Mirror
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
-Sylvia Plath
Every morning I look at the reflection of my self in the mirror, reminiscing about the days when I was beautiful. I was the most well known model in New York City. My closet is still filled with exquisite clothing given to me by some of the most famous designers. Coco Chanel, Givenchy, Versace, Louis Vuitton. Diamond necklaces from Tiffanies and Blvgari. But what’s the point? I don’t wear them anymore. I wonder what people would think if they saw someone like me in Jimmy Choo shoes and a Gucci jacket. I miss the long days with no food, just so I could fit into that size 0 dress. Mirrors are unforgiving, unlike photoshopped magazine covers. The day I got hit changed my life. A drunk driver swerved into my car while going 90 mph on the highway. The last thing I remember was how dizzy I felt while my blue Mercedes was rolling down a cliff. The doctors told me how luck I am to be alive, but I wish I hadn’t survived that crash. I wish I didn’t have to live like this. I am paralyzed from the waist down, making it impossible for me to walk down the runway in 7 inch stilettos. Being paralyzed isn’t the worst part, the huge scar running from the outer corner of my right eye to the tip of my chin is. My face was my job. I dropped out of high school at 17 to start what I thought would be my career. Late nights at clubs, underage drinking, cocaine and LSD were my life. Now I am a 24 year old in a wheel chair with no education. That is why I am writing this book. I want to fight the war against drunk driving. This is my story.
I was born on February 12, 1990. My name is Carmen Rose Goldberg. Growing up as the only white kid in a primarily hispanic neighborhood was hard, and being Jewish made it even harder. Everyone assumed my religion meant I was rich but I was not a Jewish American Princess. I remember walking to the dollar store every night to buy cheap pasta. September 8, 1994 was my first day of school. Everyone stared at me, like I was an alien. My pale white skin in a crowd of caramel. My teacher was the only person that spoke a word of english. I grew up as the “odd one”. May 8, 2002 I had my Bat Mitzvah (A jewish coming of age ceremony.) The theme was “Carnival” My mother and father had saved up their money for months to pay for that party. There was a cotton candy machine, and a dance floor. My cousin Jack was the DJ. I had invited all the kids in my grade, about half showed up. It was the best night of my life, people started to notice me. With my purple dress and sparkly heels, I was finally the center of attention. I went to school the next monday wearing the new clothing I had gotten. I remember a girl named Sandra bought me a small Coach coin purse. That was the first designer thing I owned. That night on I became the “popular” girl. All the boys wanted me and all the girls wanted to be me. As a freshman I was invited to every quinceañera, but there I was one I remember the most vividly… Sofía Montes. She was my friend up until 8th grade when we got into a big fight. I didn’t understand why I was invited, but I knew I had to go. I walked in with a skin tight black dress and bright yellow stilettos. My boobs were pushed up to my chin. Sofía had a boyfriend. His name was Jeremy Wright and he was the hottest guy in school. I wanted him. While Sofía was looking for Jeremy for the slow dance, I pulled him aside into the bathroom. We started making out, which eventually lead to the loss of my virginity. I lost it to my Ex-Best friend’s boyfriend, but thats not the worst part. Sofía walked in on us. She ran away crying. The next day I didn’t get the kind of attention I liked. People called me a slut and a whore. I was no longer the queen bee. Sure the guys were all over me, but not because they liked ME. They liked my boobs and as. I was known as the “easy one”, any guy could get with me if they tried. I was desperate for attention, I stopped caring weather it was good or bad attention. It was like a drug to me; I needed it.
I dropped out of high school the summer before junior year. My parents kicked me out of the house because a “proper jewish girl” wouldn’t drop out of school. As if I learned a thing in that public school! I worked as a waitress at the local pancake house, and worked the graveyard shift at the arcade. One night a group of fancy looking men walked into the arcade. I was surprised to see them there, since it was a torn down, beat up piece of sh*t. They ordered a round of beers from the bar and played some video games. One of them, a tall black man, approached me and gave me his business card. He said “we need more beautiful women like you. Give me a call.” I didn’t know why he said that, or what he was offering. The next day I called the number on the card. It was for Ford modeling agency. They asked me to come in! I put on my nicest clothing, which was a green flowy dress from Walmart and blue ballerina flats with a hole in the left heel. I caked on concealer that was 3 shades too dark, and pink blush. I took the 2 hour train ride into downtown LA. Walking down the street I felt a sense of home, like this is where I should be. Surrounded with designer clothing that I had only seen in magazines. I walked into the air conditioned lobby of the high-rise that contained my future. As you already know, I got the modeling job…and that is really when my life began. My first job was small: I modeled for a local clothing magazine. As months went by, I became more and more recognized by famous designers. My big break was in the fall of 2009 when I was chosen to be in the Dolce and Gabbana fashion show. With all my money saved up I moved into downtown LA. Within the first months of living there I went to parties and tried things I had never imagined. I threw parties. The cops came. My agency always bailed me out…since I was the star of the show. I had the attention I was longing for. Life was perfect. I was living the LA dream: Alcohol, parties and drugs. I could do what ever I wanted, as long it didn't make me fat. I usually threw up after every meal so I could fit into the sample size. I was hospitalized once because I wasn’t getting enough iron in my body. I was never over 100 pounds. Not until the accident. It was on Saturday, May 30, 2013. It was late and I was coming back from a party. I hadn’t had anything to drink that night because the next day was the Chanel fashion show, and I was supposed to be in the finale. I was driving back to my apartment from the suburbs. The highway was almost completely empty. Blasting Lana Del Rey from my iPhone, I was driving fast in my new bright blue Mercedes convertible. That is until a car came up right next to me and swerved. It was the longest moment of my life; rolling, spinning, rolling, then darkness. I woke up in the hospital with my mother and father who I hadn’t seen since I moved out. I tried to move but I couldn’t. I screamed and the doctors came rushing in. They told me what happened, and how I would never be able to walk again. I looked in the unforgiving mirror on the bedside table. I knew from that point on that my looks would no longer be able to subsidize my life style. I moved back in with my parents. All my clothing could barley fit into that small closet. On the rare occasion people will still recognize me as that famous model, they never understand what happened. I still don’t understand what happened. Every morning I look at the reflection of my self in the mirror, reminiscing about the the days when I was beautiful.
