I have tried to give the flavor of J'Marra's speech without overdoing the profanity. I just can't picture her in a stressful situation not being course. It's part of her street cred and automatic now. You may recognize her name from one line in The Worst Day. Dorothy's comment made me realize that her story needed to be told.

I was trying to get interested in a fashion magazine from the hospital library when she came into my room. I wasn’t too disappointed to be interrupted since the articles all seemed to be aimed at cis-white girls. The matronly looking woman with dark caramel skin and cornrow hair in a red pantsuit smiled at me and said “ J’Marra Franklin? I’m Maybell Jones, a social worker here at the hospital. I’d like to talk to you about what will happen after you’re released tomorrow.”

“Hi, Mrs. Jones. What do you mean? I thought I would be done then.”

“Not completely”, she said as she shuffled some papers in a file in her hand. “You’ll get medical instructions for aftercare and probably one or more follow up doctor’s appointments. But that’s not why I’m here. You have no family listed and no address or occupation. That puts you at high risk of being back here again with more injuries. I’m here to address that.”

“No I won’t! Rodney took care of that nigger. He won’t come back.”

“Rodney is your pimp?”

“Fuck! I never said nothin’ about no pimp.” I could hear the street coming back out in my voice after reacting to Mrs. Jones like she was one of my old school teachers. Rodney will beat me worse than that mo-fuckin’ John did if some social worker starts in on him.

“J’Marra! There is no call to curse at me. I’m trying to help you. You’re only nineteen years old. Can’t you call on a parent for help; Maybe go home for awhile.”

“I can’t go back to Texas.”

“Texas? How did you ended up being a sex worker in Minnesota?”

“I just kept going North until they turned me back at the Canadian border because I didn’t have any I.D. I threw away everything with that name on it the day I ran from the center.”

“A youth center?”

“Yeah, I was there for about six months after a year on the streets in Fort Worth. They insisted I was a boy. If I could live like that I would never have been thrown out.”

“How long has it been since you talked to your family? Do you think there’s any chance of acceptance now?”

“Mo-fuckin’ deacon Caleb Michael Bronner don’t accept nothin’. It’s what he says is the lord’s way or get out. Bastard found out I was wearing dresses when I was fifteen. He beat me so I couldn’t even get up. No hospital that time. I lay on that back porch in the heat for two days before I could leave. I’d be dead if my little sister hadn’t slipped me some water and food after I made it to the alley.”

I stopped so drink some water from the Styrofoam cup by my bed. “I could hear him beating on Sarah for helping me. I heard her scream.” I paused again. “I can go back to whorin' when I get out.”

“I’ve seen your injury report.” she said. “You have severe genital bruising as well as broken ribs. I don’t think you’ll be doing that for a while. Why not look at this as an opportunity to try something else.”

“I need the money. Waiting tables and such don’t pay for my hormones. Rodney gets them for me.”

“You’ve been getting them here, right? No one has called you a boy?”

“Yeah, they’ve been great. The doctor said I needed the hormones to help heal, too. Only one with a problem was the E. R. doctor. He had trouble talking into his recorder about traumatized testicles and penis on a girl. He kept saying he and then apologizing, and I said it confused me too.”

“O.K., you’re nineteen years old. If you were to apply for a job and enroll in an educational program I can probably get you approved for Medicaid. They will cover your doctor visits and such including this hospitalization but not hormones at this time. I can also authorize some assistance in finding a room. Shirley White from the LGBT resource center, the woman who has visited you, can help with hormones once she has a prescription.” She started writing on some papers in her folder as she continued. “would you like to try that?”

“Yes, but Rodney won’t let me. Fucker don’t like losing merchandise.”

“J’Marra, I’ll make you an offer You can’t refuse. You cleanup your language, work hard and study hard. I’ll have a couple of the deacons from my church talk to Rodney. They’re combat veterans who’ll have no trouble convincing him to forget you.”

“Deacons like my old man helping me? No way!”

“No, not like your father. If he was like that I wouldn’t have married Thomas. Now, what about it? Should I refer you to the job center?”

“Fuck Yeah! I mean, Yes Ma’am.”