Last Call for the Whiskey Girl
Justin O. Smith

I am an empath, and at more times in my life it has caused me much of my own grief – it’s the reason I feel so deeply saddened by everything I see across America that is working to destroy Her, especially as I look at the images of a sea of American faces and the despair we now see in the eyes of far too many, for all the reasons you are all too well familiar and understand.

Normally, writing is a bit of work for me that entails reams of information and long tedious hours of research, because I typically write non-fiction white papers on the most important issues of the day. But having been a student of the human experience for all of my life, sometimes my inner-most being demands that I write something that takes a deeper look at what it really means to be “human” by way of some soul-soothing fiction, written with many thought-provoking factors in mind.

I recently came across a striking black-and-white photo, with a strong vintage vibe reminiscent of the raw, soulful energy of Janis Joplin, that was entitled ‘Whiskey Girl‘. This was the umpteenth time I had seen it, since it most certainly has been in circulation for at least the past fifteen years. It was pinned by Emmy Rose in a collection entitled ‘Shoot, camera, Action!‘ this year. 

The monochrome palette of the photo adds a timeless, gritty feel. The young lady’s expression channels a rebellious, free-spirited aura, even through the overwhelming grief she appears to be experiencing, as a certain nostalgia blends with a modern edge.

And just as it always has, once more it elicited a strong emotional response from me, in haunting fashion, speaking to the unimaginable hurt and grief that we humans too often experience all across our lives for any number of reasons – loss of a cherished loved one by divorce or death.

However the hurt arrives, it can be so strong at times that it debilitates a person and numbs them to the world around them.

I initially posted the photo with a short commentary a few days ago:

“A photo really is worth a thousand words. This one evokes so many thoughts and emotions, as it projects the harsh reality of life and illustrates that life can beat some of us down into the last few moments of our despair, when all hope seems to be lost and we are all alone, no matter how we got there.

I wish I knew the backstory to this photograph, and whether or not it was staged as art imitating life or depicts a real young lady in the midst of dealing with real sorrow and grief, over something terrible in her life, or maybe just because her life had become so miserable.”

After researching this photo, it seems it was supposedly inspired by Kerry Summerville, who often played alongside singer/songwriter Toby Keith. Keith wrote and performed a song called ‘Whiskey Girl‘ in 2004. It turns out that this photo is more than likely simply a matter of art imitating life in amazing fashion – a deliberate composition meant to evoke raw emotion, solitude and the weight of despair, part of a broader visual archetype which blends rebellion, sensuality and vulnerability in a way that very nearly every human on the planet understands and has quite possibly experienced more than once for themselves.

The power of this photo lies in how convincingly it channels real emotion. The slumped posture, the dim lighting, the bottle – these elements are visual metaphors for grief, loneliness, and the quiet unraveling of someone’s spirit. Whether or not the subject was truly heartbroken, the image resonates because it mirrors something deeply human: the moments when we feel unseen, unheard, and undone.

This photo carries a silent scream. And maybe that’s the point: even if the woman wasn’t experiencing real sorrow in that moment, the image gives voice to those who are. It becomes a vessel for collective empathy.

It inspired me to write the following short bit of prose, as I attempted to offer an explanation for this young lady’s overwhelming sorrow:

‘Last Call’

The bar had emptied hours ago, but she stayed. Not for the whiskey. Not for the silence. But because leaving meant facing the echo of what wasn’t anymore.

Her name was Claire once. Before the phone call. Before the accident. Before the world split into before and after.

She didn’t cry – not in the way people expect. Her grief was quieter, like a song played on a broken piano. She wore it like a leather jacket: heavy, familiar, and impossible to take off.

The bartender had stopped asking if she wanted another. He knew better. She wasn’t drinking to forget. She was drinking to remember – the way his laugh filled a room, the way her heart used to race when she saw his headlights pull into the driveway.

Now, headlights just meant someone else was going home. And she wasn’t.

The bottle sat beside her like a companion. Not a friend. Just someone who didn’t ask questions.

She lit a cigarette she didn’t want. Watched the smoke curl like memories. And wondered if anyone ever really knew how close someone could be to the edge without making a sound.

Outside, the world kept spinning. Inside, she stayed still. Not broken. Just paused.

And maybe tomorrow, she’d move again.

 

Justin O. Smith has lived in Tennessee off and on most of his adult life, and graduated from Middle Tennessee State University in 1980, with a B.S. and a double major in International Relations and Cultural Geography – minors in Military Science and English, for what its worth. His real education started from that point on. Smith worked 8 years for the LaVergne Fire Department – two years as their clean-up boy – and became a working fireman at age 16, working his way through college and subsequently joining the U.S. Army. Since then he primarily have contracted construction and traveled – spending quite a bit of time up and down the Columbia River Gorge, in the Puget Sound on Whidby Island and down around Ft. Lauderdale and South Beach. Justin currently writes a weekly column for The Rutherford Reader in Murfreesboro, TN, which he calls home, in addition to being a frequent contributor to the Federal Observer – and spend as much time as possible with his two beautiful and intelligent daughters and five grandchildren. Justin Love God, Family and Our Majestic and Wonderful America, and am a Son of Liberty.

 

 

 

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