started all over again.
The only thing that changed for Minh was that there was a little less screaming in her house now. Her parents were too busy driving Minh back and forth to the brothel and managing all the clients. They placed advertisements in Vietnamese newspapers and magazines that stated they had a young girl whose body they were willing to sell. If Minh made a lot of money in one night, her dad took a break from yelling at her. She sometimes even got a smirk from her mom that Minh tried to interpret as a smile.
Minh wished she didn’t think of smirks and silence as love.
“I was still a kid who really wanted to hope that her parents could change and that they were good people. So I didn’t really want to tell on them. I just couldn’t within myself, get over that.”
~ Minh Dang
Questions with No Answers
Minh was having trouble keeping it together at school. She still got A’s in all her classes and ran faster than anyone else on the soccer field, but inside she felt like she was unraveling. The sleepless nights and secrets churned in her gut. She was exhausted from hiding all the bruises and scratches and from putting on a calm face when all she could think about was the men who grabbed and groped her each night. More and more, she had to stake out corners in the locker room where she could sob. Sometimes she lost it in the middle of a class and had to pull her hair over her face or run out to the bathroom.
Still, she never breathed a word of what was going on. Even when her teachers asked her why she looked tired and depressed, she buttoned her lips and protected her family. “You know, a lot going on,” she might say. Or, “Really busy I guess.” Most of the time, whoever was questioning left it at that.
There was a middle school choir teacher, though, who saw Minh’s tears and asked her to stay after the bell.
“What’s going on?” the choir teacher asked softly.
Minh shrugged and shook her head.
“You can tell me,” the teacher said.
Minh whispered her usual response, “Nothing much. Just tired,” but the choir teacher wasn’t buying it. She just sat there and waited for Minh to say something, anything. Finally, Minh muttered, “My parents are sorta having marital issues.” This was actually true. Minh’s mom had started threatening to divorce her dad on a regular basis. But Minh never believed she’d do it.
“This is more than divorce issues,” Minh’s teacher said. That’s when the floodgates really opened. Minh bawled and howled. Her whole body ached with the desire to trust this woman and tell her everything. Minh wanted so desperately to be carried away from this room, this life, this reality. Maybe she could leave the country with her teacher, and they could change their faces and fingerprints and truly start over.
But Minh was too smart to believe even her own fantasy. She knew if she showed this woman her bruises, the most she could do was call Child Protective Services. Then CPS might call, or worse, come to Minh’s house. The CPS officers would see the quartz rocks and the rosebushes and the welcome mat at Minh’s front door. Both of Minh’s parents had steady, respectable jobs, and they were charming and polite with strangers. Minh could imagine the officers sitting at her dining room table, sipping her mom’s tea, and laughing as they said So sorry for the misunderstanding.
And then when they left, the beatings would be monstrous, her father’s hands hammering down on her skin. Her mother slapping wildly until Minh begged for mercy.
“Tell me, Minh. What is going on ?” her teacher pleaded, interrupting Minh’s thoughts.
Minh looked at the choir teacher, sitting in front of her, so put together and unaware. She meant well, but she knew nothing. And there was no way for Minh to explain, really. Because even deeper than the ache of Minh’s bruised skin was the hurt in her heart. She was, and always would be, a child who believed that the
The only thing that changed for Minh was that there was a little less screaming in her house now. Her parents were too busy driving Minh back and forth to the brothel and managing all the clients. They placed advertisements in Vietnamese newspapers and magazines that stated they had a young girl whose body they were willing to sell. If Minh made a lot of money in one night, her dad took a break from yelling at her. She sometimes even got a smirk from her mom that Minh tried to interpret as a smile.
Minh wished she didn’t think of smirks and silence as love.
“I was still a kid who really wanted to hope that her parents could change and that they were good people. So I didn’t really want to tell on them. I just couldn’t within myself, get over that.”
~ Minh Dang
Questions with No Answers
Minh was having trouble keeping it together at school. She still got A’s in all her classes and ran faster than anyone else on the soccer field, but inside she felt like she was unraveling. The sleepless nights and secrets churned in her gut. She was exhausted from hiding all the bruises and scratches and from putting on a calm face when all she could think about was the men who grabbed and groped her each night. More and more, she had to stake out corners in the locker room where she could sob. Sometimes she lost it in the middle of a class and had to pull her hair over her face or run out to the bathroom.
Still, she never breathed a word of what was going on. Even when her teachers asked her why she looked tired and depressed, she buttoned her lips and protected her family. “You know, a lot going on,” she might say. Or, “Really busy I guess.” Most of the time, whoever was questioning left it at that.
There was a middle school choir teacher, though, who saw Minh’s tears and asked her to stay after the bell.
“What’s going on?” the choir teacher asked softly.
Minh shrugged and shook her head.
“You can tell me,” the teacher said.
Minh whispered her usual response, “Nothing much. Just tired,” but the choir teacher wasn’t buying it. She just sat there and waited for Minh to say something, anything. Finally, Minh muttered, “My parents are sorta having marital issues.” This was actually true. Minh’s mom had started threatening to divorce her dad on a regular basis. But Minh never believed she’d do it.
“This is more than divorce issues,” Minh’s teacher said. That’s when the floodgates really opened. Minh bawled and howled. Her whole body ached with the desire to trust this woman and tell her everything. Minh wanted so desperately to be carried away from this room, this life, this reality. Maybe she could leave the country with her teacher, and they could change their faces and fingerprints and truly start over.
But Minh was too smart to believe even her own fantasy. She knew if she showed this woman her bruises, the most she could do was call Child Protective Services. Then CPS might call, or worse, come to Minh’s house. The CPS officers would see the quartz rocks and the rosebushes and the welcome mat at Minh’s front door. Both of Minh’s parents had steady, respectable jobs, and they were charming and polite with strangers. Minh could imagine the officers sitting at her dining room table, sipping her mom’s tea, and laughing as they said So sorry for the misunderstanding.
And then when they left, the beatings would be monstrous, her father’s hands hammering down on her skin. Her mother slapping wildly until Minh begged for mercy.
“Tell me, Minh. What is going on ?” her teacher pleaded, interrupting Minh’s thoughts.
Minh looked at the choir teacher, sitting in front of her, so put together and unaware. She meant well, but she knew nothing. And there was no way for Minh to explain, really. Because even deeper than the ache of Minh’s bruised skin was the hurt in her heart. She was, and always would be, a child who believed that the
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