Most of the faces I see stick in my memory, but some more than others. I think this one will haunt me for a long time.
She was in a mess. She had been in custody for two days, and was ashen. Her hair was an unkempt black mop. But you could see that she had recently been pretty. Probably very pretty, in an elfin way. Her small features were beginning to droop as the years of alcohol and who knows what other abuses were beginning to take their toll. Her eyes were staring, empty and darting from one face to another. She didn't appear to be seeking anything from anyone, just looking around in desperation. She wasn't frightened, or helpless. When she met my eyes I looked directly at her but there was nothing there. She looked at me and then her eyes darted on to the next person. I registered nothing, no recognition, no shame, no pride, no emotion of any kind. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the wooden bar. She sat down. A small, lost, lonely figure. She didn't smile. Not once.
I was sat on her right side, so it wasn't until she turned to look at her mother, who was sat beyond me, that I saw that the whole of the left side of her face was paralysed. When she spoke, it was out just a small corner of her mouth. The rest of it remained unresponsive. Her left cheek drooped and suddenly I understood a little about what this painfully pretty young girl had been through to end up where she was. And why she found a drink so attractive.
It had all started again she said when she was offered a drink by a friend at Christmas. So by the time I am writing about, just last week, she had been in a three month alcoholic haze. She was shoplifting again. Just small amounts, but nearly always booze, and she was aching to be caught, stealing from the same Tesco branch 14 times in a single day, until finally they called the police.
She's 34. Just a few years ago she would have had everything before her, her life and her hopes. Today, her best is behind her. And following her alcohol-induced stroke, her life has descended into a very dark and empty place, and seems to revolve around the only light that she can see, and that comes from the nearest can of Tenants Extra, or bottle of cider.
Out of this husk came a slight, trembley voice. I leaned forward to hear her more clearly. It was a high, reedy voice, with its diction forever marred by the paralysis but what she said burned with passion, "I want to give it up, I really do".
I believed her. And more than anything I want it to be true.
16 comments:
Oh Beep this is so heartbreaking.
I hope too.
there are so many things i want to say in response to this but i can't say any of them. i hope it's true too.
and i wish i could say all the things i can't say.
I too can't think of anything to say.
You have a wonderfully empathic way with words, my friend, and you express everything that is right with the blogworld and wrong with the real one. I am both deeply saddened by this woman's plight and uplifted that there are people like you to quietly observe and record; to paint such tragically beautiful verbal pictures.
I am sure I speak for all of us when I passionately hope she gets the help she needs for as long as she needs it.
Thank you. The tragedy is that I don't think she will. There doesn't seem to be - or should I say I don't see it (yet?) - the place in society for these lost and tragic souls to go and find the direction and help they need. So much of society is about helping people for having made their start, had the idea, got the energy already. What about the people who just find it all too hard and who still have so much to offer life.
Some people find life such hard work.
DCI - you'm good with lyrics: there are faces I remember, in my life....
From?
tragic, but beautifully touching, your gentle description.
well, I had that floating round in my head (of course I did) but it's not quite the same rhyme. . .
written by one or other or jointly of L&McC (of course) (I know you n Surly don't like McC - now, don't know if you ever did before)
here it is anyway:
There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more
(yup, that's the tune I had floating round - but it didn't make sense at the time because I knew it wasn't "faces")
WV: wow-the-beep-invited-me-to-comment-on-his-post-!!!- sorry-to-have-ruined-the-seriousness-of-it-with-such-a-silly-word-ver
DCI Thanks - that's why I couldn;t remmber it either. ENar, but no igar for the Beep, not that I smoke. Anyway, like L and McC together, but not McC on his own. Yeurgh. Although quite like some of Wings, but early middle of the roaditis was becoming obvious even then. He's really a writer of crooner's tunes.
Phlegmfatale - welcome along, and thanks for kind words. Great name!
i always think it's "faces" until i start singing along.
the evil macca and his sanctimonious one-legged wife. where's a killer whale when you need one?
Hoorah! Other people who cannot bear Mr McCartney! I thought I was the only one in the world!
i bet there are millions of us who can't bear the wizened, bewigged scouser, cheerfully releasing turgid album after turgid album and saving the world one stick insect at a time.
as for the wife - don't even get me started....
No, come on Surly, get started. I want to hear it. Bring it on (I bet you can't be half as foul about her as I am, in my head) gold-digger is the nicest thing i can thnk of. But you can beat that Surly, surely you can.....
Can't stand the preachy sanctimonious vegetarian cunt. Second only to Lennon's self-satisfied egotistical self-important witch widow. Who the fuck cares what she thinks, about peace or anything else? Still living off her husband like a corpse maggot.
Strong enough? And all profoundly heartfelt. With apologies if necessary for the use of the c-word. I couldn't help it.
I place Heather Mills far far far far higher up the selfish parastic scale than Yoko. In fact I'd go so far as to say I don't mind Yoko, but I can't bear even the thought of Lady Muckartney. She is real scum.
You know, she even manages to make me feel a bit sorry for Macca. The poor old scouse twat has been hijacked by a very manipulative and unpleasant woman. Poor old sod.
Oh, and the c-word very aptly applied in the circs CwC
so very sad beep!
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