-old boy darkened the entrance; rock music blared (not the style I liked) and the smell of smoke and beer filled my nostrils. I let out a heavy sigh.

"Hello, Jack. Can you help me with my stuff?"

He said nothing, watching me. His gray eyes moved from my face to my legs and back again. I dragged my bags inside, trying not to push him.

"Is your mother here?"

"No," Jack said.

"Where's your brother?"

"Oh, Christopher's around." His arms moved in small circles and his eyes followed me as I finally made it to the small, dingy room halfway down the hall of the apartment that I shared with them. I didn't touch anything. I went back out into the kitchen, looking for a soda. Empty beer cans littered the floor. A layer of grime covered everything, including the walls. The paint buckled in spots, like giant welts. I caught a glimpse of something scuttling along the floor and decided I'd better keep my shoes on at all times. I opened the refrigerator and all I found in there were more beer cans, a partial chicken carcass, and some carrots. I closed the refrigerator and hunted through the mountain of dirty dishes for a glass. With a little soap, I cleaned the glass and got some water instead of my soda, making sure to run the faucet a few minutes before filling my glass. I turned around to go back to the room and almost dropped the glass. Christopher stood there in crumpled dirty overalls, a shorter version of his brother but darker-haired. He waved his hand a little. I smiled and waved back. He followed me into the bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed, watching me as I unpacked my things.

I heard a door open and some scuffling. A man's deep voice. A woman's. Christopher crawled under his bed. I sighed again. Same ol' Maggie. I met her in the hall.

She held a beer in one hand, spilling it down her silky black blouse and fire engine miniskirt. Her other arm hung over the shoulder of a disheveled, tall man I didn't recognize. They laughed crazily, stumbling over their own feet. Her breath smelled of liquor.

"Oh, hewwo, Sara," Maggie greeted me.

The man glanced my way with hungry eyes. He took a swig of his own beer and then his eyes squinted as he started down the hall. They rested on Jack, whose small form tried to meld into the corner of the kitchen.

"Whooth dat?" he tried to say.

"Dat's Wack." Her laugher rose into cackling hysterics.

They moved past me into the kitchen. The man shrugged and set his beer bottle on the table. Maggie tried to set her bottle down on the kitchen counter and missed. I heard it shatter as I followed them down the hall.

"Kween it up!" she yelled at Jack and made a move toward him.

He darted away and ran past me down the hall, enduring a kick in the leg as he passed Maggie's guest. I found the broom and dustpan and solemnly swept until there were no sparkling pieces left on the filthy floor.

When I went back to my room, I heard rapid breathing and a low moan coming from under the bed in the corner. I lifted the thin quilt to see Jack under there with his brother. I didn't say anything and dropped the quilt over the edge again. My suitcase still lay on my bed; unlocking it, I fumbled inside for my secret stash. My hands closed around it and I found the book of matches, too. After I lit one up I lay back on the bed, kicking the suitcase to the end. I closed my eyes. Inhale, exhale slowly. Inhale, blow it out. When I finished, I snuck to the bathroom and threw the stub in the toilet. When I came back, I bent down and found the little spot near the floor next to my bed where I had carved into the wall last winter. My primitive tool still lay hidden behind the bedpost. I fumbled with it and cut a thin line along the top edge of those marks and then cut one short vertical mark above the line. One down. One hundred nineteen to go.

On day ninety-five, there were two men in the living room with Maggie when I opened the door. The one I recognized wrapped his arm around Maggie and passed her a cigarette. She sat in his lap, giggling, and he kissed her full on the mouth after she took a drag. I looked away, and I struggled not to choke from the fumes gathering in that tiny space. The other man stared at me, a sly grin creeping onto his face. His eyes watched my every move. I set my books down on a worn out chair, took off my coat, and shook off my boots. I bent to gather my books again when he stepped forward, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. He smelled like he hadn't showered in a week.

"You must be Sara," he said with a furtive glance at Maggie. "I'm Frank."

I gave a small wave, moving toward my room. He stood in my way, his large, calloused hand spread on the wall, reminding me of my father's hands. His figure loomed before me and his eyes bore through me. A little shiver rippled down my spine.

He said, "Where're you goin'? Aren't you going to be more friendly?"

"Umm, I don't mean to be rude, but I have a lot of homework to do."

Again, I tried to get to my room, but Maggie slid next to Frank.

"Why ya gotta be so dull? Don't you want to hang out with us? Farmer girl thinks she's too good for us," she teased. Everyone guffawed like it was the funniest joke since last year.

"I . . . I told you. I have a lot of homework to do."

"And where's all that school crap going to get you, farmer girl? Might as well have a little fun while you can—or don't you like us?"

 "I like you all just fine," I said, still trying to get to my room.

 "Prove it."

And then Frank nodded his greasy head and said, "Yeah. Prove it."

Maggie's boyfriend didn't say anything. He slumped in the tattered chair, his eyes slits, his lips burbling little bubbles.

"All right, I'll join you for a little while and then I really have to do my homework."

"Yeah, okay, farmer girl. We hear you."

"Hey, Henry, come play cards with us," Maggie yelled. I saw the man in the chair rouse himself and shuffle into the kitchen.

Maggie motioned for the three of us to sit down at the table and she dealt out some cards.

"How do you play this game again?" I asked.

"Haha! Farmer girl doesn't remember how to play poker! Frank here'll teach ya," Maggie said.

He gave me some pointers, his stale breath filling my nostrils every time he spoke to me. He sat so close to me I could hardly move. After a couple of rounds, they threw the cards in the middle of the table and no one dealt a new round. I took that as my cue to get up and start on my homework, but Maggie pushed me back down into my seat.

"Where're you goin'? We want to play another game."

She put a bottle of whiskey on the table and her boyfriend helped her open it. She put shot glasses in front of everyone, including me. She sat back down on the other side of me.

"I'm too young for this game. I'm going to do my homework now."

Again, I tried to get up. Again, she pushed me down. She laughed. I caught Frank grinning.

"Whatta ya mean? You're almost seventeen. I'm surprised at you, Sara. Most girls your age been to many parties and gotten drunk. You're a sheltered, naive little farm girl. You think you're all fancy with your nice clothes and all, but you're still just a farm brat."

Then she leaned over me and with her lips close to my ear, she continued, "but you can change that." She pushed the shot glass closer.

I hesitated but said, "One shot and then I go do my homework."

"Fine."

She filled everyone's glass. All of us leaned back and poured it down in one gulp—everyone except me. I had to take smaller sips to finish my glass. Gosh, my head felt so woozy already.

They all laughed and said, "You lose! You're too slow. Another glass for you."

Without thinking, I downed the second shot. Everything felt thick and not quite real. Then, it went black.

When I came to, my arms and wrists ached in their prone position over my head. My insides were being ripped out; it hurt so bad. Heavy breathing and the thick smell of cigarettes and liquor filled the room. A shadowy figure loomed over me. I opened my mouth to scream, but a large, sweaty hand clamped over my mouth and then the figure pressed against me, crushing me. I kicked my feet and tried to roll over, but that made my wrists hurt more. I tried to bite the hand that covered my mouth and for a moment, the hand came off. My heart raced and my breathing came in great gusts. I gathered myself to scream again, but then, I felt the edge of something sharp against my neck.

A familiar odor wafted under my nose as I heard Frank say, "If you don't be quiet and stop struggling, I'm going to cut you so bad you'll wish you were dead."

His head drew so close to mine that I felt droplets of sweat fall on me.

Terror coursed through me and I started hyperventilating. When he was finished with me, he threw a sheet at me and I overheard him whisper to Maggie outside my door as he was leaving, "Here's your money."

I rolled over, sobbing into my pillow, great torrents of tears. I couldn't feel my legs, only a trickle of something sticky. Why did I have to drink with them? Why did I have to drink with them? And then, Maggie did this! I started crying all over again.

When the sunlight came filtering in through the window to wake me up the next morning, Maggie stood in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from one hand. Her mouse-brown hair fell in wisps about her face, some tucked behind her ear. A stained man's shirt hung on her thin frame. She wore a huge smirk on her face and her laugh sounded like a witch cackling.

She pointed at the sheet. "You and Frank! Well, how'd you like it?"

I looked down to see a spreading red spot. I moved the sheet around to cover it up.

"I'm just on my period."

"You're lying. I saw Frank leaving your room last night." With that, she closed the door.

And he paid you. You sold me! I didn't know what to do. Who should I tell? Should I go to the police? Should I go to the hospital? No one would believe me. They would say it was my fault. Was it my fault?

 No, I can't tell anyone. I thought that my first time was going to be with Johnathan. After all, we loved each other; we'd been dating for over a year.

My head throbbed, but I pushed through it. What if I'm pregnant now? No, no, no. Please God, don't let me be pregnant!

I avoided Maggie as much as I could until spring came, when I could leave. Sometimes, I came home early from school so I could lock myself in my room. I left extra early in the morning, before she woke up, too. When the time came, I packed up my stuff quickly and left her apartment without a word. I vowed to myself to find another place to stay for my last year of school.