Sometimes life is ridiculous and mean but for Caroline LaChance it’s the simple rhythm of her wasted life that kept her alive, until today.

Disclaimer:  Characters are mine.  I don’t think anyone else would want them.

Warning:  I generally don’t believe in warnings.   I will say this; these people are broken and sometimes very bad and disturbing things happen.  If disturbing disturbs stop here.

Feedback to here:  foxramsey@gmail.com

Copyright, December 2011. All rights reserved.


Last Day

By Ramsey


 Last Day – 10:00am

All I want is what’s coming to me.  I’m taking control of that. Few people know their last day.  Solders in battle can be resigned to everyday being the last; it cocoons them leaving them prepared and protected.  The terminally ill pray for the mercy of the last day, sadly forced too often to wait for death to finally show its stupid yet beautiful face.   Last day… wrap your mind around that for a while.  Possessing neither patience nor resignation of inevitability, I am choosing or maybe it has chosen me.  I don’t know.  I really don’t give a shit.

I leave this behind for no other reason than to articulate in my own mind the journey and the nights that have led me down this path that will end here tonight. 

Background information for anyone interested: 

Name – Caroline LaChance
Born - Pittsburg, Pennsylvania
Age – 48
Sex - Female
5’ 8”
Eyes – Grey (empty and lifeless – I do have a mirror you know)
Hair Color - Black salt and pepper (pepper still winning). Cut short
Too thin
Too pale
Once thought to be interestingly attractive and sexy, now not thought of by anyone.
Other Fun Facts
Last “real” relationship three years ago – duration four years
I cheated.  She left.  I would have too.  We were doomed from the start anyway.
I lost my “real” job three years ago (I was a systems analyst).  I was fired for too many days showing up late, hung over, or drunk. 
Last job - working the 3 to 11 shift at the JJ Peters warehouse breaking down boxes and generally doing what I am told.


The Apartment

My ex – girlfriend Donna once told me that I my life would end clinging to my new best friend, her name for my close relationship with my bourbon of choice- Jack Daniels, sad and desperately alone.  She was prophetic and would be very proud of that fact.   Jack has become my constant companion and un-like so many, has never let me down and yes Donna, I am alone.   I wouldn’t call it a relationship; there is no give and take or emotional connection.  Jack gives and I take until I get what I ultimately need, the peace that comes from being numb and nightly falling into a drunken sleep.   You may ask how I got here to this sad and pathetic place, long story…. ask Donna.

Everything changed six months ago when I moved to this hell hole of an apartment. 

JJ Peters Warehouse is in the part of the city where you only go during the day.  Streets littered with run down or abandoned homes and businesses closed and boarded up long ago.  The few that live here have nowhere else to go, are financially desperate, drug dependant and of course like me.

 When Donna left and after I lost my job I couldn’t afford to live in our apartment any longer.  I hated it there anyway it was Donna’s apartment; she wanted to move there in the first place.  It even still smelled like her perfume after 3 years.  I found this cheap studio that had everything I needed.  It had a small kitchenette, a small living space and a bed tucked in an alcove in the back, and a tiny bathroom.

The house was a big old lady with four apartments on each floor and there were three floors.  Mine was located on the second floor in the front left so I would have a window with a view of the street and a small window on the side located at the foot of my bed.  Small with good light and very cheap…my kind of digs

I was quite the show for the neighborhood when I moved in that day.  A skinny forty something white woman was an unusual sight in this neck of the woods.  Hispanic, Black and Vietnamese yes - my posse not so much.   I was watched with both suspicion and amusement but eventually everyone seemed to lose interest and went about their life.  What little I had fit in my car so in quick order I was in and officially a resident of this strange new world.  I knew I would fit right in.
The apartment came with a bed, a small kitchen table with two uncomfortable chairs and recliner facing a beat up paint spattered table that I assume would hold a TV if I had one.   My kitchen was a (preface every item with the word small) sink, a stove with two burners, and a refrigerator that had to be older than me.  Home sweet home.  The few boxes of stuff I brought gave me something to eat off of and cook with, a few books, and a clock radio for your entertainment pleasure.  The small closet (I said small again) had more than enough space for the few clothes I own.   The old bureau on the wall behind the bed holds the rest.

The best and I mean the best part of my apartment was the little pull down door in the wall in the kitchen next to the refrigerator.  I’m not sure what it was meant for but I found it to be the perfect bar where I would store my prized possessions, four heavy crystal tumblers and my Jack.   Quickly finishing my move in tasks I filled a tumbler with Jack and ice from a bag I bought on the way and took my first sip of the day.   The burn was like a lovers caress drawing from me my first smile of the day.



I moved into the apartment in August and it was hot as hell.  That night the windows provided the only air and there wasn’t much of it.   I filled my tumbler for the third time and went to bed.  I turned off all the lights and undressed in my little alcove.  Naked and sweating I laid down with my head propped on the head board.  The heat was thick and oppressive it took effort to breath.  My tumbler cold and sweating on my abdomen providing some relief as my eyes slowly closed.

It was the sharp click that brought my eyes open.  I had not realized just how close the house next door was to my window.  I heard the light switch go on for shits sake!

They tumbled in the room all arms and legs and dark hair.  A man and a woman were clawing at each other to remove their clothes while trying not to end a very wet and face consumming kiss.  By the time the door closed the man was in his briefs and an erection.  The woman was clothed only in a very lovely black lace bra as he lifted her up against the wall and entered her.  I watched in fascination as he began to pump into her steady and hard.  I was transfixed not by the action but by her face.  My god she was beautiful.   Her arms were around his neck and her chin on his shoulder.   Her eyes were closed and her face showed nothing, absolutely nothing.  No sign of taking pleasure or any reaction to the fact that she was being fed.  He was giving it all he had and was sweating like a pig.  

I hadn’t realized I was sitting up in bed at that point staring at her when she opened her eyes and look directly at me.   I swear to god we were locked.  I was sitting in the dark sure she couldn’t see me but maybe the light from their bedroom gave me shape, I don’t know.  He was pumping hard slamming her into the wall, she was expressionless with her black eyes boring into mine, and I was frozen with my fingers in a death grip around the tumbler feeling the intensity of her eyes on my skin.

He came….I came….she didn’t.

Sated and exhausted, he stumbled to the bed and they feel.   I sat unable to move still totally amazed and reveling in the aftershock contractions from the orgasm I just had.   It had been quick and hard and all for her.

The man got off the bed, finding his pants he hopped around the room getting them on.  He walked to the door saying something to her in Spanish and was gone.  She slowly stood, total naked now, and walked to the door.  Her body was young and firm with curves in all the right places and her Hispanic ethnicity gave her a beautiful skin tone.   She was perfect and I felt myself twitch with desire.

Her hand reached to flip off the light switch when she hesitated and turned to the window.  A slow smile touched her lips and we were locked again.  I think I smiled back, I’m not sure.  The look in her eyes spoke volumes.    She wanted release.   I wanted to f her so bad it had to be in my eyes and I hoped she could see.

The light went off and I was again alone in the dark.   Getting out of bed I looked down at my naked body.  I was wet everywhere and shivering uncontrollably in the stifling heat.   I craved her but craving something more I walk on stiff and unsure legs to the kitchen.   Hands shaking I poured my forth but not last of night and took a large mouthful.   I closed my eyes with the burn and let the movie that took place in the bedroom across the way rewind and replay.  I know I smiled. 


The First Night

Hung over and juiced up on caffeine I made it into work on time which was somewhat of a miracle.  My co-workers mostly Spanish speaking just shook their heads and rattled on.  I had no idea what they are saying.  I’m sure it wasn’t very complimentary but very much deserved.  I must have looked like shit and on top of that I was fighting the urge to puke. 

Little Nita, a very nice older woman, older than me, gently brushed the hair out of my eyes as we stood in the line to punch in.  She said something I didn’t understand and handed me a bottle of water and two aspirin.   Walking away she mumbled in very clear English, “Loser”.  I couldn’t have agreed more.

Feeling better by quitting time I did drive thru KFC and a quick stop at the liquor store for a bottle of Jack.  KFC and Jack my kind a gourmet fare!

Full and more than a little buzzed I headed to bed as usual in the dark.  I stripped down, got on the bed and waited with drink in hand.  I didn’t have to wait long.  Lights on and…. Action!  Tonight she walked in with a black dude.  They calmly went about their business not saying a word.   He began to remove his clothes placing them very neatly on the chair in the corner while she began to remove hers slow and sexy all the time looking out the window, looking at me.   Already wet and my breath getting quick almost panting I took a long drink keeping my eyes on her body.

Naked he laid on the bed with his large erection standing at attention.   She climbed on the bed and positioned herself for business.  Dude was here for a blow job.   As an observer of all things I would have to say she was very good.  He should have no complaints.  I felt my clit throbbing imagining that mouth on me….oh shit my orgasm came so hard and unexpected I had to close my eyes and hold on.  When I opened them she was looking at me, him in her mouth and a smile on her face. 

When he was done she got up and walked out never looking back.  Again, there was no orgasm for her.  He slowly dressed and with a quickly check in the mirror he turned off the light and closed the door.   I desperately needed another drink.

As I was standing in the kitchen downing a healthy pour of Jack I heard a light tapping on my door.  Looking in the peep hole I see her standing there leaning against the wall looking back at me.  I opened the door and stood there staring at her.  I was naked and sweating - not my best look these days.

She walked in and stopping in the middle of the room.  Doing a 360 she took everything in finally settling on me.   Never breaking eye contact she quickly removed her clothes and in no time was standing in front of me all her glory.  Taking the tumbler from me and replacing it with her small hand she led me to bed.    She was here to collect and I was eager to deliver.

 Sitting on the bed she turned her head and looked across the way to the bedroom.  When she returned her gaze back to me I couldn’t read what I saw sadness, regret, resignation, who knows.  She wouldn’t have to look too hard to see all those things in my eyes.  I gently pushed her back onto the bed and told her the things I was going to do to her.  I didn’t know if she understood a word I said so I did the only I could, I showed her.     

My hands and mouth did the talking and they were everywhere.   Her body was even more beautiful under my touch and the taste of her mingled with the bourbon lingering on my breath was a heady cocktail indeed.  My long slender fingers were deep inside her and felt the spasms as she came.  Every time she came.

She came…I came.  That’s how it’s supposed to be.

When I finally awoke the next morning, yanked awake by the alarm, she was gone but my bed smelled of sex and her and that definitely made me smile.



The Routine

Life is ridiculous and mean but it can also have a rhythm that can get you by.  That’s what we settled into a rhythm, a strange and wonderful rhythm that worked for us.  Her name was Elena.    She was full on Puerto Rican and understood more English than I had initially thought.  She spoke little but my three years of high school Spanish didn’t give us much to work with either.  It didn’t matter to us.  Our life as it was had a routine like a married couple, a screwed up couple for sure but a couple none the less.

I worked my 3 to 11 shift at the warehouse and came home.  I would make myself something to eat (I don’t eat take out every night…not good for you) and enjoyed a few Jack on the rocks before heading to my bed.  Settling back I drink and wait.

The show in the room across the way was basically Elena’s job.  Sent here to live with her cousins this was how she was made to repay their generosity, this was how she paid her way.   So there was a parade of men of all sizes, shapes and colors. 

While she was in that room she gave them sex for money but she made love to me with her eyes.  At around 2:00 in the morning she would come to me and she would make love to me with her body.  I would worship hers.  We would sleep until my alarm went off for work.   It was all we had-it was all we needed.


The Night She Died

I came home drunk that night.  Little Nita’s husband got a great job as a grounds keeper at a large museum west of the city so they would be moving and Nita was leaving JJ Peters.    They had a party for her at Wally K’s a local bar down the block from the warehouse.  I stopped in to say good-bye and have a drink in her honor.  Nita’s husband ordered a second drink for me in a generous effort to have me stay.  I am persuaded.  Two hours later little Nita’s husband poured me into cab with general directions to my apartment.  It was a miracle he found it; I was of no help not even sure where the hell I lived.  He all but dragged me out of the cab, grabbed the bills that I had dug out of my jeans and took off.  

I stumbled up the walkway and fumbled with the lock to get into the down stairs hallway.  Once in I started up the steps almost falling backward having to grab the railing while I waited for the spinning to stop.  On hands and knees I made it to my apartment.

It was dark in the room but there was plenty of light to grab a tumbler and the bottle of Jack.  Not bothering to get ice I pour a healthy amount and downed most of it. Standing there in the dark swaying, feeling the burn and I believe I was humming “Living La Vida Loca” when I heard the scream. 

Oh god….I knew even as drunk as I was it was her.  I started to run to the window but feel flat on my face having tripped over something…nothing I don’t know.  Scrambling to my feet I made it to the window in time to see him punching her in the face.  That once beautiful face was all blood.  Blood was everywhere.   He grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the wall.  They were naked and there was so much blood.  His large hands were wrapped around her lovely delicate neck lifting her off the floor.  Her eyes bulging and wide with fear found me.  That’s when I screamed. 

Running- falling- sirens- lights- more falling… I wound up again face down this time on the small front lawn.  Cops were everywhere, the neighborhood was buzzing with people out on the street watching.  Getting to my feet I started to the house next door but was stopped by a female cop with her hand to my chest she pushed me back.  That’s how we stood for what seemed like an eternity.  I was breathing hard almost hyperventilating.  She was talking but I heard nothing.

Eventually they brought him out in hand cuffs and her in a body bag.  It was surreal, it was a bad movie, and it was my life.  Elena was dead and I knew I was too.

A male cop came over, eyeing me with contempt he told the female cop it was just another Friday night in this part of town – a crack head gone crazy and dead whore.  I slipped to the ground and puked all over his shiny black shoes.

Another dead whore and a drunken middle aged lesbian.  We were all we had.


My Last Day – 9:00pm

It’s taken all day to write this for you whoever you are.  Maybe I’ll mail this to Donna.  She might get a kick out of it.  I took a few hours today to run some errands including buying my last bottle of Jack and the pills that will complete the cocktail that will be my undoing. 

It’s been two weeks since that night…her last day.  I’m sure she didn’t see it coming.   I spent the first week in bed drinking and staring at the window across the way.  The shades are down and I think I heard someone in there cleaning, removing all evidence of that night and of her.    I miss seeing her in that room.  I miss her body next to mine exhausted from our love making.  I miss her laugh when she tried to teach me something in Spanish.  I miss our rhythm.   God, I miss her.

I think I knew what I was going to do while I was on my knees wiping the vomit from my face on the front lawn that night.  These past two weeks have been penance and the only way I really knew how to grieve.   So with no job, no money, nothing left to give or receive, I’m checking out. 

My life story is clearly longer and more complicated that these few words however this is the story that has brought me to my last day.  There it is.


My Last will and Testament:
Send this do Donna Lysek (address is attached)
She also gets my four crystal tumblers – the irony here is precious!!

Trash the rest

Caroline A. LaChance



Last Day Plus Two Months…..OK So I’m Still Here

It’s been two months since I wrote all this down for you …well for me really.   As I said before life can be ridiculous and mean but it can also have a rhythm and for me that is what matters.  I’ll epilogue this mother for you and get on with my life.

That night, my last night, I sat at the table for a long time reading and re-reading what I had written.  Sipping my Jack I closed my eyes and let the tears roll down my cheeks.  Tears I couldn’t shed for her…these were for me.   There was knocking on my door, bold and insistent so unlike Elena’s.  Pissed at the intrusion I opened the door without looking ready for anything.  What I was not ready for was the woman standing there.  It was the female cop.  The cop whose hand anchored me in place as we stood outside watching them carry Elena out of the apartment.

We stood eyeing each other waiting.  She finally strode in saying rather matter of fact, “You look like shit”.   I stood holding the door open in invitation for her to leave, we continued to watch and wait each other out.   She was a cop with stamina; I on the other hand had no stamina left so I shut the door.

She did a 360 (they all do) and chuckled, “Some place you have here”.

Nodding my agreement, “Home sweet home”.

I noticed the two coffee containers in her hands.  She finally remembered them too and extended one to me, “Coffee- black I didn’t know how you drank it “.  Mumbling I took the container and with shaking hands and took a tentative sip.  It was hot and bitter strong…it was good.  Turning around I see her sitting at my kitchen table leaning back casually sipping her coffee.  Her eyes take in the booze and the papers that are resting there. 

Looking at me with her blue cops eyes she asks, “Want to talk?”


“Yeah I do too”, she said as she removed her coat.

That was it.  We talked all night long and as days new light began to appear she tucked me in bed and I slept the sleep of the dead, so to speak.  She was there when I woke.  She cooked for me and with a full pot of coffee we talked some more.

Like I said it’s been two months and I owe her my life.  My cops name is Jane.  She’s short and pretty and a real piece of work.  I like her.  I don’t know who decides who needs help or who should give it but there she was dispensing coffee and her friendship, the true measure of mercy we all need and deserve.

I would imagine right about now you all have a lot of questions:  Did they become lovers? … Do they live together? ... Does she still drink? ... Did she finally get a job?

It’s none of your business… well maybe I’ll update you some time.  After all, tomorrow is another day.


the end


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