When they pulled her out of the bathtub, her clothes were drenched in blood. Blood and water. The police took the paper from her hand and placed it in one of the clear bags meant for evidence. The manager said she paid in cash. The cleaner heard her crying last night.
She had dirty blonde hair. He face sunken. She looked like she hasn’t had anything for a week. She had a suitcase, the manager said to the policeman. He clothes were dirty, with and without blood. A hooker said the policeman, looking at the letter, the suitcase (filled with jeans and t-shirts. And a picture of her family.

“One of them white kids from Alabama,” said the guy who was standing behind the yellow tape.
“She looks like a hooker,” said the cleaner
“She was mental,” said the policeman

They all assumed that they knew everything about her.

They didn’t know that 40 bucks was all she had last nite. They didn’t know that underneath that jeans and t-shirts she had a dress. They didn’t know that she was from a small town on Ohio. They didn’t know bout the conversation that she had with her mother 3 weeks ago before she took the bus down to California. They didn’t know that she had a dream. A dream so big that life was meaningless without it. They didn’t know that she cried every night, thinking of her little brother and her mother.

They didn’t know that she ran away from home.