A middle aged man awaits at a crosswalk with his itty bitty son. He tightly grips his little hand. Protecting him. This frightens me.
I am driving at about thirty miles per hour and I stop a few feet before the white painted crosswalk and wave my hand signaling for the pair to cross. This is a bad idea but it is the right, moral thing to do and I am an ethical responsible person.
I turn down the radio. I am listening to Pearl Jam’s “Alive.” Interesting because I am thinking about death…
For the first time ever
I silently said to myself
“My body is mine”
As I touched my thighs
Caressed my arms
After decades spent
Following harsh rules
Basing my self-worth on the size of my jeans
Because I’ve been led to believe
That I’m only worthy if I’m a size zero
Like a religion
I’ve lived my life this way
Meal by meal
Measurement by measurement
Ensuring I’m enough for someone else
Absorbing messages from the world around me
Especially from men
Who notice my body
Comment like I’m a figurine
And want to take
She had blood on her hands. She glanced at herself in the mirror and for a moment she liked what she saw. She felt powerful. Her insides twisted. It wasn’t the red painted blood that made her sick. The long pointed butcher knife soaked with a red coating didn’t frighten her. It was the bright look in her eyes that did it. It started as a thought. A flash of an image in her mind.
At first it made her shudder, but after a while a curiousity developed. She wondered what she was capable of. It was a game she…
It’s two-thirty a.m. and I have an eye level view of a shiny porcelain toilet. I had scrubbed it clean at eight p.m. The overhead lights are giving the impression that it is already morning and perhaps there is some level of normalcy to me sitting here. I pull my knees to my chest and bury my head in the gap. It is warm.
The thing is life is speeding up and I can’t keep pace. Everyone’s finished the marathon and I’m still on the first mile. My friends are getting promoted or engaged. I do not have to have…
Lithium Gave Me My Life Back
In my early twenties my life was a roller coaster ride blindfolded. Binge drinking in short dresses in night clubs. Mornings spent pulling myself together with a pot of coffee and a Lexapro. I studied hard but couldn’t sleep without an Ambien. I’d listen to Sia’s “Breathe Me” in a cold bathtub and be swallowed whole. I’d walk the streets of Boston and my thoughts were like a movie on fast forward that I couldn’t slow down. My body felt like it was covered in flies and I was trying to swat them away.
Before Corrine was a Night Girl, she was a waitress. Before she was a waitress, she was a maid. Before maid, she was a mother to her brother. Before she was a mother to her brother, she was a girl that grew up too fast.
When Corrine was twelve, her mother Becca, allowed her to smoke cigarettes with her on the front step. They’d talk about men and boys. Sometimes they wouldn’t talk at all. Corrine was learning how to practice this thing where one was remorseful and hopeful at the same time. She had learned that from Becca. For…
She stumbled out of his apartment taking steps under a black sky with vodka breath. She held her sandals in one hand and purse in the other. Electricity coursed through her. Life bubbled inside of her. She felt like she was high on the feeling of him.
He lay there on the bed emptied. The window was open and the night breeze cooled him. She had taken everything from him yet, he was left with something new. Although the room was spinning, he felt still inside. A sort of peace. …
Water dripped from the faucet in a sort of melody. Despite being submerged in hot water, I was numb. I sat cross-legged, frozen staring with blank eyes at a spot on the wall. A chip in the fading white paint. My gaze was so still I could’ve been staring through it. Bright lights shined down on my naked body like I was in a laboratory. My arms were too heavy to lift. Inside I was hollow. My body emptied of all of its contents. I didn’t even feel the only emotion that made sense — sadness.
I couldn’t cry but…
Sometimes you have to cut to the chase. Stomp out your used up cigarette or chain smoke in the backyard. Bite your tongue or spew out profanities. Middle grounds are for cowards who don’t know how to make things happen. So when Corrine bought a one way ticket to Gatestown she didn’t mull over whether it was the right choice. Instead, she left her old life behind as if it never happened.
Lipstick. Perfume. Whiskey. Parliaments. Slide on hose. Step into a slip of a dress. This was her routine. Run her hands over her curves. Imagine what could be…