Never Leave Anyone in the Dark; a look into my next project – a fictional piece in the form of journal entries.
Never Leave Anyone in the Dark; a look into my next project – a fictional piece in the form of journal entries by an anonymous young writer. I just have to put it together and add the fantasy.
(She grew up in a small town in West Virginia where she used sports and school activities to remain occupied to ease to the boredom. She was never cool but eventually she didn’t have to be because looks were everything in high school, although, that’s not the way she saw it. In fact, she didn’t see things the way they were at all. Her home life reeked of abuse among other things that were unheard of to anyone she knew. Her mom was an alcoholic and worked all the time. Her step dad was a junkie and an abuser. Her dad was a lifelong alcoholic who caused her heartache again and again while she continued to give him second chances. Her journal entries inspire the fact that throughout all the turmoil she could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Depression was inevitable for her but she kept it at a distance while she could. Eventually though, it creeps up on her through a series of bad relationships, memories, actualizations, a stay in prison, drugs, alcohol, and sex, all while trying to finding herself. Through her eyes you will experience first hand the chaos yet optimistic attitude soon take a downhill turn to severe depression and addiction that is encoded in her genes. Then she would learn genes have nothing to do with it at all. Never Leave Anyone in the Dark is a stunning look into a series of events that caused a 22 year old breakdown and the toll it took on her. As she looks back through her journals and accesses that she’s become everything she has always hated. Never Leave Anyone in the Dark is full of heart.)
Shuffling through her purse she began to get frustrated, as her cell phone kept ringing and ringing. Well not exactly ringing, but making some kind of cheap computerized noise. “I can never find anything in here!” she exclaimed, as her purse is the size of a pillow case. It seems to be a bottomless pit every time she reached for her waste of space phone. No one ever calls her. She could hear it, she just can’t see it! Finally! She thought as the caller Id read Dad’s cell. Great, what now? She wondered as though they were on bad terms. “Hello?” She asked, almost hesitating to answer. “Hi, is it you?, He questioned. He knows it’s her, it’s her cell phone, she thought. “Hey um, what are you doing?” He half-heartedly asked. “Oh, nothing just got home from class,” she replied while emptying dog food into her dog’s bowl. “Well, I’m going to the hospital. I’m sick. My blood pressure is really high; I just have to go,” as he tried to explain. “What do you mean?” She snapped, as she pulled her hair behind her ears. She knew exactly what it meant, it hasn’t been the first time and she knew it wouldn’t be the last time. “I just have to go for a while. Can you come over and help out with your grandma for a while, just until I get back? It will probably be no longer than a week?” She quickly replied with a slight roll of the eyes, “Sure, of course, hope you feel better.”
GOD! She hissed as we hung up the phone and ended the conversation. All she could think about was that he isn’t going to the hospital due to his blood pressure. She knew that was totally absurd. She knew he’d been drinking again. She found the cases in his bedroom last time she was there to visit. She found the empty beer cans and the full boxes of beer. Those are the two shots to the heart when she knows it’s completely real again. This time it wasn’t a drink at night, it was an endless consumption of alcohol daily. See, her dad can’t just drink one or two; he has to be completely intoxicated to a point of obliteration. He can’t live while drinking because it takes him out of the reality that he is already trying to avoid.
She just knew there was more to it than blood pressure, and he knew she knew too. Her grandmother, who is the epitome of the term “grandma” had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s and isn’t capable of the tasks she once could perform. Her dad is her primary care giver, and with each passing day of his care, her image of her beloved grandmother fades. She sincerely counts on my dad to look after grandma and make sure that she passes away in peace at her own home. If she weren’t so caught up in my own life of work and school, which my grandparents practically instilled into her head, then she would move right in, and give her the love she deserves. After all, that’s what she’s always given me, pure genuine care. “He is so selfish; I wish I knew what to do,” She thought aloud.
“Alright girl, let’s go! Are you ready to go bye-byes?” Bella, her mutt that she saved from starvation, pranced around her like she had a juicy steak waiting in the car. She is a mutt yes, but a very stunning mutt. With white long hair that flows like a horse’s tail and a brown spot on her side. She looks more or less like a full breed herself. Her face radiates charm, as it looks like she has eyeliner tattooed on, and a smile that never weakens. She grabbed a few things and tossed them into a suitcase and headed out the door. As Bella dragged her up the stairs to the car, she realized she forgot a few things, like always. Gosh, that never fails. She always forgets her cell phone charger and a drink for the ride.
It’s about a thirty mile trip from her apartment to their house so she especially devour this time to blare my music as loud as she can while floating down the interstate. It starts from the second she pulls out of my parking space, until she arrive two houses down from her grandma’s. It’s a time where she forgets about everything and just assesses the moment as it is, as she is, without thinking about where she is coming from or where she is going. All worries and fears are put in the trunk of the car at this time. Her mind is practically on cruise control. Some people say they hate driving! Not once will those words come out of her mouth. It is the one time where she feels alive and am one with music. If only there wasn’t a destination to be fulfilled, but that is unavoidable.
Pulling up to the old, but highly desirable building, recollections flood through her memory. The color never changed, always maintaining that classy yellow and brown paint. The driveway resembles an old basketball court, which once was surrounded by green pine trees like it was a private sector of the neighborhood. The grass, which she used to mow, is now professionally cut, as if her father wasn’t capable. Right across the yard, the old clubhouse sits, like an abandoned dollhouse. In addition, the garage, which has an apartment above it, looks as it always has, like a miniature model of the house. She knew before long, she would have to make an entrance, and reality will sink in heavily.
She knocks on the door and there is her grandma rushing to unlock the door in less time than she imagined, as if she was waiting on me. In fact, that was something she always loved, she was always waiting for her to arrive in the kitchen, but these days you’ll find her planted in front of the television as if she enjoys it. “Hi! How have you been?” She hugged her grandma gently. “Are you hungry? Did you eat anything?” She asked me concerned. She used to always tell her no, but these days she takes advantage of her generosity. College life is not exactly like the depth of grandma’s kitchen. Then again she used to always have homemade dinner on the table no later than five-thirty every night. Now it’s definitely a free-for-all situation. At least there are plenty of options. “I’ll grab something grandma, thanks,” heading towards the refrigerator.
After fixing up a salad and chicken tenders, they sat down at the kitchen table as they always have. “So what all did dad tell you about this,” She questioned her grandma. “I guess he said he’s blood pressure was too high, and I know he’s been drinking again,” she replied with honestly that shocked her, and a face that said it all. Her dad’s side of the family is usually secretive about family issues, but she feels at her age she just gives up. “Yeah, I think his blood pressure was fine, he was probably drinking all day and freaked out,” She stuffed a fork full of salad into my mouth. “Who knows, but you know what we have to do later, get rid of all of it,” her grandma looked away. She just nodded and finished devouring her dinner.
Later, after spending an evening catching up and watching sit-coms, we ventured upstairs to dad’s bedroom. There we found around four twenty-four packs of the cheapest beer you can buy. “Why does he need so much?” I really wanted to know. “Alcoholics think they’ll never have enough, or that they are going to run out,” she reached down to get some cans. “Grandma let me get that, I’ll get them,” as that was exactly what she needed to hear from her to understand and hope for her father’s recovery.
Pouring all of that alcohol down the bathroom drain really felt like it took half a day, but we were done in no time. We did what we had to do, and soon after her grandma informed her that she had accomplished something. She knew what she meant but she just smiled. “Grandma, I’m going to go take a walk around the block and get some fresh air,” as she walked out the door. How ironic she thought, she said fresh air, and she was sneaking up to the old apartment above the garage to smoke a cigarette. She knows her grandma would be very offended if she knew she smoked, and that’s the last thing she would want to do is upset her in any way. It’s something she’s been trying to quit from the very first day she started, but it’s what she needed like humans need oxygen at that moment.
As she maneuvered her way up to the stairs of the apartment, she noticed overgrown plants and trees she had to avoid. It was like a hidden jungle into another world she missed due to lack of caring. Nevertheless, she made her way inside and shut the door. This cigarette sucks, she thought to herself as she sighed. As she looked around the room she noticed her old blue trunk; along with old dusty furniture, dishes, and bookshelves. The trunk was something that she kept everything with a spark of meaning in until she graduated from high school, which then she stored it here. It reminded her of an old-fashioned beat up trunk they used when traveling in the early days. It was bound together by a lock that needed a key to prop open. “The key! What in the world did I do with that?” She thought. She realized that she had placed it in her purse a long time ago just in case. It is a trunk filled with a lot of private bits and pieces, so she’d like to think she’d keep the key close. She almost lost hope until finally she dug the key out. She tossed out my cigarette and sat down on the floor in front of the trunk Indian style. As she turned the key in the lock, she didn’t realize what she was getting into.
She couldn’t believe what she was observing. Old dance costumes, cards from relatives and friends, boyfriends’ paraphernalia, pictures, dried flowers, notes, sports and academic awards, and of course my journals. They were all things that life has diminished with time. She was instantly drawn to the journals; blue, red, and black composition notebooks were all laid out in front of her, and she longed to read them right then and now. A part of her knew they were what kept her sane growing up, as they were her breeding grounds for venting. “Well this should keep me busy for a while at least, maybe get my mind off things for a while,” she seriously and naively thought.
(journal entries coming soon).
(copyright kerrious 2016 with all rights reserved).
written in 2009.