One more shot of Tennessee whiskey

It’s almost impossible to comprehend the complexity of the human mind. Take twins for example, from birth they are almost indistinguishable from one another. They find pleasure and enjoyment from the same things. Now imagine the same twins, but this time they are separated at birth. Do they grow up to be complete opposites. This realization only provides more questions instead of answers. Are we products of genetic code or is it “Nature vs Nurture” our “upbringing” if you will. This could lead to a well adjusted person with the morality compass pointing north or an unstable person where the line between right and wrong is smeared by the countless tears shed. 

Part of the Chaos Theory, Edge of Chaos, helps rationalize this behavioral anomaly. Edge of Chaos is best defined as the transitional space between order and disorder. Much like the Butterfly Effect, it suggests that even the smallest action, or lack there of, can have drastic consequences.....

Let’s rewind to the summer of ‘82. A single mother, knocked up by one of her random meth dealers, is giving birth to what she thought was just a single life. She died on the delivery table. Hemorrhage took a life but two were spared. She gave birth to a set of “tea cup” baby girls. 

One would be lucky. A young couple, one a Doctor the other a teacher who couldn’t have their own, adopted her. She grew up never knowing the struggle of want, hunger or heartache. The other wasn’t as blessed. She would fall into the system. Passed around from group home to group home. Foster homes packed full of lost souls just to earn a check or tortured by a sadist robbing the innocence every chance they can. 

Fast forward to the winter of ‘05. A perfectionist sits under a desk lamp applying the final touches to the mid term paper for her American literature class. Across town below the neon glow of a bar room sign, searching for love at the bottom of a bottle, sits a “lost soul” hoping one more shot of Tennessee whiskey will make her feel alive again. 

It’s now 2am, eyes burning from the late night spent with Poe and Twain, the perfectionist is driving back to her apartment. Contemplating if she should have included another page or two on writers from the late 1900’s. Just miles away the “lost soul”, eyes blurry from a combination of cigarette smoke and liquor, is trying to keep her car between the four yellow lines she’s staring at.....a flash of bright light and the ear shattering sound of metal crushing from the forceful collision echo through the night. Two sisters are finally reunited.....still cursed to never know each other. 

A Doctor and a Teacher, mourning the loss of a daughter, sit silently by a closed casket. They ask themselves where they went wrong. The “lost soul” had everything but turned to drugs and alcohol. 

Countless friends attend the service for the perfectionist. Words are spoken about perseverance and the struggles made that almost propelled her to fulfilling a dream. She over came the abuse and neglect but was robbed once again.........