It was some time during winter break years ago I met this girl at school who liked all the the things that I liked, and hated most things I hated. She was really cool, and I was really not.

She invited me out to parties, get togethers, family reunions, but I turned them all down.

Y'see I was under strict supervision. My ins and outs were monitored, my time away from home tagged and jotted with precision.

We could only hang out afterschool for volunteering programs, theatre, or some other extracurricular activity. I joined everything she did.

I was on my way to what seemed to be an Ivy League future intended for the rich and the famous, and so was she. She had a lot of friends, I did too I guess. It was more out of association that they hung out with me than hanging out with me for me. She also had several best friends whom I always held higher than me in her esteem.

I never had a best friend.

Because of my upbringing, I never had the chance to even know what a best friend or a true friend even meant. But I thought this friendship was the closest thing.

I was wrong.

I was very wrong, but that isn't what hurts me. The fallout of our friendship was equally my fault as it was hers. Growing up and neglect tends to seperate people, y'know?

But I had another friend who was very dear to me, like the first she had a best friend already, and I didn't rank in that category.

But she was the best friend I ever had.

I was jealous of her best friend, because I wanted to be considered THE best friend. How concieted I was.

It came to the point I was almost angry at her for not having that spot available to me. I wanted to tell her "Why am I not enough? What makes him better than me?" But I knew that they went through much more than she and I have together. They truly deserved to be best friends.

When she graduated everyone of course says they'll keep in touch, but they never do. I participated in that lie on more than one occassion, but she was different. She didn't write in my year book "See you soon!" or "Keep in touch," or "Can we hang out sometime?"

She said; "we're getting sushi, every friday, every week, you better be there."

The night before she told me how she had found her so called best childhood friends drifted away from her almost immediately after the graduation ceremony prefering instead to hang out without her. I don't really remember what was said, but it must have been something, because she's not one to offer this kind of thing lightly. She, her true best friend, and I would strive to meet up every friday during summer before her best friend went off to study medicine.

But that didn't happen.

It was August. It was 3:00AM when they called me. I was up doing whatever. Her childhood friends asked me to sit down, already quite hysterical.

"You need to make sure you're in a safe place" she said, "are you in a safe place?"

"You're starting to scare me," I said "what's wrong?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Yes"

"-----'s gone"

"What?"

"She's dead- It was around 2:00 AM- she got hit by a car. She was dead on site."

It echoed in my head over and over again. She's dead, she's gone. My friend was dead. My friend was gone. We'd never eat sushi on friday. We'd never get our driver's liscence together. We'd never see eachother again.

Five years later this still echoes in my head August to August. Year after year.

No one talks about it, I don't blame them. Everyone has lived their life to honor her memory, her best friend became a doctor. I've been left behind, but I'm still trying to make something of my life. I try to live for her.

I found more reasons to live.

I found more reasons to be happy.

I found more purpose to my existence.

I found peace with my family and love in my life.

But it hurts. I miss her everyday and I wonder often what she'd be doing at these events in my life.

There was something I wrote in a text to her that I never pressed send, because I knew she already had a precious friend.

I don't regret not sending it. I don't regret anything from that time, anymore. But I just wanted to say that friends, real friends, are the most precious relationships you'll ever have.

The only thing I wish I said to her was that she was my precious friend. The best friend that I had ever had, and maybe would ever have, and that I loved her. She was my friend. My real friend. I was lucky to have known her for any amount of time at all.

Please to anyone reading; tell them you love them. Tell them you care. Because today everyone has lost a friend, some to sickness, some to suicide, some to a tragic accident but the lucky few still have them.

Live to find them or live to cherish their memory. Please. Live. Because you are someone's precious friend, even if you don't realize it.

The flight attendant at the gate looked at my face, looked at my ticket, looked back at my face and then down at my carry on bag, abruptly putting her arm, and as back up, a foot attached to a leg straight out in front of me, blocking my entry onto the jetwalk.

“Your carry on bag is oversized.” She said to me, with the deadpan look of a serial killer, quickly printing out an insta label for my bag to be checked and crudely taken away from me by a uniformed guy that magically appeared out of some cloud, slapping on the black printed label with swift demonic fingers, in my opinion exercising a complete disregard for humanity.

“What do you mean it’s oversized? I use this bag as a carry on all the time.” I retorted in a tone unbecoming of any proud mother’s daughter. I was tired, it was hot, the guy in front of me had either just cut one or he hadn’t showered, neither of which I cared to assume but I had no other option. The thought of spending even an extra minute at baggage claim after the flight felt like a death sentence. Yes. I was being dramatic but so was Miss Megalomania with the airplane silver pin, tight white tie and even tighter bun. My bag was not oversized.

A sweet young lady behind me with very white teeth that winked gave me a gentle tap on the shoulder and offered a considerate definitive warning. “Don’t mess with one of them or they will throw you off the flight.” She could tell I was in fighting mode by my tone and my snorting and if it wasn’t for her reminder, I don’t think I would have been able to comply by keeping quiet and moving forward in line with the other sheep.

When I got inside the cabin, Mr. Stinky Pants sat down in a single digit seat, and my seat, 19B was a comfortable distance away, so there was that, but then again I had not yet had the pleasure or so be it the displeasure of meeting my seatmate for the flight, 19A. Before I looked at his face, intentionally avoiding any eye contact, on auto pilot I reached for my invisible bag realizing; Damn it. My kindle was in there. So much for reading. I hope this guy doesn’t try to chat me up. His hands were securely on either side of his knees as if there was a valuable between them he was hoping to protect and he kept his eyes on his knuckles like they were his classroom pupils. It was then that I looked at his gray stubbled face. I sorta had to as I was climbing over his lap.

….Jeffrey Epstein? Seriously? Isn’t he currently under investigation for sex trafficking? My first impulse was to call security, but obviously, security already checked him in. I wondered if his carry on bag was overstuffed and I wondered if he would remember me from that party ten years ago. When he heard I was a psychic and clairvoyant, he had asked me to leave his home immediately using a lame excuse, politely but ever so swiftly avoiding any eye contact, offering me a limo driver and a gift card to a high end spa, leading me to the front door with a firm but gentle touch on my arm. The same scenario had happened to me before. I know the type. It’s always intentional and suspicious when a person refuses to be in my company to avoid one of my reads. What were you trying to hide from me that night Mr. Epstein, huh? Are you guilty of the charges against you? Now you’ve got nowhere to hide other than in the crapper so we’ve got the time. Two hours and forty six minutes to be precise. How bout a read?

For a second I thought he might be trying to read my thoughts, but that could have been just a pinch of leftover paranoia kicking in after my near miss with the check in attendant. 19A didn’t say hello and neither did I (friendly skies is a long forgotten slogan) and he seemed to have no clue he had met me before at one of his parties. Why would he remember me? I’m sure I was no more important to him than the determined fly singling out his right middle finger ignoring the other nine. Jeffrey kept bending his finger, lifting his middle knobby knuckle rhythmically, and each time he did the fly circled up towards his mouth. Continually taking control with a puckered lip exhale forcing out a puff, he emphasized the “p” which landed in my ear as annoyingly as the fly repeating his landing right back on that finger relentlessly, coming at him like Mohammad Ali, so many times I lost count. I’ve never gotten a read on a fly, but there is a first time for everything.

It was then that I decided to speak, not understanding why I even bothered. At this point we were already into the flight an hour. Perhaps it was because something unknown was blocking me from his thoughts, and I never back down from a challenge. Maybe it was the fly blocking me or some type of double teaming going on against me between the two of them….Could have been. Then again, maybe I was stuck in a delusion of persecution.

“Why don’t you just swat at it already.” I said to him in the same exact tone I used towards the flight attendant.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Our eyes locked. It was then that I connected with his memory. I saw it all. Everything. Flashing at me like a fast forwarded movie, including the sequel which was gonna happen when he got off the plane. For obvious reasons, when I have not been asked to read someone, I keep what I know close to the vest, between my lips alone, and well hidden behind my eyeballs, letting the vision of what I can’t unsee hang to cure like raw meat. Horrified, but unafraid knowing there was going to be a set of handcuffs slapped on him in the not too distant future, I said,

“Why don’t you let me take care of that for you.” And before he could protest, I swatted fast and I swatted hard, harder than Ali, and did not miss; I never do. Swatting. Another one of my unusual talents.

“Hey! Ouch! What do you think you are doing?”

“Just killing a pesky fly. Helping you out. You do know that fly was disgusting, he was dirty and he deserved to die, right?”

He turned his head away from me but not before he flicked the dead fly off his middle finger. A drop of red pigment from its seeing eyes was left behind. And as we sat the rest of the flight in silence, I was not worried. I knew his fate and as it turns out so did that fly.

As we glided through the dark clouds to a private island, my mind became restless. I tried to hide my distaste behind a smirking smile. I pretended to enjoy all the conversations, the crystal champagne, and expensive caviar.

Life seemed lavish flying under the sun.

But inside my chest, my heart was screaming loudly as if it wanted to break my bones and fall down from the sky without a parachute.

Mr. Jeffrey Epstein, arched his hands on the expensive leather chair and pulled back his seat and signed effortlessly, nibbling into a delicious grape and cheese loaded on the big tray. The catered food could feed a room full of hungry people.

He smiled at me and whispered slowly into my ears while tapping on the pictures on the big screen. 

“When we land, you’ll be a member of the high circle,” he said confidently.

“You get to meet big celebrities, royalties as well as the most powerful men on earth. Just like them, you’ll enjoy the companion of younger girls. It’ll be like heaven on earth,” he said sipping his champagne from the crystal glass.

I wanted to vomit looking at the photos of those underage girls. It was heart-wrenching. They couldn’t have been more than 14 or 15 years of age. Some of them even looked way younger than 10.

I could feel my rib cages cracking in soaring pain. Imagining the heartaches, shattered lives and broken families were unbearable. But mostly, the loss of innocence in those beautiful girls’ eyes was nerve-wracking.

My daughter is a year older than them, and if Anybody ever hurts her like the devil sitting next to me, I couldn’t even imagine what I’d do to him. I’d just cut off all of his limbs, and snap his neck like a stick. 

“Are you alright,” he says, staring into my eyes as if he read what was nagging me inside.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied, trying to disguise my disgust.

I lied.

I had to obviously, say something that’s not suspicious.

“Sometimes, when I get excited in the air, I tend to get airplane sick,” I concluded.

I wish I told him he was the one making me nauseous. But all I kept thinking was the end of the road for this man with such a dark heart was coming up soon, and I should bear his company for just a little while.

The truth was, I wanted to shove him off the airplane, as we were flying 30,000 feet above the ground.

As we climbed down, the pilot announced that we were about to land.

When we descended over the green pastures and clear blue water, I let out the toxin poisoning me during the long flight and inhaled a breath of relief, and danced with this thought until we touched down. 

No, I won’t, you repulsive monster. Besides, when we land, you won’t ever see a light of a day again. You will instead be sleeping in a small block cell until you die. If it was up to me, you deserve more than a cold concrete; I’d badly tortured you and let your soul rotten in hell for eternity, you evil and wicked son-of-a-bitch.

midnightink 8-5-2020

it was a different experience each time. when my uncle died, i skipped flat stones over the lake where it was decided his ashes wouldn't be sprinkled. my aunt and mother had watched him be cremated, right in front of them, like hell fire.

when my friend jenn died i walked around the downtown where i had come to learn that hardship can't be felt when your heart is dead. i didn't cry. i walked and stared straight ahead, and the birds scattered across the square like they'd heard and were waiting for the bells to toll. she had had a bird tattoo and one day i will feel the same pain when they give me the same one.

pain is a reflex, like so many flat emotions that skip once and then sink to the bottom. love is getting a phone call, and realizing they no longer belong to the earth.

when sarah was lifted from the earth, i was left squinting into the august sun, they say you can't pour from an empty cup.

where does pain go when you can't feel a damn thing?

where is my love, my truth, hiding?

How have you been without me, Dear?

I wanted counseling, you wanted out. We both wanted things to change, to be better.

Six years. It’s not a decade, or even a nice, round number. But it’s a lot. Over 300 Saturdays. Remember the one when we went boating with Jane and Matthew? I wanted to try water skiing and you said I should go for it and Matthew drove the boat so fast I thought I was going to die and when I fell in the water I almost lost my trunks and then we had burgers and beers and you got so sunburned Jane said you looked like a tomato. We made love that night. It was quick, because of your sunburn and my sore muscles, but afterward I held you and you smiled and I asked why you were smiling and you just said you were happy and I said I was, too. And I was.

Over 300 Sundays, too. Remember that one when the power went out during the church service? You said it was because even God thought pastor’s sermons were getting too dull and I said it was probably that old lady who didn’t like my tattoos coming back to haunt the place because her funeral had been that week and you told me that was too far but you couldn’t stop laughing but you wanted to be quiet so you were holding in your laughter and then you snorted in the dark and everyone was looking around to see who snorted. I still sit in that same pew at church. Alone. Almost every Sunday.

Over 300 Mondays, too. Remember it was a Monday when Jasmine was born? Your water broke outside on the deck and I was grilling stuffed porkchops and you said it was time and I didn’t know what to do with the porkchops so I threw them in the garbage and pulled the car out of the garage and we sped to the hospital and just a few hours later she was here and she had your eyes and I was scared and excited and I held her for the first time while I watched Monday Night Football on the hospital TV. I held her today. She asked about you. She’s so confused about all this. We both are.

How have you been without me, Dear? I don’t know how to be without you. I want 300 more Saturdays. 3,000 more. And we will dance and we will smile and we will fight and we will yell and we will cry and we will live and we will be. Us. Together. How have you been without me, Dear, when we are empty apart?

Henry? Oh yes, the kid who lived back in room 432. He was truly a tale untold, the boy of lost memories. Showed up at the hospital at the ripe age of twelve. If I’m correct he was going on fourteen. I had always felt bad for the lad, for I was his personal nurse. Everyday I went in to clean his sheets only to be greeted by his whitewashed walls and an always surprising smile. In such a dismal state, he having cancer and all, I wouldn’t expect such a pleasant grin outta the poor doll, yet there he was. I couldn’t imagine where he came from before dragging himself out to Royal Acre, for he never made lick of sense, but I just couldn’t help but give the lad my heart. I once walked into his room to see his mouth jibbering away to the wall. I sat there and watched him for awhile until he saw me and hushed his voice to an unadible whisper. After that he began trying to tell me stories, about what, I was never quite sure. It soon became the highlight of my day, going to work became less and less of a chore thanks to this blissful little boy. God bless him, in life he’d gotten the bitter end of the straw, abandoned, sick, and still he wore that joyful smile, sharing it with the world. That was five years ago. I guess one day he was fed up because when I walked in to his little room I came across his lifeless bed, the plug hooked up to his life support pulled. On his face was a smile though, brighter than normal, and fresh tears still streamed down his porcelain-like face. In disbelieve tears began to melt down my face too, so attatched I’d become to this puppy of a boy. Until that instant I never understood why he so cherished smiling, and then it hit me. In a world without happiness he was forced to make his own. Thinking about it made my quivering lips slowly form into a quaint smile, a smile I wanted to share with him one last time. What a kid, Henry, the boy of lost memories, no, Henry, the boy of everlasting smiles...

Song: Deathbed, Powful

So.

Things suck.

Let’s talk about the effects of this virus now, shall we?

So first off, the stores. Every single store I have gone into, has been picked bare. I can’t find anything at all. It’s a mob house. The lines reach to the back of the store! I just want some orange juice for god’s sake!!!! Needless to say, there is no toilet paper, Clorox, detergent, disinfectant, bleach, (Air freshener for some reason?) fresh produce, and bread. Not fun.

My school has been shut down till April, and we are currently participating in online classes. However it’s not a good solution, as I have serious sleep issues. Without the immediate panic of YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED YOU LAZY POTATO to wake me up in the mornings, I have not been awake to participate in said classes.

My Algebra teacher just tells us “Do pages 578-583 in your textbook” and that’s it. And the textbook is just full of gibberish words I do not understand, so that’s great.

We have been told to not go anywhere unless absolutely necessary, and to stay in our houses. Places are closing left and right, and just eerily quiet outside. No cars, no people, nothing. Just silence. Just blinking traffic lights, and the occasional car or biker. It’s like a ghost town.

My family loves to cook, so we have just spent this whole time cooking random stuff, then freezing it or eating it. I think my dad is currently smoking some ribs right now. My mom make some “Quarantine Cupcakes” aka the best chocolate cupcakes I have ever eaten, and my younger sister has been working on her origami. And my dog has just been vibing with this whole thing. I mean, who would refuse cuddles?

All in all, I’m just bored. There is nothing to do except scroll through social media, and work on 6 page papers. Not to mention the weather outside looks like it’s gonna rain buckets on us any second. We had a Student vs. Faculty volleyball game scheduled, any my year was split up into four teams, and I got put with all my friends so I was looking forward to it, but it’s been postponed. My friends and I were planning to go do something after, but now that’s been shot to pieces.

So in the end, we are alive. And that’s about it. We are just all waiting for this to be over, so we can go back to our normal lives.

Ps: This is an awesome website that shows a real-time map and updates on COVID-19. I use it all the time to check on the growth, and it keeps you more up to date than the news will.

As of 3/17/2020, 5:33:02 PM, it says there are 5,894 confirmed cases in the U.S, with 97 deaths.

https://gisanddata.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html#/bda7594740fd40299423467b48e9ecf6

Stay Safe everyone!!!!!