Tomorrow

by Tabitha Cornell

  Something in me snaps.

  This asshole needs to shut his fucking mouth right now. I chug my drink and head toward the bar. I grab him by his hair, pull him backward, and punch him in the face twice before he even knows what’s happening. He flings his fist at me and hits me on the left side of my head. I put my hand around his throat and squeeze until he looks me lifeless in the eye.

  “Willy is a dear friend of mine, you piece of fuck! I don’t appreciate what you’re saying about him and his sickly wife. You are going to get yourself lost and never show your shitty face here again. Got it?” He nods his head and I release him from my grasp.

  “Fuck you, man! You go fuck yourself. You’re not worth my time.” He staggers toward the door and lets himself out, slamming the door behind him.

  The bartender nods in appreciation. “Man, if I had to listen to that guy for one more minute, I would have done the same.” He disappears to the back room.

  I reach behind the bar and pour myself another double before he knows the difference. I can feel my brain buzzing with delight. The heat on my cheeks tells me I’m where I need to be. I stroll to the jukebox and load my coins. I contemplate for a little too long whether Bon Jovi or AC/DC warrants my time today. I settle on both as I place more coins into the machine. I confine myself back to my corner and appreciate Richie Sambora give color to the rhythm.

  I throw down ten bucks on pull tabs, only to win a dollar. I’ve never been lucky with pull tabs; maybe one day I will be. The tender comes back and removes a small bottle from his pocket. He pours out a white powder onto the bar and pushes it into a line with a MasterCard.

  “You interested?”

  I remove a fifty-dollar bill from my pocket and roll it up. I inhale the powder and let it burn down the back of my throat. He concocts two more lines and we each do another in the opposite nostril. I can instantly tell it’s coke by the bittersweet drip in my throat. After a few minutes, my teeth begin grinding and I need to do something. I need to move. I finish my drink, tip my newly made friend well, and head home by foot.

  Bliss

  Euphoric is the abyss.

  Concrete truth allows your wall to fall.

  Lips curled forward so everyone sees.

  Proud of what you have in your hand.

  Take your place by its side, it’s your spot.

  Speak your reality, it will set you free.

  Opinions uncared. Take your safety and run.

  A world without height is a sight bored.

  Toned from the misery floats your being.

  Affection released, taste a soul.

  Commemorate the beauty you share.

  Expect the rise to massage the thought.

  Gather your wants and set forth.

  Bleed for truth to open your book of shine.

  Take the high and return it for higher.

  There is no need to shelter your mind here.

  Above all else, there is no need to sacrifice.

  It will fall into place, it always does.

  What’s your candy?

  Janny

  On my drive home I get a rush of starvation. I decide that today has been a long, grueling day and I don’t feel like cooking tonight. I stop at Culver’s and hit the drive-thru. I know I shouldn’t be eating fast food, but I’m so exhausted after today. I glance at the menu, but my stomach takes over.

  “Welcome to Culver’s. What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll take a chicken strip basket with an extra order of large cheese curds and a Mountain Dew. Can I also get extra ranch cups on the side?”

  “Did you want the four-piece or six-piece chicken basket?”

  “Six-piece, please. Also, can I get a pint of cookie dough ice cream?” I know I’ve ordered to much food, but I don’t care. I’m starving.

  Fifteen dollars later I have my food. For a brief moment I’m happy. I put my hand in my bag and grab the first thing I feel. Chicken strips, yes please! As I drive home, I enjoy my reward, bite by bite. Each french fry I place into my mouth gives me bogus hope. Every cheese curd that slides down my esophagus is soon to be tailed by another and another. The insignificant amount of pleasure I receive from filling my stomach is short-lived once the bag is licked clean. I manage to drop ranch down my shirt, of course. It seems to be a relentless battle I have with dipping sauces and ruining my shirts. Thank goodness for extra napkins. I’m a block away from my apartment, so I chug my Mountain Dew and toss the evidence out the window. Sean doesn’t care if I eat fast food, but I don’t want to make him feel bad for not buying him dinner.

  I’m finally home! My weighted blanket has lifted and I’m instantly relieved. I go inside and immediately take off my nice clothes. I cannot enjoy being at home until I have comfy clothes on my body. I find my favorite yoga pants and flowy shirt and throw it on. Yes! Now I can be truly comfortable. I can finally be in my happy place and not have to worry about anything. I take my ice cream that I hid in my purse and toss it into the back of the freezer for safekeeping before Sean notices. He finds me as I’m coming out of the kitchen.

  “Hey, hunny. I missed you today.” He kisses me on the lips.

  “I missed you too, babe. How was your day?”

  “Oh, you know. I woke up, did the dishes, went for a walk, waited for you to get home. I made us dinner.”

  He smiles because he knows I love it when he surprises me with actual cooked food. He takes my hand and leads me to the dining room where he has carefully prepared spaghetti with Italian sausage for dinner. I seriously have the best boyfriend a girl could ask for. This man genuinely loves the shit out of me. Fat or not. I don’t have a doubt in my mind that he is fully committed to me, which is hard to come by these days. He helps out around the house, he buys me random things for no reason, and he respects my opinion most of the time. I got lucky with this one. When we started dating two years ago, I weighed much less than I do now. I guess I’ve let myself go over the years. I attribute my weight gain to stress in my own head. He still loves me despite this.

  Just the other day he brought home a bouquet of flowers for me. When I asked him what the occasion was, he told me,” Just because I love you.” I mean, who does that? I think I can honestly say that this man is the only person in the world that has seen the real me. I don’t have to don a mask or filter myself when I am with him. He does not judge me, he inspires me. He knows the right way to gently nudge me back to reality when I’ve fallen off my path.

  When I’m on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, he will sit next to me and listen to every word I say. He likes playing Dr. Phil with me, except Sean is more laid back in his tactics. When we fight, it’s usually over stupid stuff, and when I cry, he sometimes does, too. Some girls find a crying man weak; I don’t. If a man loves me so much that he needs to cry over the thought of losing me, then I know that his intentions are pure. Sean is my soul mate—he knows it and so do I.

  We dish up his home-cooked meal and sit down to enjoy it. The noodles are cooked just right. The sauce has a rich flavor that I know was simmered to perfection. I fill my plate with his creation and dig in. It’s not until I mostly finish my dinner that I realize I feel extremely tight and heavy. I think back to 30 minutes prior when I was inhaling fries, cheese curds, and chicken strips on the drive home. No wonder I feel like complete shit. Oh well, it’s really good spaghetti and I don’t want it to go to waste. I clean my plate, then take shelter on the couch.

  As I’m flipping through TV channels, I hear a noise coming from behind the spare bedroom door. I figure it’s a noise from the apartment next door, but it doesn’t stop. Sean is sitting next to me and notices it, too. He shrugs his shoulders and goes back to scrolling through his phone. After a few minutes, the grunting noise is annoying me so I decide to investigate. I hope it’s not the neighbor guy screwing again. I heard him and his girlfriend have an intense fight through the wall a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t heard any more sex noises, so I figured they broke up. I open the door to t
he bedroom and a tiny creature comes waddling past my feet. His little brown eyes look up at me before he begins to smell my toes and wag his tail.

  A puppy!

  I look back at Sean and he has that shit-eating grin on his face. Very rarely can Sean pull off a surprise without completely giving himself away. I can usually tell when he is being sneaky around me. I crouch down and pick up the adorable little body and pull him close to my chest. His brown eyes continue to assess me as he smells the spot on my shirt where I dropped the ranch dressing earlier in the day. His tan coat is shiny and soft as I repeatedly pet him from head to tail. He wiggles under my arms, anxious to explore, so I set him onto the floor and let him roam free.

  “He is adorable, Sean. Is it a he or she?”

  “It’s a she, and I thought you could give her a name.”

  I stare at this miniature creature and think of a clever but fitting name. I watch her bounce around the room from one item to the next, slowly making her way toward the kitchen where I’m sure she wants a taste of the spaghetti Sean made.

  I notice for a brief moment that a smile is laid upon my face. It’s a rare moment these days to feel that natural happiness from within. This little puppy has brought so much joy and happiness to my day within only a few minutes of meeting her. This is another one of those moments that satisfies my already known thoughts of the perfect man I have in my life. He was listening to me the other night when I said I wanted a puppy to keep me company when he is working. At the time I was craving something to need and depend on me. My smile gets bigger when I settle on a name for my new friend.

  Bliss.

  I spend the next couple of hours in a food coma, wondering why I let myself eat so much. I watch Bliss bounce around the house, learning where everything is. She occasionally disappears around the corner, then comes back every couple of minutes to ensure my attention is still on her. Before I know it, Sean has to leave for work. I hate that he works the third shift every night. We never get to sleep together in the same bed anymore. He has always been a night owl, so he loves the 10:00 p.m.–6:00 a.m. work hours. I try not to complain about it much. I kiss him on the cheek and send him on his way.

  I sit in a state of lethargy from all the carbs rushing to my skull. Even though my stomach hurts from all the food, I get a craving for ice cream. Wendy’s ice cream to be exact. A chocolate malt with whipped cream and a cherry. That sounds so amazing right now. I think about the Culver’s ice cream I hid in the freezer earlier. Suddenly I’m starving again. I know I shouldn’t, but my mouth wants it. I contemplate whether I have the energy to get off this couch, but I manage. I hobble to the car to suffice my Wendy’s craving. At the drive-thru I decide I want to try something new, so I order a couple of snack wraps off the new menu along with my large chocolate malt. It’s amazing that a bag of hot food can bring such happiness into my pitiful life. I stop at the store and pick up some puppy food and a cute pink collar with jewels for my new baby puppy.

  As I pull into my driveway, I am careful to hide the bag of food in my purse so it looks like I’m only carrying a cup of what could be soda or ice cream to anyone who is looking. I have nosey neighbors, and I don’t want them judging me from their windows. Deep down I know the neighbors don’t give a shit about my eating habits. I still feel like I need to hide the food from everyone within sight.

  For the next few hours, I lose myself in my latest Netflix binge. I feel how my body is hating me for eating so much today, and I vow to myself for the second time this week that I am going to stop sabotaging myself and start on a healthy plan. I make a list on my phone and plan to stop at the store after work tomorrow to pick up fresh fruits and veggies to munch on. This time it’s for real. I hate feeling lethargic and worthless from eating so much. I already hate that I’m going to be bloated tomorrow from all the salt I ate today. I feel like my appetite is out of control sometimes, and I hate it! I don’t ever want to feel this worthless about myself again.

  Family

  Born within but not always welcome.

  Required love is the hardest part.

  Is there a pardon?

  Those who have, don’t appreciate the gift.

  Those that lack, seek their whole lives for a replacement.

  Never to be found completely.

  Empty souls smile, but remain empty.

  Overcompensate for a need you think you want.

  Is it possible to be better off not?

  Barriers broken and walls lifted.

  Don’t expect much from me.

  A release soon to seek.

  Receiving is believing.

  Dive in hard to reach the deep.

  The exit doesn’t hurt any less.

  Believed to be our God-given truth, some will fail.

  Some will fall.

  Some will learn to deal as all the rest have.

  Not the most obvious choice, but we are talking survival.

  Piece it together how you must.

  Remember not to feed the lost.

  Who are your people?

  Adam

  I awake to my alarm clock blaring in my left ear. “Four twenty-five a.m. sucks,” I say to myself as I fling my feet out of bed. I want to pee, but I have a massive stiffy so it will have to wait. I throw on my clothes and grab some slices of cheese I jacked from the diner last night. I hope Liz is at the diner when I arrive so I can go back home and sleep. I can’t fathom how I am going to survive a double shift today.

  When I arrive, the diner is still closed. Liz is nowhere to be found. Guess that idea is shit out of luck. I turn on the ovens and take out the dough to thaw. I’m already dreading this day.

  Somehow it gets to be almost noon and I’m feeling pretty good, considering. I know the noon rush will be here soon and things will pick up. Someone from the back shouts my name. I have a phone call. I really hate not having a cell phone like everyone else does. Paul gets pissy when I get calls on the diner’s phone. A cheap cell phone will be the first thing on my list when I get my shit together and have some extra monies.

  “Since you’re at work, I’m assuming you’re not coming to see your son today?” Shit. How did I not realize that it’s Saturday? She is going to hold this one over my head for a long time.

  “No, I won’t be able to come over this afternoon. I had to pick up an extra shift today so I’m working a double. Can I see Russ tomorrow?” I already know the answer.

  “The agreement is for every other Saturday with your child support cash with you. Do you even have the money this week?” She is pissed. She always talks in that snooty derogatory manner when I fuck up.

  “Yes, but I’m getting evicted if I don’t come up with nine-hundred dollars by next week. I will lose my home.”

  “So, no money. This is getting really old, Adam. If you’re not going to show up, then call me so I’m not waiting around again. Don’t bother coming if you don’t have Russ’s money.”

  It pisses me off that she calls it “Russ’s money.” I know she blows it on stupid shit for herself. Her hair is always dyed different shades and her clothes are brand new. She is supposed to be spending that money on our son. He wears the same shit every time I see him. She doesn’t think I notice this stuff, but I do. I miss spending time with Russ. It worries me that he will start noticing that I’m not around as much as I used to be. When he was little, I knew he would never know the difference, but he is getting older, smarter. I don’t want to be known as the deadbeat father. I want to be involved in his life. Right now, I’m having a hard time just keeping a roof over my own head.

  The rest of the day goes by smoothly. Paul didn’t show up to give me a hard time, so I am happy about that. At the end of the night I ask to be let off an hour early. Since we were slow, they were agreeable. I head down the block toward the public library so I can check my email. I hope to God that someone is desperate and needs a shitty, tiny apartment to live in for a while.

  I scroll through the emails. Junk. Junk. Junk. Bingo! Some
one wants to stop over and see the place. I quickly email this Kris guy the address and tell him to stop over tomorrow, late morning/early afternoon. I hope he’s not a weirdo or an old guy. I don’t really want to live with either type of person. I Google easy ways to make money. After a few minutes I learn that Craigslist could help me sell some of my stuff for extra cash. I have a stereo and some DVDs that I place an online ad for, hoping to get some easy cash. I leave the library and head south toward home.

  It’s an agreeable night for a walk, I think to myself. The moon is almost full, the temperature is chilly but not cold. I mainly notice the smell of fall lurking in the air. The dying leaves give off a stale earthy scent, which reminds me of pumpkins and witches. For a Saturday night, there are a lot of people out and about enjoying the crisp air. I glance up and notice Hannah and Russ ahead of me, standing at a corner waiting to cross the road. I slow down and watch to see where they are headed.

  Hannah is a hot piece of ass. She always was and still is. Although her bitchiness is like repellent, I would still do her. She would never let me, though. I’m not her type anymore. When women have babies, they become extreme bitches—at least in her case, that’s what happened.

  Hannah and I found ourselves in an odd predicament when she found out she was pregnant with Russ. Like me, Hannah was a foster brat, rebounding from family to family. When we met, we were living at the Greenburg home. The Greenburgs were a religious couple who could not have children of their own, so they decided to “do God’s work,” as they would tell us, and help the children of Detroit live happy lives. It was not fun living with the Greenburgs. They made us go to church twice a week and were old school in their daily living. They didn’t believe in modern-day electronics. They didn’t even have a TV for us to watch. They made us clean regularly, pray frequently, and go outside and “be kids” as they would say. They often had several foster kids coming in and out of their home on a regular basis. They loved the anarchy.