Chapter 1 - NotE TO SELF: LOVE

Chapter 1/5 free chapters | Get full book here

Nothing was unusual about Morgan Miller’s life compared to the lives of the other 1.6 million people in Manhattan, except for the fact that she had decided to end hers.

It was December 7 and colder than ice in the city. As soon as Morgan opened the door of her apartment building, a blast of frigid air stung her cheeks before her nose registered the ever- present smell of raw fish from the Chinese grocery next door. Despite the cold, the street was as busy as usual. Some part of Morgan’s brain noted the familiar blend of languages and accents of people calling to each other—the Chinese grocer, the Jewish pickle guy, the Puerto Rican hat shop owner.

Morgan looked at the heap of dead fish in the barrel and prayed she wouldn’t collapse over it. She wanted to walk farther north where the shops and streets were cleaner. Before she did, she turned and gazed at the building she had been coming home to each night for the last eight years. A thick film of grime over its brown brick face obscured the early twentieth-century architectural details. The stone arches above each window were barely distinguishable anymore, especially when Morgan’s vision began to blur. The last thing she noticed before falling over the fish barrel and landing on the sidewalk was the chipped green filigree fire escape…spinning, spinning, spinning.

What’s happening? I can’t feel my body at all. It’s like having Novocain at the dentist. Oh God, I hope I’m not drooling! Shouldn’t I be seeing a light? Or maybe that story’s a load of crap. I’m probably on my way to a big fire pit.

A flowing figure of a woman surrounded by white light came toward Morgan from far away.

Who’s that? She looks like an angel. Oh, angel…miss? Where am I?

Then everything went black.

Two hours earlier, Morgan had been sitting at the MAC counter at Saks having her makeup expertly applied by a saleswoman. It was the last of a series of pampering appointments she had scheduled—a mani-pedi, brow wax and tint, and haircut, color, and blow-dry. She planned on looking fabulous for her final performance on earth. She also didn’t plan on being around when the credit card bill arrived.

After Saks, Morgan returned to her tiny studio apartment in the Bowery holding a white cardboard pizza box and a fake designer purse. After hanging up her coat and dropping her purse and keys on a chair, she placed the pizza box reverently on the small bistro table that served as her dining area. Opening the box, she leaned in to inhale the heady aroma of two piping hot jumbo slices of pepperoni pizza. Then she uncorked a bottle of wine, thought about getting up for a glass but decided to drink right from the bottle. She alternated between the pizza and the wine, savoring every bite and sip, and licking the oil off her fingers. No need to blot it with a napkin as usual. Calories didn’t matter now. She eagerly pried the last bit of cheese from the inside lid of the pizza box and popped it in her mouth. Another gulp of wine preceded a huge burp.

Disgusted with herself for eating so much, even on the last day of her life, she tried, unsuccessfully, to stuff the pizza box into her tiny trashcan as if she could hide the evidence of gluttony. She walked the few steps it took to reach the bathroom, which was so tiny that the door hit the toilet seat as she entered. Frustrated, she slammed the door against the seat several times before going in. Looking at herself in the hazy old bathroom mirror, she thought her makeup looked impeccable except for the lipstick she had eaten off with the pizza. That was easily remedied with the tube of red lipstick sitting on the edge of the sink. The job done, she examined her face one more time; her piercing blue eyes stared back at her. Who was the person in the mirror? She didn’t know anymore.

For her last outfit, she had carefully chosen designer separates purchased on clearance at various discount stores. Ralph Lauren tailored black trousers, a brick-red cashmere Gucci sweater, and her favorite black and red stiletto pumps from Chanel. On the outside, she looked like a million bucks. On the inside, she felt worthless.

Morgan was a derailed train—stuck and disconnected. She was too weary to get her life back on track and too ashamed to ask for help. This was not the life she had expected to have. She had come to Manhattan with big dreams of becoming a star. But after eight years, still only able to earn a meager living as a waitress in an Italian restaurant, she was broken beyond repair. Worn down by producers who rejected her, boyfriends who disrespected her, and customers who didn’t tip her, she never felt good enough for anyone or any job. She was thirty-five years old, had never been married, and had nothing to show for a lifetime of trying to succeed.

Morgan remembered a time when her life had been different. When she felt like somebody who was worthy of life. Growing up in Harnerville, New York, she had enjoyed the perfect suburban existence, complete with a loving family and a swing set in the backyard. That was before her father had left and never come back. Before her mother had died a long painful death. Before her brother had moved to Colorado and become unavailable.

Morgan opened the medicine cabinet and took out an amber-colored plastic prescription bottle. She laughed out loud at the prominent warning: May Cause Dizziness. Her plan was to bypass dizziness and go directly to death. She walked back to the kitchen, pills in hand. They went down smoothly with the second bottle of wine. As soon as she finished, she wanted to get out of the apartment as quick as possible. She certainly didn’t want someone finding her there a week later—a bloated, decomposed corpse covered in maggots. That would defeat the time and effort spent on makeup and hair.

As Morgan reached the door, her eyes fell on the rug in front of it. She immediately thought of Jack, the stray mutt she had taken in a year before. This was his favorite spot. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the lump in her throat. She was going to miss Jack. She had asked her friend Cassie to take care of Jack for a few days, saying she was going to be out of town; she hoped Cassie would keep him. Jack was the only one in her life who loved her exactly as she was. She held back her tears, determined not to run her mascara.

She turned around to look at a photo of Jack, which sat upon her miniscule desk. She picked it up, closed her eyes, and kissed the smooth cold glass. Next to Jack’s photo sat another one of Morgan with Cassie. Arm in arm, they were holding up martini glasses, smiling ear to ear. Morgan sat down at the desk for a few minutes, contemplating whether to write a note to Cassie, but then decided against it. The drugs and alcohol had started to cloud her mind, and she had already stayed in her apartment longer than planned.

“I’m sorry, Cass. I know you’ll hate me for this, but I can’t do it anymore. I need to put an end to this pitiful story called my life.”

Seconds later, Morgan wrapped her red cape-style coat around her shoulders. A whirling collage of red and black could be seen as she hurried down five stories to the street level of her apartment building.