This Little Light of Mine

TW: Suicide, Gun Violence

Danielle closed in on tiny, wooden round table about 4 feet in height, with a small, black candle atop it. She was outside. Atop the small candle was a very small flame, and Danielle put her hands near the flame for warmth.  She didn’t know how she knew, but she needed to keep the small flame alive or something bad would happen. 

She couldn’t remember how she got here, and looked around for any sign of activity. All she could see was darkness every which way she looked, feeling the mind numbing cold down to her bones. The only relief from the biting cold was the small candle with the small flame, and she found herself being careful not to let it go out, not letting herself breathe near it.  Although the air was bitterly cold, there was no wind.  The air was completely still.  No noise, no sound, except for Danielle and her soft breath, trying desperately not to blow the candle out as she warmed her hands and bent her face down closer to the small candle. 

The flame barely edged out her coldness, and she looked down at her clothes.  Dressed in jeans, a pink crop top, and black sandals, she suddenly knew this was her favorite outfit. And just as that thought came into her mind, she remembered more about herself. 

She was 19 and worked at at a small Italian restaurant, The Italian Job, in which she busted her ass as a waitress and a busser and a dishwasher. And based on the way the manager and some of her customers treated her, her and her busty chest was also something to be ogled at, her butt slapped, propositioned almost every shift about how they had a giant truck with plenty of space in the back seat, like she couldn’t resist boning some haggard looking guys who barely tipped in the back of their old trucks.  She’d smiled, lie and say she had a boyfriend, while internally rolling her eyes. 

She needed the job and whatever little tips she made, and the constant staring and unwanted touching were not going to keep her from quitting her job, especially when the manager let her have all the hours she wanted and let her take all the food home she wanted as long as she flirted with him now and again. The turnover was so high due to the sexual harassment and long hours and multiple tasks they had to do at the job that she was sure the owner was grateful she stuck around, although he certainly couldn’t stop staring at her chest either.  She felt overworked, but grateful that she could make her rent. 

Rubbing her hands gently together for a moment, Danielle once again parted them and placed them near the flame, praying it wouldn’t go out and that the small amount of heat wouldn’t leave her body. 

She rented a small, cockroach infested studio apartment downtown in the crime infested part of town for $1950 a month. Due to the rising rent, she could not find anything in a better part of town without living with several roommates - and she refused to do that after living in the group homes without any privacy and the constant noise. 

Her parents had both died in a car accident when she was 12, and she was placed in the foster care system due to no other relatives wanting to take her in.  And although she was too old for anyone to want to adopt and too sullen from losing her parents at such an early, she met her best friend, Teresa, in the group home. 

Suddenly, the flame seemed to have gone out, and Danielle pleaded with her eyes at the candle, using her hands in a motion to make the flame come back up to life. The tiny flame sparked back to life again, making Danielle sigh with gratitude as the small heat warmed her hands again. 

Teresa, who was a year older than her, had been in foster homes almost the entirety of her life after her mom was sent to prison for life for murdering her dad after cheating on her.  She and Teresa had bonded almost immediately, almost seemingly knowing they were too weird and broken to be adopted with their sullen attitudes, dark humor, and pessimistic attitudes. 

They were inseparable even when they were placed in different temporary foster care houses and other group homes, always managing to stay in contact and to stay best friends. 

As soon as Teresa turned 18, she wanted to move to and live in New York City with all its ethnically diverse people, fast-placed lifestyle, and energy bustling atmosphere, but before she could even get the money together, she was dead in an act of violence. 

“Okay, I’ll get settled in New York - if the rats don’t kill me first,” said Teresa to Danielle, laughing. “Give me time and I’ll make sure I get a job, an apartment, and that you’ll have a safe place to stay.”  

They ate their salted Wetzel’s Pretzels as they walked around the mall, Teresa declaring “just one more” as her hand reached into the bag - and then she was hit in the heart by a bullet from a gunman on a shooting spree. Danielle watched the life go out of her, and that was the moment Danielle’s life mentally went out of her, too. Teresa was just 3 months shy of her 18th birthday. 

A former shell of herself, Danielle became even more withdrawn and cynical, and found the first job that would take her due to her age and limited experience when she turned 18 and kicked out of the group home. 

She worked to take her mind off of her plight, no close family, no close friends, the daily sexual harassment, working 7 days a week, living paycheck to paycheck, and missing Teresa so so so much, she realized that it just didn’t make sense. It was all too hard, all so much, and she felt utterly alone. 

So one day, after another customer had grabbed her ass for the 3rd time that day and the manager had told her he would give her an extra $100 that day not to report “one of their regulars,” she had found herself buying a bottle of Aspirin along with  convincing a sketchy guy outside of the 7-Eleven to buy a cheap bottle of Merlot for her.  Dumping the contents of the Aspirin into her hand and throwing 5 or 6 pills down her throat at a time until the pills were gone, she took a long swig of the Merlot straight from the bottle, and laid down on the bed. 

Jerking her hands away from the flame in surprise, Danielle thought for a moment. Did she want to keep the flame going?  

At Mercy Hospital, the doctor and nurses stood back as the monitor flatlined. 

“Time of death,” announced the doctor, “1:13PM.”

TW: Suicide, Gun Violence