At a table near the bar sat a woman about twenty-seven. She was sitting alone with an empty martini glass. She sat watching the bartender and thinking that he was really attractive. She was debating whether to write her name and number on a napkin for him, but she knew that he would never give her a call.
She was pretty, with long, dark brown hair and dark green eyes. She had a tall, curvy figure that would attract any man, but she was shy and afraid of rejection. She was dressed in jeans that hugged her figure, and a red, silk blouse. Her hair was hanging straight against her back, and her makeup was simple, but added to her features.
In the bar was a stage with a microphone. A man who had been telling his story finished and walked back to his seat. She had been listening to him tell his story about how his wife left him for a younger man. She decided that she would go up on stage and tell her story. She stood up and hesitantly walked toward the stage. Her shoulders were hunched and she looked at the floor. When she finally got on stage she continued to look at the floor.
“Hello,” she said her voice cracking. “My name is Breanne Leavey.” She stopped; she was nervous and unsure what to say. “I’m originally from Ireland, but my family moved to the United States when I was seven, after my father died of heart disease. My mother, younger brother, and I took a boat and travelled to New York. We were planning to move in with my father’s brother, but when we got to New York we couldn’t find him. We were living in an alley behind an Italian restaurant while my mother went out trying to find any kind of work. We lived in this alley for over a month when my mother finally found a housekeeping position in a hotel. They allowed us to live in a room until my mother could afford a little one room apartment in the ghetto. We had been living in this apartment for about six months and my mom had gone to work like any other day, but she never came back. About a week later they found her severed body in a dump. They never found out who murdered her. I was nine by the time this happened. We got kicked out of the apartment and were put into a foster home. We began to move from house to house. We were put in school. As soon as I was old enough I began to work, I saved every penny that I made. I worked hard in school and got accepted into NYU with a full ride scholarship. I went to school full time and worked full time. I took care of my brother and made sure that I would be able to pay for him to go to school. After his first semester in college he overdosed on cocaine. For that last three years I have been all alone. I have no family left. All I have is a Master degree in Journalism, and a job working for a small magazine company in New York. I’ve never had any sort of relationship and I’m so lonely. I go to a different bar every night in hopes of someday finding someone, anyone. Just so I don’t have to be alone anymore.”
She stepped down from the stage and walked back to her chair with her head held high. She felt like a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had kept these feeling hidden for so long. She felt completely alone, and she felt like others could finally understand how she felt all these years. She didn’t feel so alone anymore. She saw herself as a new person, more confident. She finally realized how strong she really was.
