Let Him Go

CW: Contains themes of addiction and altered mental states.

My world tries to shift, to change but I hold on tight, refusing to let go. Clenched fists and skin taut over knuckles and body curled. Curled like that of a caterpillar in a cocoon. The sky wrapped tightly over me, the ground a hard concrete slab with blades of grass sprouting between the cracks. My world. 

An unforeseen force tugs at the sky, an attempt to rip it open. I cry out, the sound, a warm gurgle bubbling up from my throat. 

I close my eyes, wrapping tighter. Sores split, blood and pus oozing out, dribbling across the inner corners of my elbow. Mini volcanoes. 

An earthquake ripples through, shaking my body. The source coming from within. 

Hello. Hello. 

Words seep through the sky. 

“Get away Aliens!” I say. 

They can’t come in. They can’t take my world. Teeth bite through lip, the sharp sting making me startle. 

I open my eyes, red greeting me. 

I cry. I’m in hell. 

“Cigarette?” Its coming from outside, space. But I know this accent, filipino.

“Cigarette?" The voice repeats and now I know it’s no alien. No, I got this wrong, I need to get out. Out into this world, because right now I'm in hell. 

I lift the sky up, the red blanket peeling away and bright light burns me. I keep the blanket tucked around my body, only leaving my head out.

A tanned face peers down at me, a short man with cargo pants and a grey t-shirt. 

“You? You want cigarette?” 

A memory of sweet smoke greets me and I know what I need at this moment. This moment I need a cigarette. 

"Yes” I say. 

I reach out an arm. 

A smaller filipino lady appears beside the man, long black hair reaching her waist. Wrinkles line her forehead, the edges of her eyes, her mouth. She smiles. One front teeth, crooked, facing off the other. 

“It is breathing!” 

She points to me. 

The man chuckles and hands me a cigarette. 

I need this. This is all I need right now. 

He flicks a silver lighter and I place the cigarette between my lips. The movement widening the cut on my bottom lip. 

I watch the flame alight the tobacco and I breathe in and the smoke funnels down, down into my lungs and I know where I am. 

In California. 

I’m in LA, and I need to get better. I can feel it, feel the edges of sickness creeping in. 

I need another hit. 

I breathe out smoke and this realization. 

The pair still stands in front of me, staring down. Watching. 

“Do you have anything else?” I say. 

The man looks at the lady. The lady looks at the man. 

“Never good” The man says, throwing up his hands. 

They turn. 

“Wait!” 

But they don’t listen and now I'm stranded. Alone in this empty lot on the corner of a quiet intersection with a boarded up milk bar next door. 

Where am i? 

I’m all alone. It’s a sinking feeling. One that makes me feel empty and heavy. I want to go back to that world, that world that hugged me in its embrace. Made me feel safe. I can’t let that go. I need to find it again. 

I take another puff, and sit up. The red blanket lays across my lap. 

I’m in grey shorts, with a pink pajama tank top over a grey t-shirt. 

Where are my shoes? 

I hear wheels and look behind me. On the sidewalk, an old thin lady pushes a blue scooter. Lips pursed. Bangles stacked on both wrists. Rows of brown beads hang from her neck. She’s got short black and grey hair. An empty plastic bag hangs from one of the handles. A fanny pack around her waist. 

“Need an icy pole!” She yells to no-one. 

I stand. 

“Hey you!” I say 

She turns her head, eyes on me. 

I lift the blanket up from the ground. 

“You got anything?” I yell out. 

She stops pushing, her lips disappearing into her mouth before reappearing. 

“What you want?”

“Anything” 

The need to get back, back to the world of simply no awareness, just existence is nearly too much. I need that. 

I walk to her, the movement bringing forth a deep ache in my whole body. Like all my muscles are carrying their own little bag of agony. 

I suck on the cigarette like a lifeline. The lady doesn’t say anything until I'm standing right there, in front of her. 

She’s got mascara caked on her eyelashes. Gold hoops in her ears and a gold canine that glints in the sun when she opens her mouth. 

“You got cash girl?” 

I look down at myself, stick the cigarette in my mouth, throw the blanket over my shoulder and run both hands down my shirt, my shorts.

“I got nothing” 

Her face shrivels like she tasted something sour. 

“I got nothing for you” She says, and pushes her scooter. 

“Wait!” 

She stops a foot ahead of me. I step forward. Itch my forearms. Look at my blanket. Look at her. 

“I ain't got all day” She says. 

I shake my head

“Please. I - I need something" 

“No money, no goods” And then she pushes the scooter and takes off. Her bangles on her wrist jangling. 

And then once again I’m all alone. And the panic is real. So real, like little bugs crawling over my skin prickling me. 

Nausea curls in my stomach. I clutch the blanket to my chest, looking around. There’s no one in sight. 

I need to get into the city, to Skid Row.

In the distance I see the huge skyscrapers, the windows watching me from afar. 

How on earth did I get here? 

My skin has broken out in sweats and i’m panting as i head towards the city. The suburban houses slowly drop off making way for the many highways and apartment buildings. The sounds of the city are too loud yet comforting. I want to block my ears yet press my face against the tarmac and feel the rumble of tires speeding past. 

There’s a pedestrian footpath running alongside a main road. And I follow this. My head down, eyes scanning the ground for coins. Valuables. Anything I could trade. I see empty bottles of soda and collect those too, piling them in a plastic bag I found earlier. The sun beats down on me. For many it would be considered a nice day. For me, it feels like a furnace. Suddenly I hear a child’s giggle and my head snaps up of its own accord. A lady and a child walk towards me. I see her eyes scan me, and her arm wrapping around the childs shoulder’s tucking the boy in close. The boy can’t be much older than 4. With a mop of brown hair. I can’t see the color of his eyes. But it doesn’t matter. I see blue. The same blue eyes that would stare up at me, with wonder and love. The same blue eyes that would fill with tears when I had to leave for work. The same one’s i could see through the windows at the front of the day care. The same eyes I saw staring up at the sky unblinking, causing my heart to break permanently. My world shattered in two. A sick child who left the world too soon. 

The clear distaste and the reminder makes me want to shed my skin and float into the abyss. I can feel my heart breaking all over again. I was that mother once. I would hug my baby close whenever we walked past a shady individual. 

I hug the right side of the footpath, giving them as much room. And they pass with hurried steps. 

A year ago on my 27th birthday my father had pleaded for me to change my lifestyle. We stood on the balcony of my parent's home after dinner and he said with the deep calm voice he always had

“Taylor, pleasy honey. You can’t keep living like this. Your mother and I -” And for the first time his voice cracked and I could see his eyes well up with unshed tears. 

It had unnerved me. Never had I seen my father cry. Not even at his own mother’s funeral. 

He wrung his hands, those brown eyes pleading. 

“You got to let him go. I- we all miss Henry. But what you are doing to yourself, to your body. Henry wouldn't want this”

I shook my head, nails digging into my skin. 

“Your killing yourself slowly and…we aren't going to watch you do that” 

I had wrapped my arms around my torso, nails digging into my back. My own personal straightjacket. 

I was shivering, and I could feel the sickness creeping in. I knew that in order to meet Jo (my drug dealer) on time I had to leave soon. 

I hung my head, ashamed that I was thinking this whilst my father stood in front of me, bleeding heart in his hand. 

I heard him take a deep breath. And it was then he gave me an ultimatum. 

“If you stay, we will help you. We’ll organise everything, get you into a rehab, support you. But Taylor, if you step off this porch and meet up with whoever it is.....don’t bother returning” 

He had stepped forward now, palms open. 

“We can’t watch another person we love die” He croaks. 

His stern words stabbed at my heart. I opened my mouth to say something but then shut it. I didn't know what to say.

I so badly wanted to stay, let my parents hug me. Watch reality tv shows with them and go on day walks. But I also couldn't let go of this promise of pure bliss. Of being wrapped in what felt like the world’s hand, floating in peace. A feeling I have been chasing for a little over three years. 

I stared at him for what felt like eternity, before finally saying 

“I can’t” 

and stepping off the porch. 

By the time I get to downtown Los Angeles, the sun is wobbling just on the horizon. I’ve managed to pick up a few coins and bills strewn about, and after recycling all the bottles I gathered, I finally have enough. Already, I can see the tentacles of Skid Row - a place with a highly dense homeless population, expanding over many blocks. Tents hug the curbs, tired eyes peeking from the flaps. Old mattresses or bundles of blankets cover the footpaths. A siren whistles not far. The sound, piercing. I scratch at my arms, the itchiness increasing a notch.

My mouth is dry, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. 

I need to find the corner guys who yell what’s selling. And it isn’t too long before I see two men yelling “Fairy floss at discount!” They guard the entrance to an alleyway, and in the fading light it’s hard to see down it. Just a black hole. 

I'm speeding towards them. 

They stop me before I can pass them. I'm antsy now. It’s like when you have a full bladder and the closer you get to the bathroom the more you need to pee. My mind knows what’s to come. 

“You got money?”

I nod, pulling out everything I have gathered. The guy on the right clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

“Not much” He huffs. 

The shame makes my shoulders droop slightly. 

I hear my father's voice “We will take care of you" 

And I have a sudden moment of doubt. What am I doing in the middle of the night, downtown LA, barefeet, with nothing but this red blanket belonging to my mother? 

My eyes flick past him to the black hole. I can feel how dry my mouth is. The ache in my bones. My clammy skin. 

Again my fathers voice rings in my ear “You got to let him go”

But then the guy waves for me to pass, and my feet move. They don’t listen to my mind. My body yearns whatever is down that alley. And I see those baby blue eyes. 

I can’t let go.