JJ's

One night she couldn’t take the noise anymore. When she was a girl, before the backpackers found it, before it was Sihanoukville it was quite. It wasn’t full of techno and beach bars. Six years ago an English guy raped her daughter and left the country before they could catch him. It was the only time she was thankful the Khmer Rouge took her husband. She didn’t know what he would have done.

I was there the night she showed up at JJ’s. It was twenty-five cent beer night. The September crowds of budget travelers started fights, spilled drinks and danced topless on the bar. She sat near the door, putting all her weight on the balls of her feet. At one point an American asked her for a dance on a dare. When she didn’t respond he told her to fuck herself.

She sat quietly for nearly an hour until she caught herself tapping her toe to the beat. Only early mornings, when the passed out are sound asleep and the dubstep is no more she sleeps. It was often she looked in to the blue eyes of her grandson and cursed his existence.