Cat Scratch-The Story of Mimi Marquez

Prologue

Most people have someone to call when they're low on cash. I think you're about to learn that I'm not "most people". First off, it's just me, I have no one to call when I'm low on cash. Second, I don't spend my cash on what people typically do, but let's not get into that now.

I'm not your typical girl, as I'm sure you might be starting to guess. I was once, but that girl left me the same night that I left my home. Four years ago, I ran away from my home to pursue my dream-to dance. My parents agreed that it was an okay hobby, but not a job. They forced me to quit. I cried, I broke things, I screamed and I yelled, until something in me snapped. I remember that night, even though it's the night I want to change the most. I wish I could go back, and pretend it never happened.

I grabbed my dance bag, some extra cash, a bit of clothes, and I was off to where any dancer in distress would go-New York City.

I spent most of my money getting there, but I never imagined it would be so hard to make it in New York-the so-called city of opportunities. I slept on a bench for the first month that I lived there, when a man found me, and claimed I was what he was looking for. I couldn't imagine what he meant by that, but I was cold and desperate. I would do anything for a dollar-anything for an extra French fry.

I followed the man, who called himself Kevin, into a dark alleyway. We eventually got to a run-down building, where I could hear exotic music playing. He unlocked the door, and led me down a long hallway. I gazed into a room when I heard girls talking, and I was stunned. These girls were strippers! They wore leather and lace and had thick eyeliner and red lipstick. My eyes got wide and I began to stutter and tried to leave. I was a dancer-I didn't care how hungry-I was NOT about to dance around a pole for a bunch of drunks, while stripping myself of not only my clothing, but my dignity.

Kevin must have seen the look on my face because he told me not to worry and that once I heard the music I'd let myself go and forget about all the strange men touching me.

'I-I can't do this." I remember telling him.

"Yes you can. It's nothing." He told me firmly, "You start tomorrow. Be here at 9 pm tomorrow. I'll have one of my girls train you, than you can get out there and show our customers a fresh piece of meat."

With that, he escorted me to the door, and I walked back out into the night, and suddenly realized something, I had gotten a job. Sure, it was a whoreish, sleazy job, but it was a job. No more days without eating for Mimi Marquez.

I danced at the Cat Scratch Club for almost 3 months, before I started feeling the effects of dancing every night. I was exhausted walking into the club one night, and a senior dancer at the club told me that if I didn't wake up, I'd get fired. I started to panic, knowing that I couldn't get fired. I NEEDED this job. Trix called me over to the corner of the room, her back to the rest of the girls. She handed me a needle. I almost turned it down, but I remembered how badly I needed this job, so at the age of 15, I did smack in the dressing room of one of the biggest strip clubs in this end of NYC.

I wish I would have said no, it could make my life so drastically different, I wouldn't always be worrying about where my next hit was going to come from, but more importantly, I wouldn't be HIV positive. Little did I know, when I shot up that very first night at the Cat Scratch, I was giving myself an early death sentence. Trix was HIV positive. She gave me, once good girl Mimi Marquez, the disease that will slowly kill me, the disease that will allow a mere cold to take me.

I'm not your average nineteen year old dancer. This is the story about what very well might be, my last year on earth. It will make you laugh, it will make you cry, but most of all, it will teach you how to love someone, the true value of friends, and that there truly is, no day but today.