Tonight and the Rest of My Life

Tonight and the Rest Of My Life

November 13, 2005 – December 15, 2005
J. Fitzgerald

Part I

“Down to the earth I fell with dripping wings. Heavy things won’t fly and the sky might catch on fire and burn the axis of the world. That’s why I prefer a sunless sky to the glittering and stinging in my eyes.
I feel so light. This is all I want to feel tonight. I feel so light…tonight and the rest of my life.”

se•cret : Something kept hidden from others or known only to oneself or to a few.

It’s funny to tell people what goes on behind closed doors when no one’s watching.
Which is why, I guess, we don’t share these secrets with others.
Countless times I’ve tried to reach out and tell someone…anyone…about how I felt…dead, hurt, emotionally void. But every time I would open my mouth, the words wouldn’t let themselves escape. Instead, they lay on my lips in better, heavy volumes, unwilling to spill forth.
So the secrets stayed just that…secrets.
Even if I had been willing to speak, no one would have believed me.
I had no reason to feel this way.

nor•mal : Conforming with, adhering to, or constituting a norm, standard, pattern, level, or type; typical.

I’d grown up in a normal family. A mother, a father, an older brother…my parents were still married…we had no dirty secrets. I got decent grades, good friends, and typical looks. I was a normal girl. I went to school. I joined clubs. I kept a diary of stupid secrets…
So there was no reason for me to be this fucking emotionally dead.
It hadn’t always been so bad.

in•no•cence : The state, quality, or virtue of being innocent, as:
a. Freedom from sin, moral wrong, or guilt through lack of knowledge of evil.
b. Guiltlessness of a specific legal crime or offense.
c. Freedom from guile, cunning, or deceit; simplicity or artlessness.
d. Lack of worldliness or sophistication; naiveté.
e. Lack of knowledge or understanding; ignorance.
f. Freedom from harmfulness; inoffensiveness.

Childhood innocence had been so easy. What do children have to worry about?
When I was five, my biggest fear was spiders. When I was taking a bath one night, I watched one crawl up the wall across from me and I watched in fixed awe…until it lost its grip and tumbled in a free fall towards the bath where I sat. Once it hit the bubbles in the tub, I watched as it clung onto life for a few seconds, its eight legs spasming wildly against the water before falling still.
And then I screamed bloody murder.
After that, every time I’d see a spider, I’d remember its death fall and last moments and became so emotionally upset that I would react beyond reason.
Since then, my biggest fear has been death.
Which is so fucking ironic, I could vomit.


in•som•ni•a : Chronic inability to fall asleep or remain asleep for an adequate length of time.

The summer I turned sixteen, though, the insomnia kicked in full force. Day after day, night after night, I rolled restlessly around in my bed. My blankets would entangle themselves about my legs, my pillow too smashed from tossing about. For hours, I’d watch the wind chimes above my head. They were just as motionless as my transition into sleep.
Sometimes I’d try to listen to music – fast music, soft music, instrumental music – but nothing would settle me into sleep.
I tried taking sleeping pills…first one, then two, then four times the allotted dose, but sleep wouldn’t fall over me…
And if it did, it was so erratic, I woke up even more exhausted than before I’d gotten those few minutes of REM.
What makes this story even more complicated is the fact that no one even seemed to notice.

dis•cov•er : To notice or learn, especially by making an effort.

I began taking baths each night for hours upon end. If I couldn’t rest in my bed, I’d rest in scalding hot water. There was something about the burning of my skin which dulled the rest of my senses to the point where I couldn’t feel anything but the raw pain of the hot water against me.
For the first time in months, I didn’t care about how upset I was or how much I couldn’t feel…
Because the water itself did its job of taking care of that.
This too, however, quit working when I got used to it. Each night, the water would have to be hotter and hotter, until it wouldn’t raise in temperature any more.
So I found myself back at square one…in bed, tossing and turning and crying because I couldn’t stand being so stupid about nothing in particular.
It was everything that wasn’t…

crim•son : A deep to vivid purplish red to vivid red.

I gave up the baths for a few nights, and then tried to return to them, but it was no use. The baths had lost all their magic.
The night I discovered they were no longer mystical enough to numb me, I was climbing from the tub when I knocked an object into the tub haphazardly. Not even thinking, I sunk my hand into the tub and sliced my finger open on my dad’s sharp razor blade. Instinctively, I pulled my hand from the tub, leaving behind a crimson trail of blood in its wake. I watched as the blood and water mixture swirled and began to sink towards the bottom before I felt the cold air outside the tub stinging my new wound.
Grabbing a towel, I wrapped my naked, wet body up and then set out to take care of the blood. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I squeezed the wound to cut off the flow and set out to find a band aid in a drawer next to the toilet. When this whole endeavor was finished, I was hit so clearly by realization that I sunk from the edge of the tub to the floor. With a shaky, bloody hand, reached into the tub and pulled the razor out carefully.
Twisting the razor in my hands, I stared at the shiny metal glaring back at me. It was so cool, so clean, and so violent that it terrified me. Looking at the tub again, I didn’t see any blood, but glancing at my finger, the blood seeping through the cotton of the band aid was visible.
I hadn’t felt a thing when I was watching myself bleed.
I hadn’t felt anything but a sting…
I just was.
Me…and my body.
Nothing else mattered.
I could get lost in crimson in a way that I couldn’t get lost in sleep.

try : To taste, sample, or otherwise test in order to determine strength, effect, worth, or desirability

Remembering how easy it had been to just slice my finger open, I held the razor in my right hand and extended my left arm, taking precaution as where to begin. It couldn’t be too obvious. It would, after all, just be this once, just to try it…so it wasn’t a big deal.
But still. I didn’t want anyone to question the mark.
Deciding that higher up my arm was better, I held the razor just below where the elbow ended in the fold of my arm. The metal was cool and I took a deep breath. This was it.
Time stood still as that blade slid over my pale skin and when I lifted it off of me, the pain knocked the breath out of me. Dropping the razor back into the tub, I was amazed to see how much blood was pooling from my arm in deep red rivers. It hadn’t seemed like that long of a cut, but the evidence stated otherwise.
Noting to keep breathing, I pulled the towel from my body and immediately wrapped it around the fresh wound tightly, hoping to get the blood to stop moving quickly.
Why had I done such a stupid thing? What the hell was wrong with me?
Taking extra precaution to clean the wound and dress it, I then dressed myself, cleaned off the horrible razor, drained the tub, and hid the towel. There was no need for anyone to see the bloody mess left behind and question it.
It was a single moment of stupidity.
Something stupid that I would never repeat ever again.
The strange thing was, when I collapsed into bed that night, the sleep that overcame me was so powerful and so deep…that when it didn’t last mere seconds, I was surprised.
The whole incident had tired me out…I’d slept for a whole night.

de•sire : To wish or long for; want.

That sleep was incredible. I woke up refreshed and actually ready to face the day. The circles under my eyes weren’t as dark and I didn’t look nearly as dead. It was the best I’d felt in ages.
All because I’d managed to wear myself out.
It’s funny…because the one thing I said I’d never do again after leaving such a bloody mess behind soon became something I fought not to do. It was a double edged sword of its own. Cut and sleep…or stay up for nights on end in endless torment over every small detail in my life.
So in a minute of which I’m especially regretful for, I’d find myself in the bathroom, sharp object in hand, and actually hurt myself. Then I’d stare and watch the rivers of crimson flow down my arm…clean them up, cry, and sleep.
Soon it became entirely too hard to hide my new hobby. I had to wear long sleeves everywhere I went and the marks I left behind hurt so bad and the wounds would open…it was as if I had to babysit my own scars.

i•ro•ny : a trope that involves incongruity between what is expected and what occurs.


I can’t help feel embarrassed at what happened next. No one had any idea of what I’d been doing and I felt so clever with my new plan that I just couldn’t stop. I was addicted to the razor…to the crimson rivers…to the sleep.
It was a typical night of sleeplessness when I sat in my bathtub as I now had done countless times. The water was hot and the steam that rose from the tub clouded my vision. Sinking into the water, I picked up my new best friend and placed it against my arm, taking care not to reopen any of my wounds.
Something was different this time, however.
Sure, I’d felt the pain every other time I’d cut, but usually the bleeding would stop if I’d apply enough pressure to the wound. This time, however, the blood just kept rushing forth angrily. Starting to get dizzy with fear, I pressed harder, thinking this had to have been some fluke. I had been so careful as not to hit a main artery, I couldn’t have possibly done it this time.
Taking the towel from my arm, I made the mistake of looking at my craftsmanship. Angry red lines stared at me and huge wet tears fell from my eyes.
Why wouldn’t it stop? What had I done wrong this time?
Was my new hobby failing me like the hot water had?
Stumbling backwards, I met the lip of the tub, lost my balance and went down hard, cracking the base of my skull on the back of the porcelain tub in a sickening thud.
As I began to fall under, I thought about that spider from my childhood. I had watched as it fell unknowingly into the tub, fought for those last few moments of life and lost. And much like it had, my limbs spasmed for only seconds before they too, went completely still and lost the battle.

shame : A painful emotion caused by a strong sense of guilt, embarrassment, unworthiness, or disgrace.

I can’t imagine how it felt to be my brother when he found me that night in the bathtub…naked and sprawled awkwardly in that tub of crimson colored water, head barely above the water.
I can’t imagine how my father felt making that emergency call at three thirty in the morning to tell them his baby girl was motionless in a blood stained bath.
I can’t imagine how my mother felt having to clean up that mess and finding the razor sunken at the bottom of the tub, picking it up, and wondering where she’d gone wrong in her parenting.
It’s a shame that I can’t even begin to feel or fathom.


Part II

“Gleaming in the dark sea, I’m as light as air floating there breathlessly. When the dream dissolves, I open up my eyes. I realize that everything is shoreless sea, a weightlessness is passing over me.
I feel so light. This is all I want to feel tonight. I feel so light…tonight and the rest of my life.”

It’s funny to think of how I used to be…
A young girl, bright eyed, ready to be set free.
I was a gentle soul, pure of heart
Till that one night when he stole from me a sacred part.

.*.

He wasn’t the boy
Your mother warned you of.
He was golden,
A pure Adonis.
Everything he touched
Would open and bloom
And change entirely before your eyes.
So why
Did that boy
Do this
To me?

.*.

Yet again, I was running late.
I had too much to do, too many chores.
That was when I ran into him at the school’s front doors.

All the girls used to fall mercilessly at his feet.
All the girls, that is, except shy, pure me.

So when he offered me a ride, I had to accept.
This god, this star, this boy had practically asked me out.
I couldn’t turn him down – of that there was no doubt.

.*.

Directions I gave him to my house.
Directions I gave him quietly as a mouse.
Directions I gave him almost willingly…
But I did not give him directions for what he did to me.

.*.

Home I went…
Shattered.
Broken.
Defeated.
Home I went…
Upset.
Violated.
Torn.

.*.

There’s something I will never forget
About my mother’s face when my story and her ears met.
The look that shone in her eyes of blue
Told me she thought everything I’d said was untrue.
“Girls,” she said, “Will do anything to please.
So don’t blame him, ‘cause you’re the tease.”
Her words spoke volumes and even more.
My mother had simply just called me a whore.

.*.

Packing bags is hard to do…
When you realize all hope just fell through.

.*.

For days I wandered scared and uncertain.
There was nowhere for me to place my burden.
Late at night when dreams would fail me…
I felt his hands on me and let out a silent scream.
Why had he known that I unwillingly
Could put up no defense when he stole my virginity?
Sure, I fought and screamed. I hurled insults,
But in the end, this whole mess is my fault.

.*.

Who : A girl on the streets who finds her solace in the bottle.
What : Sells herself in order to survive and live another day.
Where : Downtown on that dimly lit street corner past the local high school.
When : Every possible night of the week.
Why : She has to take care of herself if no one else will.
How : She’s broken China, shattered glass, scattered ashes.

Just another used girl…
Scared and running.

.*.

I made enough money to get a place and a car.
It’s a piece of old metal that won’t go very far.
But it does its job pretty well, I suppose.
It hasn’t let me down yet like everyone else I know.

.*.

The lights, they flicker slow, then fast.
What makes this night easier is that I’m completely trashed.

.*.

He pulls up to the curb
New car, leather seats.
He oozes wealth.
Stumbling towards the window,
I name a price
Climb into the car…
And drive off in the night.

.*.

This man, he tries to get to know me.
He drives me around in order to see
Why such a young, pretty girl would choose to be
A girl on the corner selling her body almost for free.

No one has ever questioned my motives.
No one has bothered to ask how a whore lives.
This man was asking for more than I could give.

So I climbed from he car without looking back.
He hadn’t wanted any of the ‘talent’ I lack.

He was looking to save a girl who couldn’t be saved.

.*.

Back to my street.
Back to the former.
Not even ten minutes pass.
Before an old junky car stops at the corner.

So different from the last.
First young, class, heart…
Now a failure, greasy, middle aged.
Why did I climb from that first car?

.*.

Look at me, Mama.
I bet you’re so proud
To see your daughter being touched where it isn’t allowed.

Look at me, Mama.
Being a tease
And using such skills in order to please.

Look at me, Mama.
See what I’ve done
Because you don’t believe I was violated by the mayor’s son?

Look at me, Mama.
Your baby’s a wreck
Because that boy stole her innocence like one wrings a neck.

Look at me, Mama.
I bet you’re glad you settled the score
‘Cause your daughter finally did it…she became a fucking whore.

.*.

The entire time, I try not to feel.
I try not to think, my emotions are sealed.
He hovers over me, doing all the work
In a bed where the roaches probably lurk.

My body’s a vessel, just a place to use.
I close my eyes tight and my honor I lose.
I can’t believe I let them do this to me.
I just give him my body so willingly.

He’s getting ready to go out with a bang.
Upon entering heaven, for my sins I will hang.
Then it’ll be straight to hell, for that’s where I’m going to be…
Then I make the mistake of opening my eyes and beginning to see.

.*.

Tripping home.
A mess.
I barely make it inside
Before the bottle finds my hand.
I can’t go on
Doing this to myself.
Finding solace in the liquor,
I make a new friend.
It’s kind and warm and bitter sweet,
But now it’s gone and I’m alone again.

.*.

The phone, it rings.
It’s shrill and bare.
I pick it up
And at first no one is there.

Then the voice on the line
Says to me fast
My mother’s been in an accident
Can I come to the hospital and see to that?

.*.

I stumble to the door and into the night.
I’m too drunk for this and my driving’s a fright.
Barely focusing I will go through the town
Which brought me to my knees and threw me a round.

A small town girl betrayed by the golden one.
Now a drunk whore who stopped before she’d begun.
Turning a corner and then failing to see
The large semi truck headed straight for me.

.*.

The lights around me flash so brightly.
I really cannot feel or think…I now can just be.
When I’m wheeled into the hospital, I’m a bloody sight.
As over my body appears the kind young man from earlier that night.

Who is this man God sent to me
To be a form of brutal honest therapy?
He’s an ER doctor screaming at those flying by…
And I realize now Mama, I’m going to die.

Part III

“Everything is waves and stars.
The universe is resting in my arms.
I feel so light. This is all I want to feel tonight. I feel so light…tonight and the rest of my life.”

Dear Mama and Papa—
         I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve started this letter to you or how many times I’ve mentally begun it in my head. All the drafts before this one were shit. What makes this one so goddamn special is that instead of writing it on nice, clean notebook paper, I’m writing it on the back of one of my many bills…one of my many foreclosures…one of my many debts.
         But don’t you worry about it. In fact, don’t you worry about me. You never seemed to care before anyway. You didn’t care when I showed up at home with the black eye from one of my boyfriends. You didn’t care when that same boy held me a bit too hard and broke three of my ribs.          You didn’t care, because that boy’s parents are your best friends.
         The final straw? I know you probably don’t care about why I left home. But the final straw definitely did it.
         He found out I was pregnant with his child because of some careless mistake we made, accused me of fucking around behind his back and threw me down a flight of stairs.
         I bet his parents would be so proud.
         He pushed a poor pregnant girl down a flight of stairs because he didn’t want to face the responsibility of his actions…of OUR actions.
         I know that it would have been hard for an eighteen year old girl to take on a child and college, but I was ready to do it…until that night, that is.
         When I came home a wreck and you didn’t even acknowledge me that just justified what I’d known for years.
         You didn’t care about me. You never really did.
         Hell. It’s not like you even came looking for me when I DID leave.
         I just wanted to write you this final letter. After this first and final draft, there will be no more letters addressed to the place I once called home, because tonight is it. I’ve managed to make all your dreams come true.
         Your little girl came to the city and she got a minimum scum job which doesn’t pay the bills but supports her new habit.
         Thanks a lot for that, really. I began it just to piss you off in some abstract manner and now I can’t seem to kick it.
         Tonight I managed to score my fatal dose and I’ll be cutting off every tie I have.
         No one’s ever cared…
         No one, that is…except for Jimmy. He’s this police officer who stops in my diner on occasion and talks to me about life. He seems to take a genuine interest in me…and somehow he knows what I’ve been doing since I ran away. I’ve told him everything, except, that is, about the heroin.
         Yeah. Your little girl’s doing heroin. Aren’t you just so proud?
         Jimmy knows. He hasn’t outright said it. But he knows what I do in my spare time. He says that since I’ve arrive in the city I’ve lost way too much age for a girl my age and that he hardly recognizes the girl he met months ago.
         If it weren’t for the fact that I hate myself, I might actually give the guy a chance. He’s young. He’s successful. He seems to actually like me for me.
         But it won’t ever happen. He deserves a better girl than me…a girl with so many track marks in her arms, she had to start shooting up behind her knees.
         Aren’t you just so proud?
         I need to just cut myself from everyone’s life since I seem to only bring lies and tragedy.          Isn’t that what you told me that night I ran away? That I bring the violence upon myself? That I can’t save myself because I’m just a fucking idiot?
         I love you guys so much.
         That was sarcasm, in case you haven’t noticed.
         The truth is that tonight I’ve stuck the needle into me for the last time, but it wasn’t just one needle, but many, all over. I’m feeling a little dizzy and the paper’s all over the place, but I have to get this down before I do fade out.
Because you two are the reason I’ve become this.
         All I ever did was try to earn your love. I got good grades. I got into a great school. Hell, I fucked around with your best friends’ son.          What more could you have asked for?
         But it wasn’t ever good enough. Never, ever good enough.
         So look at me.
         Your daughter, a fucking junkie, fucked into oblivion, getting ready to pass out.
         Aren’t you proud?
         Aren’t you so fucking proud?

         Never again--

Part IV

“I feel so light. This is all I want to feel tonight. I feel so light…tonight and the rest of my life.”

The lights in the hospital shone down harshly in each corridor. It was a busy night in the Emergency Room and extra doctors and nurses had been called in to handle all the trauma…all the bloody, messy, doped up trauma.
They hadn’t seen this much injury—physical and emotional—in decades.

Room One found a teenage girl with deep, crimson scars on her wrists. She’d lost so much blood, the doctor thought for sure he was going to lose her…but thanks to the help of an emergency blood donor – the girl’s brother – she was able to replace some of those beautiful, cells. Passed out, her hair scattered across the pillow, she slept, exhaling softly while her parents sat in stiff chairs, wondering numbly what they’d done wrong.
But they hadn’t done anything wrong.
They were wonderful parents. They simply had failed to see all the signs that their daughter wasn’t satisfied with her life. She put on an amazing act. The girl’s brother stood against the wall, watching as each breath left her lips, thanking God for that moment when he’d found her. He’d been terrified beyond belief, but she wasn’t gone…
And she wouldn’t be.
Treatment options were in discussion and the second the girl woke up, she’d be faced with a few choices.
Her life was worth living…
Simply because she still had hope and love.

Room Two had held an older woman who was conscious with some burning. She’d been smoking a cigarette and fallen asleep, but she was fine overall. The doctor had called her daughter, but she hadn’t shown up.
But that didn’t surprise the woman.
Her daughter was and always had been, just a stupid goddamn slut.
She had lied years ago claiming the mayor’s son had raped her…always wanting and begging for attention.
So her mother did what she did best.
She quit caring for her child and thought only of herself.
Dismissed three hours after her arrival, she passed the third room and saw a familiar face…
But continued walking, deciding not to give said child the satisfaction of her support.

Room Three contained a car accident victim. Her blood alcohol level had been triple the legal dose and nearly fatal. The driver of the semi truck was okay, but the girl was suffering a few fractured discs in her spine. The man who had saved her that very night stood in the lobby talking to an officer, waiting to find out if she was going to be charged, ready to help her get a good defense lawyer and some serious help.
She was a girl in trouble and he knew that. He’d tried to help her earlier that night, but she’d dismissed him and climbed from his car, thinking he just wanted to use her.
It had been luck that he’d been called to work that night upon her accident…and that night and been able to save her life.
Upon the end of his talk with law enforcement, he went to her room where he found her just beginning to stir from a dozing stupor. He reached for her hand and running a strong finger across her palm told her why he was there.
He didn’t want to use her.
He just wanted to help her start over.
And he would.

In Room Four, the night had come full circle. A young police officer by the name of Jimmy McGuire had come across the body of an eighteen year old girl passed out behind a diner. Needles sat next to her side, along with a wrinkled letter to her parents.
While he waited for the doctors to do anything they could to save the young girl’s life, he sat in the lobby and read the letter, shocked at what his eyes read and upset that his predictions about her hobbies had been true. Crushed that he hadn’t been able to help her, he sat in the hard blue chair for what seemed like days until a doctor finally emerged and called for him. Standing and swallowing a lump in his throat, he approached the doctor, pocketed the letter, and waited to see how long it would be before the girl.
He needed to help point her in the right direction.
From day one she’d drawn him, from her shy smile, to the sad look in her eyes. He’d been aching to ask her out for months, but he knew the skinny girl wouldn’t have said yes. He could see the demons in her eyes, see her pain for what it was exactly.
Sighing deeply, he asked the doctor how long it would be until he could see her.
The doctor said he could see her at that very instant…but he had more news first.
The shy young girl who’d written her parents a letter telling them that she wasn’t sorry for fucking up their lives…
That beautiful free spirit he’d met one day on his coffee break…
She’d died minutes after arriving at the hospital.
They just couldn’t save her from herself.
And at that moment, because he hadn’t saved her, he didn’t feel very proud of himself at all.