Private Dancer
“I could see them from more than ten feet away, and Joy made no move to conceal them. She smiled and waved and as soon as her dancing shift was over she rushed down from the stage and sat next to me. I held her arm and looked at the cuts. They were deep gashes, a vibrant red against her brown skin. She smiled.
“Why?” I asked.
She shrugged as if a suicide attempt was of absolutely no importance.
“Come on, Joy. What happened?”
“My brother crashed motorcycle,” she said.
“Was he ...hurt?”
She shook her head.
I nodded at her mutilated wrist. “Why did you do that?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Motorcycle hurt a lot,” she said. “Very expensive.”
“How much?”
She sniffed. “Six thousand baht,” she said.
I was astonished.MoreLess
“Why?” I asked.
She shrugged as if a suicide attempt was of absolutely no importance.
“Come on, Joy. What happened?”
“My brother crashed motorcycle,” she said.
“Was he ...hurt?”
She shook her head.
I nodded at her mutilated wrist. “Why did you do that?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Motorcycle hurt a lot,” she said. “Very expensive.”
“How much?”
She sniffed. “Six thousand baht,” she said.
I was astonished.MoreLess
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