In my first years of teaching

I shared a flat with a girlfriend.

She, too, was from a family of sisters

So a single bedroom with a double bed

Was just like 'home'.

We lived together for three years

Very harmoniously,

Each with our own circle of friends

And our respective church commitments.

Anglican hers was, with an evangelical outreach.

She was very enthusiastic, and involved.

I supported her programmes when I could.

 

One weekend I went to a 'church party',

An activity of her congregation's work

In the inner city area.

'Saving souls' did not sit well with me

But I was willing to withhold judgement

Until I had more familiarity

With how her church approached it.

The hall was bustling when I arrived

Smelling wonderfully of coffee and cake.

My room mate came to welcome me

With a young woman in tow

Nineteen or twenty, maybe.

A bright-eyed, pretty girl

Casually dressed, with minimal make-up.

A little shy, I thought, as I watched their approach.

And my friend said archly,

'Cynthia, this is Sarah. She's a prostitute.'

 

I couldn't believe my ears!

I held out my hand, smiling,

'Hello, Sarah She's A Prostitute.

I'm very pleased to meet you.'

My friend flushed.

Sarah's eyes flashed.

Then she chuckled.

'I'm pleased to meet you, too, Cynthia.'

And we went off together for goodies.

We discussed the weather, public schooling

And the current job market.

She was a clever, knowledgeable, funny girl

Some mother's fine daughter!

I really, really liked her.

Sex never came up, nor God either.

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas, August, 2019