Exactly one year ago today I felt I was dying. Was convinced of it. She took a final drag from her cigarette, flipped the butt away, stood up, and walked away. Behind her was her childhood house, inside her mother was preparing dinner, her older brother was playing on the computer, and her father was taking a nap. It was a normal summer afternoon. But for her, she was leaving, getting on that bus, moving to the big city, and never returning. She reached the corner and didn't look back. At 16 she was old enough to know better, but she told herself lies and allowed herself to be lied too. She lied down with men who gave her a place to live and nice things to wear and made her feel like an adult. She knew these men were using her but the lie was easier than the truth so the lie won. At 18 she found herself on the streets again, the last man growing tired of her. She knew she could find another, maybe a foreigner this time who would think her naïve, but she was tired on living on others. She got herself a job at the 711 in her neighborhood. At first the girls there did not trust her, thought she was a bit of a slut, and she could not disagree. But month after month she never missed a shift and she took all the extra hours she could get. She moved from the room she shared with six girls two just a single roommate and then a small flat of her own. She spent afternoons looking for discarded things to decorate her humble flat with. She was patient and careful about what she brought home. The other girls at the 711 grew to respect her. One day her supervisor introduced her to a man, thinking she must be lonely. She resisted, she was done with men. But the man persisted, was charming in a puppy dog kind of way, and she relented to a date of cherries and ice cream at the city park. A funny thing happened on that date. She laughed. She flat out giggled. This 18 year old woman was a girl again. She allowed herself to be silly. Making an ice cream mustache on her face. Tossing cherries into the ear and plucking them with her mouth. She hadn't felt this much alive, this much like a child since she was 14 and that awful uncle that she liked came by. So she had a beau. Everyone could tell from the smile on her face. She floated at work and everyone was happy for her. One day, however, her supervisor let it slip that she had been a loose woman. Let it slip to the worst possible person. Maybe she let the new slip on purpose, so envious of love as some are, maybe it was purely an accident. We will never know. The beau was crushed and rushed to the 711 and confronted the girl. Yelled at her. Called her vile names. Moved towards her. And then her anger came. She rushed at him. The other girls held her back. Then he swung at her, missing wildly. The other girls dragged her out the back door. She sat on the stoop and cried. She sat on the stoop. Lit a cigarette. Smoked it slow. She took a final drag from the cigarette, flipped the butt away, and stood up, and walked away. Tears dry, she made it to the corner and didn't look back. For the first time in a year, I do not feel like I am dying.