“Who would want to harm your daughter?” asked a bystander.
"I don't know." She sobbed. Her muddy tears flowed down her weathered face. I purposely floated and sat beside her because I wanted to know her real intention.
"Is Zara your daughter?" another bystander asked.
"Yes. She is my daughter," she wailed loudly but there were not any tears on her cheek.
I was amused to see her action.
The woman had kicked me out of the house when I was fifteen, then sent me off to Dobson.
“You’re grown up now. It's time for you to help the family,” my mother had said.
Many girls from my hometown left just like me. We rode the van into the city and would be gone for many decades.
When I left my hometown, the stars shone brightly on the night I left. I did not feel sad at all, only a sense of relief.
The van was filled with sounds of people's breathing. I knew it was summertime because the cicadas were chirping continuously.
"Zara," the leader pointed at me. "Wash your face."
Then he introduced me to a hairdresser and I worked there as an apprentice.
Everyone at Lake Street complimented my looks. The salon owner even took the initiative to shake my hand, although his grip was a little painful.