Goodbye, Stupid Girl 1993

 

            Two years gone.

The wind touched my short red curls and gave them an affectionate tousle. I leaned over the railing of the bridge over Silver Creek and felt the spray of water on my face. It felt good. It felt alive.

If only I felt that way, too.

The water was black, not silver like the name suggested. Black. Steady as the flow of time through the slice of earth it had claimed, this creek would still be here a hundred years from now. And I would not.

This is the end, I told myself. The end for a stupid girl who had never really belonged. The end for blind trust, sick obsessions, and spilled blood. The end for the mistake of a person I used to be.

In my hand, bound in a journal tied with ribbons, were the last two years of my life. I traced my finger over the pen etchings on its white cover, the motif of every band I’d ever liked. It was filled with lyrics that I’d painstakingly written through teary blurred eyes with such vacant intention, so unoriginal. Just echoes of someone else’s emotion. Lyrics and dreams and fractured memories that had cluttered my mind since I’d turned sixteen. The diary of a martyr without a cause.  

“I don’t see why you need to do this,” Elliot said, taking one last hit from his cigarette before he flicked the butt into the creek and shoved his hands in his jeans.

If he wanted an answer, I didn’t have one. I knew I might regret it one day, even as I watched the precious words flutter from my hands and drift away into the black water oblivion. Page after disgusting page, my illusions about boys and friendships (and boys) and academic achievements (and boys) disappeared. In eradicating all of their botched beauty and failed connections, what did I hope to destroy? Ignorance that begat naivety that begat weakness; a weak soul. A weak and stupid girl. She had to die.

They were only words. Illegible words scratched on thin pages and streaked with tears long dry. Of course, I knew that. There was always a part of me that knew sane from insane, but I had a tendency to favor the latter. That sane-lady reminded me that I might want to remember her someday, or perhaps my own daughter would. Maybe I would need reminding.

What lesson is to be learned that has already been forgotten?

I would not forget. Although I’d made a show of it, I couldn’t be deceived by my own lie. Watching the words I’d so tenderly penned die by my own hands would not wash away the pain that had led me to write them. This was no funeral for the fool I had once been, nor was it a rebirth of the emerging stronger woman. I was merely destroying the evidence.

The last page clung to my fingertips, begging for its life.

            And that Stupid Girl in me could not let it go.

Reviews

[Jim Parson]

You write really well, with flashes of brilliance even! Just from reading your book cover page and seeing your chapter list, it appears that you are covering an entire year with each chapter. This seems very short and doesn't really cover a lot, although what is covered is dramatic and poignant. I'll reserve judgment until I've read future chapters, but as The Perfectionist stated below, I'll be looking for definite answers pretty quickly as I continue on!

Just a couple of editing things...

In the opening, you talk about feeling the spray on your face, but then say "If only I felt it, too." This is contradictory. Are you trying to say, "It felt good on my face; now if only I could feel it in my heart," or something like that?

"It was filled with lyrics that I’d painstakingly written through teary blurred eyes with such vacant intention"..."teary blurred" is throwing me just a bit. It seems there should either be a comma after teary (teary, blurred eyes) or it should be hyphenated (tear-blurred eyes).

[Toni Osborne]

Very good. I saw this young woman clearly in my head and heart. My heart went out to her. It's such a clear image of what can happen to people too young to get married, let alone be having a baby too. Of finding out too soon what marriage and parenthood do to your inner self, your dreams. I think it's one of the best things you've ever written that I have read. I think you still use a few too many adjectives, but most were helpful in describing this young woman's plight in such a short piece of work.

[GunMetal]

Wow, this is truly great. Seriously, I loved every word of it. It's honesty. The character really digging inside of herself, deeply insightful. The feelings were so real, and I appreciate everything that this story has to say. Absolutely wonderful. I'm struggling to find words to express how much I like this =)
*Favorites*

[Cari Lynn Vaughn]

Beautifully written and very moving. It made me sad because I hate to see anyone destroy anything that they've written, no matter what it is.

We always regret letting our words go. How are we to know what will be important in 50 years. Maybe our kids will want to read it....Maybe there are lessons to be learned and shared with others.

But I get the need to let go of the pain contained in the pages. I've been known to burn letters and notes and bury them. I like the idea that they go back to the earth be recycled into new and happier memories. That seemed to help me.

Anyway, great piece. Keep writing!

[DownTheDrain]

"In my hand, bound in a journal tied with ribbons, were the last two years of my life. I traced my finger over the pen etchings on its white cover, the motif of every band I’d ever liked. It was filled with lyrics that I’d painstakingly written through teary blurred eyes with such vacant intention, so unoriginal. Just echoes of someone else’s emotion. Lyrics and dreams and fractured memories that had cluttered my mind since I’d turned sixteen. The diary of a martyr without a cause."
It's frightening just how much I relate to this. Always the feeling of unoriginality.
This is fantastically written.
It conveys so much for a relatively short work. I don't like very much writing, but I enjoyed this quite a bit.

[James Watts]

Albeit a little short for a chapter, more like a prologue, it was not bad. I agree with ettouney and the perfectionist. I like third person a lot better, but as the perfectionist is with first person, that is just a particular taste. All-in-all, this was a nice opening.

[Haeshin]

Try reading the sentences out loud to see if they're too long or if something sounds wrong to you. If it does when you read aloud, the reader's likely to have the same problem.

[The Perfectionist]

Reviewing this right now is probably a bad idea since I'm in a really bad mood, but here goes.

Okay, well I won't repeat what ettorney said, but I suggest you follow the advice there (except the third person bit, I like this in first, but that's me).

The imagery here is very strong, and you raise all the questions you want to raise without ending on a cliffhanger, which is something you always want to avoid. As a first chapter, it's very good. The second one is what I'm more interested in, because if you don't start answering questions then, you're in trouble.

[ettorney]

This is a nice coming of age piece. Growing up, letting go of childish notions (about boys, lol).

One thing though. the following doesn;t make sense.
I leaned over the railing of the bridge over Silver Creek and felt the spray of water on my face. It felt good. It felt alive.

If only I felt it, too.

but you did feel it. you said so. unless the "it" in the last sentence is different from the spray of water or feeling good or feeling alive. If it is, tell us what that "it" that you do not feel is.

I would also be curious to see what you could do with this in the third person. It might have some very dramatic impact to be an omniscient observer of this "every girl" that is letting go.

Also Try this: "streaked with tears long since dried." keeps the tense consistent.

This is my favorite image: "The wind touched my short red curls and gave them an affectionate tousle."

Nice.