walking
the wrong
direction in the fast
lane of the freeway,
waking
from sweetest
dreams to find yourself
in the middle of a
nightmare.
You Know My Story
Don’t you? All about
my dive
into the lair of the monster
drug some people call crank.
Crystal. Tina. Ice.
How a summer visit
to my dad sent me
into
the arms of a boy—a
hot-bodied hunk, my
very first love, who led
me down the path to
insanity.
How I came home
no longer
Kristina Georgia
Snow, gifted high
school junior, total
dweeb, and
perfect
daughter, but
instead a stranger
who called herself Bree.
How, no matter
how hard
Kristina
fought her, Bree
was stronger, brighter,
better equipped to deal
with a world where
everything moved at light
speed, everyone mired
in ego. Where “everyday”
became
another word
for making love with
the monster.
It Wasn’t a Long Process
I went to my dad’s in June, met Adam
the very first day. It took some time
to pry him from his girlfriend’s grasp.
But within two weeks, he introduced
me to the monster. One time was all
it took to want more. It’s a roller-
coaster ride. Catch the downhill
thrill, you want to ride again,
enough to endure the long,
hard climb back up again.
In days, I was hooked on
Adam, tobacco, and meth,
in no particular order. But
all summer vacations must
end. I had to come home to
Reno. And all my new bad
habits came with me. It was
a hella speed bump, oh yeah.
Until I hurt for it, I believed
I could leave the crystal behind.
But the crash-and-burn was more
than I could take. When the jet landed,
I was still buzzed from a good-bye binge.
My family crowded round me at the airport,
discussing summer plans and celebration dinners,
and all I wanted to do was skip off for another snort.
Mom kept trying to feed me. My stepfather, Scott, kept
trying to ask questions about my visit with Dad. My
big sister, Leigh, wanted to talk about her new girlfriend,
and my little brother, Jake, kept going on about soccer.
It didn’t take long to figure out I was in serious trouble.
Not the Kind of Trouble
You might think I’m
talking about. I was pretty
sure I could get away with
B.S.ing Mom and Scott.
I’d always been such a good
girl, they wouldn’t make the
jump to “bad” too quickly.
Especially not if I stayed cool.
I wasn’t worried about
getting busted at school
or on the street. I’d only just
begun my walk with the monster.
I still had meat on my bones,
the teeth still looked good.
I didn’t stutter yet. My mouth
could still keep up with my brain.
No, the main thing I worried
about was how I could score
there, at home. I’d never even
experimented with pot, let alone
meth. Where could I go?
Who could I trust with my
money, my secrets? I couldn’t
ask Leigh. She was the prettiest
lesbian you’ve ever seen. But
to my knowledge she had
never used anything stronger
than a hearty glass of wine.
Not Sarah, my best friend since
fourth grade, or any of my
old crowd, all of whom lived by
the code of the D.A.R.E. pledge.
I really didn’t need to worry,
of course. All I had to do
was leave things up to Bree,
the goddess of persuasion.
Before I Continue
I just want to remind you
that turning into Bree
was a conscious decision
on my part. I never really
liked Kristina that much.
Oh, some things about her
were pretty cool—how she
was loyal to her family
and friends. How she loved
easily. How she was good
at any and all things artistic.
But she was such a brain,
with no sense of fashion
or any idea how to have fun.
So when fun presented
itself, I decided someone
new would have to take charge.
That someone was Bree.
I chose her name (not sure where
I got it), chose when to become her.
What I didn’t expect was discovering
she had always been there, inside of me.
How could Kristina and Bree
live inside of one person?
How could two such different halves
make up the whole of me?
How could Bree have possibly survived,
stuck in Kristina’s daily existence?
The Funny Thing Was
Bree solved the meth dilemma on a family
trip to Wild Waters, Scott’s annual
company picnic. Sarah came
along to spend time with
Kristina. But Bree
had other things
in mind.
The first was
a truly gorgeous
lifeguard. Turned out
Brendan wasn’t so pretty
on the inside, but even Bree, who
thrived on intuition, was clueless. Hard
on the make, Brendan shared booze, cigarettes.
But one guy wasn’t quite enough. I
also ran into Chase Wagner that
day. His outside wasn’t as
attractive, but inside he
was fine. Of course,
I didn’ t know
that yet.
I found out
soon enough that
both Chase and Brendan
knew the score—and both
were interested in me. Brendan
only wanted sex; Chase offered love.
Either way, I had my path to the monster.
Later, I discovered that Robyn, my
old friend Trent’s sister (not to
mention an “in” cheerleader),
tweaked to stay thin
and “pep up.” She
taught me how
to smoke it.
It didn’t take
long to immerse
myself in the lifestyle,
Didn’t take long for school
to go to shit; for friendships and
dedication to family to falter. Didn’t
take long to become a slave to the monster.
My Mom and Stepfather
Tried to stop me before
it all went completely wrong.
Kristina spent almost a whole
year GUFN—grounded
until further notice.
But Bree was really good
at prying open windows
at night, ly
ing with a straight
face, denying she had
slipped so far downhill.
Nothing slowed me down.
Not losing my virginity
to Brendan’s rape. Not
spending a few days
in juvenile hall.
The only thing that kept
me sane was Chase’s love,
despite all I put him through.
He even swore to love me
when I told him I was pregnant.
Pregnant. And Brendan
was the father. Bree considered
abortion. Exorcism. Kristina
understood the baby was not
the demon. His father was.
But you know this part
of the story. You followed
me on my journey through
the monster’s territory.
We wound up here.
Who am I now, three
months after I left you,
standing on the deck
with me, listening to my
new baby, crying inside?
I told you then, the monster
is a way of life, one it’s
difficult to leave behind,
no matter how hard you try.
Maybe if Chase had stayed
with me, instead of running
off to California, in search
of his dreams. Then again,
I told him to go.
Maybe if I had dreams
of my own to run off in
search of. I did once.
But now I have no plans
for a perfect tomorrow.
All I have is today.
T for Today
I’d really like to tell you I have a nice little place with
a white picket fence, flowers in the garden, and Winnie-
the-Pooh, Eeyore, and Tigger, too, on baby blue nursery
walls. I’d like to inform you that I am on a fast track to
a college degree and a career in computer animation—
something I’ve aimed for, ever since I found out I could
draw. I’d love to let
you know I left the
monster screaming
in my dust, shut my
ears, scrambled back
to my family, back to
my baby, my heart. I
could tell you those
things, but they’d be
lies—nothing new for
me, true. But if all I
wrote was lies, you
wouldn’t really know
my story. I want you
to know. Not a day
passes when I don’t
think about getting
high. Strung. Getting
out of this deep well
of monotony I’m
slowly drowning in.
I Was a Junior
When I had Hunter,
a semester away from
early graduation and a hell
of a lot farther than that
away from independence.
To find freedom that even
the magic number eighteen
can’t buy, I need
a job. To get that, I need
a diploma, or at least a GED.
I have no choice but to live
at home, under the prying
eyes of my mom and Scott.
I’ll help watch the baby
until you finish school,
is Mom’s deal. If you go on to
college, the two of you
can stay as long as you like.
It’s a pretty good arrangement,
mostly because I know jack
about babies. Mom’s expertise
comes in handy, especially
in the middle of the night.
More than once, she has shaken
me awake. Hunter’s crying.
I’ll change him. You feed him.
Who knew babies could
be so obnoxious, wanting
to eat at all hours, that is?
Most of the time, my nipples
feel like puppy chew toys.
Breast-feeding isn’t easy. But you
want to give him a good start.
A good, healthy start. I know
that, of course, and figure
I owe him at least that much.
Still, I wake up every morning
exhausted, wondering
how I can make it through
the day, let alone how I’ll
manage to study for my GED.
I try to avoid mirrors. I gained
forty pounds with my pregnancy,
and Hunter only weighed in at
seven pounds, eleven ounces.
Minus placenta, water, etcetera,
that leaves about twenty pounds
of belly flab, jelly thighs,
and chipmunk cheeks I need
to lose before feeling positive
about how I look again.
And until I do that, I know
I’ll never find someone new to love.
So Maybe It Will Come
As no surprise to you that lately
I have been hearing the plea
of the monster, distant
at first but creeping closer.
Louder. Come back to me,
Kristina. Hurry back, Bree.
I closed my ears for a long
while, pleaded with it to please
shut up, please go away,
please leave me alone.
But I’m starting to come
around. Maybe a short
(and I mean no long-term
commitments!) stroll
with the monster might
slim me down, rev me up
and offer the impetus to slip
into my future, better equipped
to deal with the mindless
I Know
I should resist.
Turn
away.
Walk
away.
Run
away,
far
away,
so far
the monster will
never
find me, never
sniff
me out,
never
dare
touch
me,
never
pretend to
hear
my meager complaints,
never
get even the slightest
taste
of the fear in my heart,
never
force me to
see
what I’m afraid to see.
But Suddenly
Without
a doubt
I understand
the monster
and I are more
than friends.
We’re blood
brothers.
Or maybe
blood sisters.
(Is there
such a thing?
And does
that mean
I should
include Bree?)
That is
a forever
kind of thing.
Forever.
All I need
to do is
find a way
for the two
of us
[no, most
definitely that’s
three of us,
including
me, Bree]
to hook
up again.
You Have to Remember
It has been months since
I’ve been out looking to
score.
Chase is gone, Brendan
person non grata, my
Mexican Mafia
connect
a thing of the past.
Only one person comes
to mind, and Robyn
just might be hard to
find,
away at college in
California. And even
if I can locate my old
party
pal, how will I ever
make it over the mountain
to the Golden State? I used
to have plenty of
friends,
friends who could give
me rides. No more, and my
own wheels are in for a major
overhaul. I can’t borrow
Mom’s car to hunt down
whiff.
Can I?
I Call Trent
Robyn’s brother is an old
friend. In fact, that’s how
I know Robyn. Trent’s great,
even if he is totally straight.
Meaning he doesn’t get high.
Because when it comes to sex,
he’s 100 hundred percent gay.
And I’m fine with things that way.
Mrs. Rosselli answers on
the third ring. Hello? Oh, it’s
you. Her voice is like a hail
storm—hard, staccato, frigid.
“Hello, Mrs. Rosselli.
Is Trent there? No?
Well, do you know
when he’ll get home, then?”