Excerpt from Upcoming Untitled Story

Don’t worry. Someone somewhere is feeling exactly how you are right now at this very moment. Someone else is lonely. Someone else is depressed. Someone else is convinced that they can’t go on. I’d even been willing to bet that someone, somewhere, is wondering why this salsa tastes like cinnamon. You’re not alone. This must be very comforting, because no one knows what it’s like to feel the way I do.

 

You see, I’ve taken a few too many of my kids ritalin, because this other mom I know told me that if you take them it hypes you up and you can clean the entire house in 20 minutes flat. This happens because you don’t have whatever it is that your fucked up kids have that makes them need to be slowed down and focus – so it speeds you up instead. But apparently I’m just as fucked up as my kids – because I’m laying on the couch unable to move or speak. The kids are screaming and running around. I just wanted a clean house and a nice high.

Thankful.

We sat across from each other at our tiny table with mix match chairs both rescued from our apartment’s dumpster. You smiled, a smile filled with deep anticipation. A lightbulb hung from a cord above us, slightly swinging from the circulation of air from the vents near the ceiling. In front of us laid our meager thanksgiving meal, the first holiday away from home. A blob of canned cranberry sauce. A small helping of stuffing. A slice of cold cut turkey. This was to be the nicest meal either of us had had in months. 

 

I picked up the bent plastic fork, stolen from a fast food restaurant and used far too many times. I poked at the cranberry sauce and instead of puncturing the gel the prongs of the fork bent every which way. I looked up and caught your eye and smiled. 

 

After several more attempts a small piece of cranberry sauce landed on my fork and I placed it into my mouth. I held it in my mouth, there was no need to chew. It was tart and sweet and bitter and every other feeling that the past few months had been. It was wonderful, because it was my own.

 

This chair, with the one bent leg and the wobbly table. They were wonderful, because they were my own. 

 

The light bulb, swinging silently above my head. That too was my own, and therefore that too was wonderful.

 

For the first time in the many months since I moved I felt thankful, which is odd because never before on Thanksgiving had I experienced and overwhelming since of thankfulness. Thanksgiving had been a day to avoid my embarrassing relatives. A day to want to stay in bed and pretend to be sick so I didn’t have to go to my grandmother’s house. This year, even after all the hardships I had endured and all the nights I had cried myself to sleep I was thankful. Perhaps for the first time in my life I was truly thankful, and that is because for the first time in my short life my life was my own.

Jump!

You swing the crowbar violently and the lock falls to the ground. I laugh loudly and clap – but you shush me so I just take another big swig from our water bottle of vodka. You wink at me and reach for the bottle, but I take your hand and pull you close instead. Your long hair brushes against my cheek as you touch your soft lips to mine. We kiss gently for several seconds and then simultaneously burst into laughter at the same moment, and then quickly try and compose ourselves, in fear that someone might hear us.

You open the gate and pull me by the hand and we start to run towards the poll. My bare feet slam against the concrete as I run, and I hear the vodka sloshing around inside the bottle.

The night is dark, but your smiles leads my way. The air is warm, yet crisp as the same time. The water in the pool is glistening in the beam of moonlight that has fallen on it magically. It’s a perfect summer night.

You twirl my long black hair around your finger and kiss me with your beautiful red lips. Your tongue slides across my lips like a figure skater on the ice. Slowly you lift up my shirt and I raise my arms so you can remove it completely. I unbutton your blouse and you lean forward and kiss my neck.

As we continue to slide out of our clothes I think back to months ago. To a time that seems like ages ago – a time when you weren’t in my life. A time when this night would be scary, instead of perfect.

Once our clothes are completely removed you grab my hand and fearlessly we jump into the pool.

Richmond

Elle unlocked the doors of her car and I tightly gripped the handle and swung it open. I took a deep breath before lunging my body inside and quickly slamming the door, still shaking.

“Where do you need to go?”

I shook my head and fumbled my hand into my coat pocket, desperately searching for my pack of cigarettes. Like magic Elle’s hands appeared in front of my face – one holding a cigarette and the other a flaming lighter. I put the cigarette between my lips and deeply sucked in the flame. I exhaled.

“I just need to…go, anywhere, I can’t take this right now. I’ve got to breathe.”

The doors locked and she swung the car out of my yard, quickly into the dead street without even looking. The same CD played quietly in the background that had been playing in Elle’s car for the past three months.

We spend onto the main street of our tiny town and quickly drove towards the city limits – never speaking a word. Elle lowered my window and I tossed out my cigarette, and there she was like lightening with another – knowing exactly what I needed to remind myself to breathe.

I closed my eyes and tried hard to block the voices that were screaming inside of my head. Desperately struggling to remember the techniques I had taught myself to quiet my mind. Hopelessly searching for a cure. Elle turned up the music.

We were now on the interstate, passing a sign that read “RICHMOND – 85 MILES NORTH”. Richmond, the place I had called home in my mind for over a year now. The unattainable goal that I was constantly struggling towards. The only place where my mind stopped screaming. It was time to let go of this goal, nothing was working in my favor.

The music played on.

Nearly an hour passed, and we were now half way to my minds goal. Elle signaled and took the exit, parking her car on the side of the road. She turned the dial on the cd player back down, and the car was silent. I stared forward, trying to decide what to do.

“I know how you feel right now, you know I do.”

I nodded.

“So, if you really think going back home is what is best for you I’ll turn around and take you. Otherwise we’ll keep going. I’ll drop you off in Richmond – how much money do you have?”

I blinked and reached into my pocket for my wallet – my hands still slightly shaking. I removed it and slowly counted the bills inside.

“Seventeen dollars,” I finally replied.

Elle nodded and looked at me fearlessly. “I can give you fifty – don’t worry about paying it back. That should cover a day or two in a cheap hotel, and I think there is a sandwich in the backseat that I took to work a few weeks ago. I could bring your things in a few days.

I shook my head and looked out of the window – hoping my friend wouldn’t see the fear in my face.

“No, I’m ready to go home. I’ve got to deal with this – I can’t run away right now. I’ve got too many commitments.”

Elle smiled at me and shifted the car back into drive, moving her eyes to face the road.

Silently we reentered the interstate, heading north.

58

Eleanor sees Andrew out and kisses his cheek. “Goodnight my love, drive safe.” she says as she closes the door and locks the deadbolt. Eleanor removes her shoes and places them neatly beside the door.

She’s not much to look at, her hair is a frizzy mess that she keeps held back in a loose bun on the back of her head. Her lips are dull, never covered with any color or gloss. Above her eyes she wears a modest amount of shadow, only one shade darker than her own skin. She wears no mascara or eyeliner. Eleanor is plain, but Andrew loves her.

Things have not always been so easy for Eleanor – she hadn’t always loved herself. In fact for her first 22 years she had struggled with this, until Andrew. Poor Andrew, when he met Eleanor he should have known better than to get involved. But somewhere deep inside Andrew there was a voice, a voice that told him he had to help her. A voice that had spoke to him since that first time they met.

It was a brisk Thursday in November, when Eleanor had decided to take 57 asprin and then leave the house to buy bread. When Eleanor made eye contact with Andrew and passed out he knew that she needed his help. He called 911 and then rode with her in the ambulance. After they pumper her stomach he sat next to her bed, holding her hand.

They’d been together ever since.

Eleanor walked into the living room and sits down on the soft leather couch. It’s now – now that she’s alone, now that Andrew has a prior engagement, that her mind starts to wander. Does he really love her? Does he care if she lives or dies? Obviously he doe, but to Eleanor that hard to fathom since he is not sitting next to her holding her hand. 

As Eleanor’s mind wanders, so does her body. She wanders to the bathroom and removes the bottle of aspirin from behind the toilet paper under the sink. Hidden away, just in case.

In the kitchen she pours herself a tall glass of vodka, with just a splash of water. She wanders back to the living room and sits the glass carefully on a coaster. Calmly she opens the bottle of pills and starts to count out 58.

Drained

I took my phone out of my bag and turned it back on. No new messages, no missed calls. Of course. Now the movie was over and I had nothing to do other than wonder around the city until time to return home.

I walked out of the theatre and was blinded by the day’s brightness. Squinting I looked both ways and decided that turning left would be the wisest choice. I had come from the right, and walked until I found this theatre which played only classic movies. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, what a classic. I removed the pen and notepad from my bag, and quickly jotted “Breakfast at Tiffany’s: It’s truly a great film, but how overrated!” I put my pad back into my bag and began my journey down the street.

I walked until I felt that my legs could no longer support me and stumbled into a small cafe. The heavy wooden door closed behind me and I stood there in the entrance for several moments, taking in the beauty. Paper lanterns hung at different lengths from the ceiling. Decorations are from many countries, as if the designer had traveled the world and picked up one item from each country as a memento for this hideaway. A plush green couch sat against a brown wall, with a rust colored settee across from it. People were scattered throughout the building, all in their own groups. All different ages. All different backgrounds. They all came here. Each of them holding a completely different coffee or tea cup. Many of them smoking. All of the smiling.

I finally realize that I’ve lingered into the doorway for too long and I stumble towards the counter. A woman with short black hair smiles at me. She wears no uniform, just a simple purple dress and a pair of black tights. “Hey, I’m Anna. What can I get for you?”

“Hi! Um…do you have soy milk?”

“Soy, rice, almond, everything but cow’s milk. And well, human I guess.” Anna says with a grin.

“Oh! Wow, impressive.”

“Yeah, the owner is a vegan.” She shrugs and smiles at me.

“Well, I’ll take an iced soy chai latte, with two shots of espresso please.”

“One extra dirty iced soy chai, coming right up. You can go ahead and have a seat if you want, I’ll bring it over.”

“Okay, thanks. How much did you say I owe you?”

“This one is on me.”

I wondered over to an empty area of the building and sit down on a bright purple chair. This was easily the most comfortable chair I had ever sat in, and immediately I began to wonder how I could take it home with me. I open my bag and remove a cigarette from my case. I don’t normally smoke, but I always carry cigarettes – just in case I don’t feel cool enough. Just like I never drink tequila, unless everyone at the party is doing shots. Such a sucker. I begin to search for a lighter and then I hear one click in front of me.

I look up, it’s Anna. In her hand she is holding a pig shaped lighter with two flaming nostrils. On the coffee table in front of me she has placed two drinks in beautifully detailed glasses. Completely different from each other, yet somehow complementary.

I light my cigarette and say thank you. Anna sits down on a chair next to me. “My name is Nina, I’m not from around here.”

“I can tell,” Anna says, lighting a cigarette rolled in a pale pink paper. “It’s okay, no one is really from here. We all just end up here, kind of like Vegas. You’ve got the few Las Vegas natives, but they’re all bat shit crazy.”

I laugh and take a sip from my drink. It tastes amazing, I’ve ordered this drink from every cafe I’ve ever walked into, and it has never tasted this good. “I’m just here for the day, I came on an impulse. I do this thing, where I move somewhere new every six months. It’s really stupid, I mean, it makes it hard to make new friends – and it’s horribly expensive. But this town seems really nice, I can see myself settling down here.” I’ve never actually said that before now, admitting that I want to settle down.

“I love that. It’s always been my dream, to keep moving to different places. The owner of this place is kind of like that, he lives here – but he only comes home a few days a year. He just travels. I think he’s in Norway, or well, he was last time he called, God knows where he is now.”

“Wow, that’s great, what is this place called? I didn’t even look at the sign.”

“There is no sign. It’s called Drained, but he found that naming a place doesn’t give it the freedom it needs. He took the sign down last time he was here, he said that way this is whatever the customers need to be to them. He’s kind of a stoner that way.”

I find myself extremely attracted to Anna, which is odd since I’ve never felt that way about a woman. She’s not particularly beautiful, but she radiates with everything I’ve ever wanted to be.

“Drained, that’s a really nice name. How long have you lived here?”

Anna shrugs and sips from her drink. “I’m really bad at keeping track of time, I guess about six years. I can’t really remember ever living anywhere else though. This is home.”

I’m instantly jealous of Anna. I want her life. I want her since of home. No place had ever made me feel any sort of attachment or feeling of home, but this cafe is doing a damn good job of trying.

We sit there talking for several minutes until the heavy wooden door swung open again. Anna looks up from her drink and smiles. “Hey Jamey, I’ll be right over. Where is Dottie tonight?”

I look over, a man with dark hair stands in the entrance wearing a suede vest and tight purple pants. “Visiting family in North Carolina, gross right?”

Anna laughs and finished her drink. “Did you want anything else babe?”

“No, I actually really need to get going. I don’t want to, I really want to stay here forever – but I’ve got to find my way to a bus stop so I can get home before too late.”

“Oh, a bus picks up at the end of this block. Where are you headed?”

“Just back to Atlanta – I’ve been there for about 4 months, so I’m getting really restless.”

“Well, I hope to maybe see you back here soon.”

Anna gracefully rises from her seat and carries our glasses back over to the counter.

I sit alone on the bus ride back, after briefly saying goodbye to Anna. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I know that I will be. And inside of me a strange feeling that I’ve never felt before. A feeling that tells me that maybe when I come back here I’ll never leave. And for the first time in my life I decide not to fear that feeling, but to embrace it.

No Conclusion

I glance at the calendar that hangs on the wall. It’s the 4th, which means you’re out there somewhere celebrating your birthday without me. I’m glad you’ve moved on, and can remember how to be happy. I won’t ever do that.

I shut off the light in the living room and walk into the kitchen. The cat is asleep on the table again. Normally I’d be pissed but tonight I don’t mind, I just fill up his food bowl a little more than usual. I don’t fold the bag back over.  Instead of filling the water bowl I just open the door to the guest bathroom, he prefers the toilet water always.

Slowly I walk up the stairs, observing each picture as I ascend. There are several of us being happy, and a few of us just pretending to be. There’s a picture of my sister, and a few of the cat. None of my parents.

I walk into my bedroom and turn the light on. It looks very nice, I’m glad I cleaned. I check my phone, no missed calls. I glance at the monitor of my computer and see there are no new emails. No surprises here. I shut down the computer and turn off the light, there is nothing else to do in here.

I walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I don’t lock it. From my pocket I remove a lighter and begin to light the candles throughout the small blue room. Eventually the entire room is illuminated by the gentle glow.

I wrap my hand around the handle and twist hard until the stubborn metal valve budges. Warm water starts to fill the porcelain claw-foot basin. I add a splash of bubble bath and let the tub fill, suds quickly racing to the top.

I remove my shirt and place it neatly into the laundry basket. I do the same with my skirt. I leave my underwear and bra on and step into the tub. Slowly I lower myself into the water, gradually acclimating to its heat.

I lay back and relax, until water is touching my shoulders and bubbles are tickling my nose. I shut off the faucet and push the bubbles away from my face. I deeply inhale the scent from the perfumed candles which has filled the room. It smells like a bowl of freshly sliced oranges, spiced with clove and cinnamon.

It’s time.

Clinching my razor tightly in my hand I extend my left arm and place the blade underneath the last crease of my palm. I take a deep breath and push down.

As I slowly start to slide the razor down my arm I feel my skin split. It hurts. Blood is following the razor on its slow path up my arm. Deep crimson blood, at first it bubbles but by now it’s starting to pour, saturating the bubbles as it drips off my skin.

I continue the razor’s trail upward at a steady slow pace. The voices in my head cease, and finally I am calm. And this doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.  I don’t think I’ll be able to do the other arm, but I don’t think it’s really necessary. It’s just the over achiever in me that wants to do both.

I’ve reached the bend of my arm, and I stop. I try and place the razor on the curved edge of the tub, but it quickly falls to the floor. The sound of the hard metal hitting the tile echoes throughout the bathroom.

I put my arms under the water, unable to see them because of bubbles. I don’t want to see the water turning red. I lay still, enjoying these last few moments of silence.

In the distance I hear my phone ring. I know it’s probably just a telemarketer, but I wonder if it’s you.

Raise Your Glass

You fill up my glass, and then your own. You have no idea how much I love you, and I know I could never tell you because you’ll never be able to feel the same way about me. I’m fine with pretending, but I know you wouldn’t want to do that either. We’re exchanging war stories, tonight, and you’re massaging my tired feet.

“Well, when I was in seventh grade I found out that I was failing math and that my grandma died within the same hour,” You say proudly.

“Oh, baby, poor thing. When I was in seventh grade my math teacher threatened to fail me if I didn’t take me shirt off and let him give me “special massages”, I think I win.” I laugh and take a giant swig of my drink. I look into your eyes, you don’t find my story funny – if anything you’re a bit more disgusted with me than you used to be. Or maybe you’re just feeling sorry for me.

“You know, I’m not looking for pity. I’m really not, if you’re going to lay here feeling sorry for me I’ll have to take my booze elsewhere.”

You grab my hand and press your thumb deeply into my palm, and then begin to apply this same pressure to the base of each of my fingers. It feels so good. “You’re not taking that booze anywhere,” you whisper – as if you’re actually interested in the alcohol.

It’s moments like these that make me wonder if tomorrow when I wake up I’ll still be so happy, or if I’ll be back to my normal suicidal self. My suicidal self that holds on to past injuries as if they’re some kind of trophy. That wanders around the world being the worse sarcastic syndical bitch I can be. Being mean and rude and loud, and all the time worrying that someone won’t like me. At least it’s because I made them dislike me. It’s better than my childhood, where I walked around being as nice as I could, hoping someone would love me – only to always get left alone, wondering what it was that I did to deserve this. If I’m going to continue to be punished, I’m going to at lease deserve it. You’re still doing my hand, and I have this sneaking suspicion that you’ve heard every thought that has gone through my head tonight.

“You’re so fucking scary.” I say, staring into your eyes, even as I raise my glass for a sip.

“Did you say scary?”

“I said sexy,” I smirk and finish off my glass, so that you think maybe it’s just the alcohol making me be so forward.

You extend your arm and gently caress my face, and then begin to twirl a few strands of my hair together. You stare into my eyes, and smile that stupid smile you do. I smile back. Slowly, you move your face close and close to mine, until our noses are touching. I close my eyes and await the touch of your lips.

“You know I love you, right?”

My heart jumps into my throat blocks any air from flowing into my lung. For my entire life, I have waited for someone to say those words. And you said it.

Father’s Love

It was late summer of 1997 and I was seven years old. My grandfather had recently bought a large amount of land near the river that runs through my hometown, and he had invited me, my father, and my brother to come see it. It was horribly humid that day, and the land was entirely forest. There were a few small paths, and the occasional clearing, but for the most part foliage surrounded us completely. My dad was paying no attention to me, mostly he talked with his own father and tried to keep my brother from jumping into the river. To my father, however, I was invisible. I listened carefully to my father’s conversation. Mostly, it bored me – but I paid close attention just in case there was something I could contribute.

“Yeah, it’s going to take a lot of work but I don’t see why you couldn’t build here, the elevation is high enough that I doubt you’d ever have any problem with flooding.” My father had said.

“Yeah!” I shouted, trying to sound interested, “I just hope you don’t have any problems with bears!”

My grandfather laughed, and my dad did nothing – other than possibly roll his eyes. This is when I knew that I was going to have to do a lot more than provide interesting conversation to get my father’s attention. I wondered off, by myself. It came as no surprise that no one noticed I was missing.

I was surrounded my thick branches, leaves, and thorns. The threat of camouflaged animals was frightening. I had been serious about the bears. I walked cautiously forward, not knowing what I was looking for. Suddenly, however, a thorn-covered branch that extended outward into the trail caught my vision, and everything made since. As soon as I saw it, I knew. I knew exactly what it was that I had to do, no matter how much it hurt. I carefully grabbed the branch with two fingers, being careful to be sure none of the thorns stuck into my fingers. I inspected it closely, looking for the one with the sharpest point. I wasn’t afraid of the pain that was coming; I had accepted it as an unavoidable fate. And I knew it would be very small price to pay for my father to finally love me. It was my only option, the only way my dad would ever notice me.

Once I had found the sharpest thorn I extended my right arm and slowly scraped the branch across it. Nothing happened, so I did it again – only this time much harder. It didn’t hurt much, and if this was all it took for my dad to love me, well, I could do it all day.

Almost instantly blood began to pour out of my arm, and I felt so relieved. The battle, however, was only halfway won. I had to rejoin the group, and show my father what had happened. I ran in the direction of where I could hear them talking, running fast and looking downward, paying no mind to my direction. Suddenly I ran into my father’s leg, a hard smack that almost knocked me backward. He looked down at me and said nothing – and then I extended my arm for him to see. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. There was a short pause before the words came out.

“Buchanan! What the hell happened? Are you okay?” My heart jumped, my insides felt warm. He cared. I offered no detailed story, and I didn’t want to lie. “I got scratched,” I said, simply. Dad got down on his knee and removed a handkerchief from his back pocket. This was probably the only moment in my entire life that I was not disgusted by the sight of a handkerchief. He tied it tightly around my arm and then grabbed my hand. “Stay with the group, okay?” I nodded. For the first time, I felt that my father loved me.

Mom & Tom

My mother always told me that I’d know when I’d found the right man. I’d look into his eyes and see past them, deep into his soul and his mind. And when I looked into those eyes and, more importantly, past them his soul would speak to me and say “Alyssa, I’m here. I’m who you’ve been waiting for. I’m the only man in the world who can possibly love you the way you deserve to be loved.” And then I’d know. Tom’s eyes aren’t saying that to me, they’re saying something more like “I’m horny” and that’s really enough for me right now.

I push my fingers into the heap of curls atop his head and gently pull his face closer to mine. We start to kiss, and at the same time I start to wish I were somewhere else. I wish I were having lunch somewhere nice, with seating on the sidewalk or preferably roof. I wish I were shopping on the busy streets of some large city. But instead here I am, locking lips with Tom in his shitty little apartment. I guess things could be worse.

Once we’re done he walks to the kitchen and lights a cigarette on the stove. No after glow, no more kissing, no “Thank you”. Nothing. Maybe my mother was right, as I’m starting to realize that Tom is quite rude. I slip back into my panties and begin to button my blouse. Tom is standing in the kitchen still, naked, smoking his cigarette.

I open the door closest to the bed, assuming it’s the bathroom. In such a small studio apartment doors can only go so many places. But I’m wrong, it’s not the bathroom – it’s a balcony. I step out and close the door behind me. A cool breeze blows past me, and suddenly I realize that maybe I should have put my pants on. But I ignore this notion and continue to look out at the city in front of me.

There’s not much here on the balcony – a small black table with an ash tray and a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A miserable plant that probably hasn’t been watered in months sits in the corner. I remove a cigarette from the pack and put it to my lips. I click the lighter, it sparks but the flame does not stay long enough for me to light the cigarette. It takes several more attempts before I’m successful.

The thick mentholated smoke enters my lungs, and I exhale deeply.

My mother would be so proud. Standing on a balcony of some strange man’s apartment, wearing no pants, and smoking. At this moment she’s probably rolling over in her grave and wishing she could commit suicide for a second time. I guess she screwed herself out of that opportunity.