They won't let me write in here.
They say it hasn't helped my therapy.
So, in this attempt to sneak you a line, I hope you'll see it and understand where I've been and why I've gone. I don't know how long I'll be here.
Everyone has their breakin' point. I've pushed my parents to the limit and beyond. Thank God for the truth of a mother and father's unconditional love. But even that, I'm afraid, I have often taken for granted.
I got in trouble again. Was arrested again. Public intoxication, destruction of public property, violating my parole...the list goes on.
Kevin was there to bail me out – as he has always been. Problem is, I failed to see the pain in his eyes or the tellin' signs that he had reached the apex of his limitations. All I could see at the time, was that he was there. In being there, I assumed he still loved me. And in lovin' me, I didn't care to see what was left – that he just didn't know what to do with me.
That night, however, I did see. I saw the failed expression on his face. I saw the hurt in his eyes. I saw the anger in his jawline, the dismissal in his refusal to touch me. Finally, all I saw were taillights.
I made the mistake of lettin' him walk himself to my door. I let him tell me he couldn't do it anymore. In choked sobs, I had nothin' to say. I wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg him not to go. Sadness havin' taken hold, I didn't. I ran to my room to hide. Until I heard the sound of his engine outside. But by the time I made my way through the door, all I could see was him drivin' away.
So, I ran after him. I let my sobs turn to cries as I called out his name. But he didn't see me. He didn't hear me. And if he did, it didn't stop him. As I had always feared, he had reached his breakin' point. He had realized that I was not worth the pain and destruction that I caused, that I wrought onto every soul unfortunate enough to stumble across my path.
I couldn't see him after those tiny red lights finally faded in the distance. I couldn't see anything. Blinded by my tears, and numbed by the pain, the stitch in my side was not enough to slow me down. The car wizzin' by me in the darkness of the night, was however. Feelin' the air of metal much to near my skin I fell to the side of the road, my knees hittin' the gravel on the edge of pavement and soft earth. Still, I didn't feel the pain. I could only see the blood I left lyin' on the ground.
I didn't wish to go back home - to be in that place where he had said his last goodbye. So I kept walkin'. The night air was hot on the back of my throat. I needed a drink so desperately that I thought I might choke. Winded and weary, I was suddenly overcome with the very human need for water. I was so thirsty. With every step it seemed as though sand were fillin' my mouth.
I could see litter and trash along the ground, my eyes unable to look ahead or above. A water bottle. Casually, I walked towards it, kickin' it with my toe. Empty.
Another. Empty. Finally, a few steps more, I saw a third. There was water inside. Without thinkin' I picked it up and opened the lid, bringin' it up to my lips before I stopped. How disgustin' was this? Was I really about to drink from garbage in a ditch?
With the last shred of dignity I had I left, I threw it down. No I was not.
But I was still so thirsty.
I continued to walk forward, wonderin' how on earth, my head was still tickin' while the rest of me was not – why it felt the need to beat a dead heart with a stick of memories.
Soon I found my path lit-up with the yellow lights of street lamps. Houses popped up in front of me as I made my way toward another neighborhood. The dogs in the yard of the first house barked as I walked along their fence-line. Normally, I would have been startled by the mad noises of protection, but I was not deterred. I had already heard the trickle of something much more dear. Water.
The second house in the row was equipped with a pool. I could see the the waterfall cascadin' from what I assumed was a jacuzzi into the main pool below, and in response my mouth suddenly felt like an hourglass had exploded inside.
No dogs came to the fence-line here. Quietly, I made my way over the fence and ducked through the opening into the backyard. No lights were on to indicate anyone inside was still awake. Kneelin' down to the edge, I cupped a handful of the chlorinated water into my mouth and drank. No worse than gulpin' it as I swam as a kid I assumed.
The water trickled off my face and the cool damp freshness of it was more than I could ignore. Flippin' around, I put my feet in first and slid in until my head and body were completely submerged. Weightless. I bobbed underwater until I had to surface for a breath.
Unfortunately, when I broke the surface, I saw the back porch light flip on. Then a very angry lookin' man came outside. My ears full of water I could barely make out his shouts as he started yellin' for me to get the hell off his property. Scramblin' up the side of the pool, I jumped out and ran again without lookin' behind me. I was gettin' used to these short reprieves shattered by reality.
I ran down the street until the house was out of sight and slowed back down to a walk. Soon, I found myself on a bridge. One of those old-timey bridges that nobody had bothered to tear down, with arches and eaves overhead. I stopped in the middle and looked down. The bottom looked so far away. My shoes scratched against the gravel at the edge as my body leaned against the railin'. Peerin' as far over the side as I could I wondered if I would ever feel again. If even the breathlessness of a fall would be enough to make me feel alive – even if only for a moment.
Pullin' myself up onto the railin', I grabbed for the eaves overhead to steady myself. How many times had I jumped from a cliff? Had I ever truly appreciated the soar?
With a final look above, I saw how beautiful the moon was as it cascaded the fullness of its light down upon me.
And I jumped.
The wind caught in my throat as I readied myself for the bottom. I let the seconds feel like time stood still as I relished in this final plight.
And then with a splash, I was underwater again. Weightless.
The swirling darkness of the creek overwhelmed me and took me in. I let the icy water churn 'round my body as I pushed myself farther and farther down. Oh, how I wished I could be a mermaid. How nice would it be to stay here forever, and swim away into the depths to find new worlds.
But I was not. Soon, my irritating humanness took hold again as I was forced to break the surface for air. Immediately, I heard shouts from the shore. Great. What law had I broken this time?
“You there! Girl! Get out of there! Don't you know how filthy that water is? This is a runoff creek girl! Get out of there before you catch some brain-eating parasite! What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed? Get of there now! Last thing I need is some brain dead teenager on my hands!”
Swimmin' with a new sense of urgency – for no, I did not realize how filthy the water was, I only had wanted to feel its weightlessness again – I made my way to the shore.
I felt his hand grasp mine as I climbed out of the bank, to fall again on my knees. Sore and bruised, I was almost thankful for the pain.
“What kind of idiot jumps into a stagnant pool of water? Have you no sense?” he asked, his voice cracked and tellin' of his age.
I looked up to see him, but could barely make out his face as he was so dark he practically melted into the background. All I could see were the whites of his eyes. Anger? Fear? I could not tell. Confusion, to be sure.
“I just wanted to swim,” I mustered in a hushed whisper.
“Well, there's better places to do that. A girl your age has no business on this side of town at night, alone, much less swimming in this cesspool.”
“I'm sorry.”
“No need to tell me your sorry. You get on home now, before you get yourself into real trouble.”
I didn't move. I was tired. I didn't have the fight.
“Go on now. Go on home. Go girl.”
“Can I just sit here awhile?” I asked. This was obviously his bridge. Anyone in their right mind would probably have been fearful of sittin' alongside some hobo under some dark bridge. I, however, had nothin' left to be fearful of I figured. Nothin' else could hurt me anymore.
“You are a fool of a girl aren't you?”
He kept his distance. Sure he would pull or push me to my feet and away from his isolated abode, I was surprised when he sat down a few feet away from me. Silently, we watched the dark creek ripple as the leaves fell from the trees.
“Nothing quite as foolish as being a fool in love huh little missy?” he asked finally breaking the tense silence and looking my way.
The moon reflected off the water, providing enough light for me to see the question on his mind.
“To be in love requires two people does it not?” I replied back coolly. “I loved. It's lost. End of story.”
“It's never the end until you take your last breath. Keep on fighting girl. You've got more going for you than you think.”
It was hard to argue with him – the hobo under the bridge. So we sat in silence a while longer before he finally asked to escort me home.
“Come on now, before the law is on my heels. I'm sure your family is looking for you. Let me walk you home.”
Sluggishly, I stood. We walked on in continued silence but I did not take him the route I had come.
Finally, at a length of tall metal fences and gates, I stopped. Breathing deep as I looked inside the empty courtyard of cold concrete, I readied myself for what was to come.
“This is your home?” he asked soundin' surprised.
“It will be.”
I looked up at the sign above the gated entrance. “Herring's Haven,” it read - a haven for wayward girls and the psychologically disturbed. Was there really such a thing? I doubted it. But the toll was bound to be less than on the outside.
“Thank you for walkin' with me,” I said, tryin' my best to smile my good graces, but sure it probably looked like more of a sneer as my cheeks failed to work with my efforts.
“Chin up missy. This too shall pass.”
I wanted to believe him. But he didn't know that my demise was of my own makin'. And I had little hope left that my future would ever look any brighter. Yet, it was harder still to forget his words altogether – the hobo from the bridge, a man who most would assume had no hope.
So this is where I am. Herring's Haven. They don't want me to write to you - to tell you how magical it was for the time I had to live my life without pause, without doubt, and with only impulse. It has been a destructive road. Maybe, given time, I will learn a way to find that happy medium between extremes. Maybe they can make me a bird. Maybe.
So, farewell, until we meet again my friends.
