Long pause. Then, I’m not
really sure. Can I help
you with anything else?
Something’s up with her.
I’m not really looking
for Trent, anyway. “Yes.
Can you tell me how
to get hold of Robyn?”
Longer pause. Uh, you
know, she was moving
out of the dorm, into
an apartment. I’m not sure…
Things are growing clearer.
“Is there a problem, Mrs.
Rosselli? I just want to
catch up with old friends.”
The longest pause of all.
You’re not their friend,
Kristina. You’re nothing
but trouble they don’t need.
Stung
But not really smarting,
I could tell her that
both of her children
need all the friends
the ycan get—trouble
or not. One is eighteen
and gay, in a city where
homosexuality is almost
as dirty a word as “Democrat.”
The other will be lucky
to finish her freshman year
in college—too much time
buying affection with an
omnipresent speed stash.
But saying that won’t suit
either of us at the moment.
“I’m not sure what you mean,
Mrs. Rosselli. I’ve made some
mistakes, yes. But I’m working
hard to straighten myself out.
Having friends in my life—
good friends, on the right
track themselves—is one
thing I desperately need.
I apologize if I’ve ever
done anything to offend
you, or to hurt Robyn or
Trent. I don’t believe I
have, but if you think
so, please let me make
it up to you.” Oh yeah,
I’m back in the game,
and damn does it feel great!
Not Only That
But it works.
I’m sorry, Kristina.
I shouldn’t be so judgmental.
“That’s okay, Mrs. Rosselli.
I understand your feelings.”
Trent works for a lawyer
after school. He usually
gets home around six.
“A lawyer? Wonderful!
I know he wanted to go
to law school….”
Robyn’s at UOP in
Stockton. She still has
her old cell number, 775…
“Thank you so much.
I’ll call Trent later. Please
tell him I was in touch.”
I will. And how’s that
baby? Growing like
corn, I’ll wager.
Growing like corn?
Whatever. “He’s beautiful,
thanks. Looks just like me.”
She chuckles. I bet he
does. Take care, Kristina.
“You too, Mrs. Rosselli.”
I click the phone dead,
dial another number.
“Hey, Robyn. It’s Kristina.
What’s up?”
She Sounds
Strung,
like her brain is
disconnected
from her mouth.
Don’t get me
wrong.
I remember that
feeling well—
knowing
exactly what you
want to say, but
your
lips can’t quite
manage the
correct
combination of vowels
and consonants
to form the
words.
Could be a bad sign.
Anyone that
incapable
of cohesive language
could very well be
crashing—another way
of saying
Robyn is definitely
still using, but might
be out at the moment,
a sentence
worse than death for
a regular tweaker.
How bad is my timing?
Let’s Find Out
K-Kristina?
“C’mon, Robyn. It
hasn’t been that long.”
Oh, yeah, right.
Kristina. Whatcha
been up to?
“Not much. Studying
for my GED. Taking
care of my baby.”
Sounds…like not
a lot of fun.
“Which is exactly why
I’m calling you.”
Oh, yeah, right.
Well, I could maybe
help you out there.
“Very cool. I have to
see if I can borrow a car.
How about tomorrow?”
That would probably
work. I’m in class
until four.
She can do classes,
sounding like that?
“Okay. I’ll work on
the car and give you
a buzz tomorrow.”
Oh, yeah, right.
Uh, Kristina? Come
alone, okay?
Tweaker talk for
This better not be a bust.
“Not a problem, Robyn.
All I want is to get my head.”
Thinking about it,
I’m starting to want
that real bad.
But First
I have to convince my mom to lend
me her car, and to babysit
Hunter—all on a Friday
night. Party night, for
almost every
partier in
America.
Hell, it’s the
American Way, as
I think almost everyone
will agree. Get out of school
or off work, put on clean clothes,
and look for a way to escape reality—
whether that’s with alcohol, weed, or
my all-time favorite: speed.
Pot and beer mostly make
me tired. I only used
to use them when
I was buzzed up
real high,
didn’t
mind slowing
down a little. But I
haven’t done any of that
in way too long. Being good
all the time isn’t just hard. It’s damn
boring. There’s more to life than babies
and books, and I’m overdue to go out
and find a little fun. First things
first. I have to find a way
to Stockton. All it
will take, I hope,
is the perfect
little (okay,
big) lie.
I’m Out of Practice
Not having had to manufacture
a lie in quite a long time.
I have to say, that isn’t a bad
place to be, where you don’t
have to lie. Everything is just
so much easier when you don’t
have to remember what you
told who, and when, and why.
What is simply is. But not
anymore, I guess. Now I have
to not only come up with a reason
to go, but also to remember exactly
what it was, no matter how tweaked
I might be when I get home.
Tweaked! It takes a modicum
of thinking, but within an hour or so,
I invent a great (I think) excuse.
It’s a Doozer
“Mom, is there any
way I could borrow
your car? There’s a
college fair I want to
check out tomorrow,
over in Sacramento.
It starts around four
and should go until
eight” (1 think
that will give me
plenty of time to
hook up with Robyn—
even if she isn’t
exactly on time—
score, toot a little,
and start back.)
“I’d ask you to come along, but I
need you to watch Hunter. I can’t
really take him with me. If it makes
you feel better, I’ll invite Trent to
ride along. He can visit his sister.”
College
fair?
Don’t you want me
to go along with
you? You’ve
never driven
that far by your
It’s aself.
three-
hour trip, you
know, not easy.
I Will Invite Him Too
Of course, I know he
has to work until five thirty.
But at least if it comes up
in conversation, I can
tell Mom I asked,
but he had other plans.
I call about eight.
“Hey, Trent. It’s Kristina.
Long time, no talk.
“I heard you’re working
for a lawyer. Hope
he’s really cute!”
Trent hesitates, not
at all sure why I’m striking
up a conversation.
He’s not bad, actually.
But that can’t be why
you called. What’s up?
To the point, and why
not? We haven’t spoken
since before I had Hunter.
“Actually, I’m driving over
to Stockton tomorrow
afternoon and wondered
if you’d like to ride along.
I thought you might like
to drop in on Robyn.”
Thanks for thinking
of me, Kristina. But
I have to work and
even if I didn’t, I
wouldn’t go. Robyn
is on a fast track to death.
“What do you mean?”
Like I don’t know
exactly what he means.
If you don’t know, you
haven’t seen her lately.
And if you haven’t
seen her lately, I suggest
you steer clear. She’ll
take you down with her.
Kristina, we haven’t
hung out together
for a while, but you’ve
always been a good friend
to me. Let me offer you
a good friend’s advice.
Stay away from Robyn.
And if you see her coming,
run the other way.
Tonight
Sleep is impossible,
anticipation swelling
and ebbing like some
sort of crazy tide.
Strange,
how when I close my
eyes, try to concentrate
on that little door between
them that opens into
dreams,
I fee l high already,
locked in a battle
between the need to dive
into REM slumber and the
desire
to start the damn party
already! I remember
that awful tug-of-war well.
So why jump right back in,
release
the monster to stalk
my days, haunt my nights;
to bite through my skull
and suck on my brain?
From
a purely omniscient
point of view, it makes
no sense whatsoever. I
have freed myself from
physical
addiction, no rehab but
to endure sweating, puking,
and cardiovascular jumping
jacks. The mental
bonds,
however, seem as strong
as ever, and the piece
of me that recognizes
that knows I might be
making a very big mistake.
Maybe That’s Why
When Hunter makes
his daily plea for
a three A.M. breast
milk feast, I call
to Mom, “I’ll handle it.”
He’s now four months
old, and drinking
formula supplements
decision on my part.
I had hoped to have
him weaned—and my
breasts completely
my own again—
within five months.
My new game plan
will expedite that
schedule, I realize,
and I have to admit,
that makes me sad.
I change his diaper,
marveling for about
the millionth time at
his perfect little body.
The body I created.
All clean and dry,
I carry him back
to my bed, cradle
him in one pillowed
arm, unbutton my top.
And as the milk begins
to flow, so do my tears.
“Mommy loves you,
Hunter Seth. No matter
what, Mommy loves you.”
He looks up at me
with spectacular green
eyes and, around my
very sore nipple, smiles
a toothless baby smile.
Now You Might Think
That tender scene might make
me change my mind, and truthfully,
I have thought twice.
But I don’t want to think again.
I MapBlast directions to Robyn’s
apartment, load a small ice chest
with soda, to fight the wah-wahs
sure to strike on my way home.
If it gets too late, promise me
you’ll stop and spend the night,
Mom insists. Here’s some money.
She hands me a crisp $100 bill.
Suddenly it strikes me that I
haven’t even thought about the money
end of the transaction to come.
Lucky me. A hundred will just
about cover it. Still, if prices
haven’t risen with inflation,
another hundred will score
an eight ball instead of a gram.
Yeah, yeah, my thought processes
have already graduated from casual
to daily use. But I don’t want
to have to drive to Stockton
too often. Hell, an eight ball
will last me just about
forever. Won’t it?
So Where to Find
Another hundred dollars?
In lieu of an allowance,
Mom and Scott buy
diapers and baby formula.
My savings account is
still closed to me, and will be
until my eighteenth birthday.
That impressive turning point
is only a couple of weeks away,
but not soon enough to score
the monetary birthday rewards
I hope for from relatives, far
and near. No, only one place
comes to mind, an easy
place, all things considered—
Hunter’s rainy-day piggy bank.
All those very same relatives
sent him a little cash, right
after he was born. I was going
to open a college savings
account, but haven’t gotten
around to it yet. No problem.
I’ll replace it as soon as I get
my birthday stash. Meanwhile,
Hunter won’t miss it. And
neither, I hope, will Mom.
Pack an overnight bag, just
in case, she says, interrupting
my thoughts. Always a good
idea to plan for that rainy day.
She Makes It So Easy
Handing me her keys,
helping me pack, giving
me money. I’d like to
blame
her for what may come,
take dead aim and whack
this big ball of
guilt
across the net,
into her court, wait
for her well-deserved
volley.
But that wouldn’t
be accurate,
wouldn’t be
right.
I know as I climb
into the SUV, crank
the engine, that what’s
left
of Kristina will have to