long while, but finally we both
ascend about as high as two people
can. Despite the glass, we float
in a sea of exhaustion. Trey whispers,
Please stay with me tonight.
Cushioned by his arms, it occurs
to me that I’ve never actually slept
with a guy before—never had
the chance. But I love being knotted
together with him. “I’ll stay. Wait.
I have to work in the morning.”
He stirs, disappointed. [Call in
sick.] “Never mind. I’ll call in sick.”
We Drift Toward Sleep
Never quite get all the way there,
but tangled in the warmth of Trey,
I’m glad I’m semiconscious.
At some point I hear noise downstairs,
so I know Brad and his daughters
have returned safely home.
Safe. That’s how I feel. Safely home,
in Trey’s arms. And some stupid
part of me mumbles, “I love you.”
He moves and I wonder if he’ll
get out of bed, make that wide U-ey.
Instead, a rain of soft kisses falls
over me. And suddenly, we’re making
love again. Sweaty, wonderful, don’t-
want-to-sleep-anyway love. When we
finish, Trey props himself on one elbow,
looks into my eyes, kisses my forehead
and says, I love you, too, Kristina.
I’ve only ever said that to one girl
before. Maryann Murphy. We were
twelve and I had this major crush on her.
Still dazed by his declaration,
I smile at this confession. “And
what did Maryann say to you?”
He laughs. She said, “Eyew! Gross!”
Damaged me for a long time. He pulls
me back into his arms. Fix me.
I Must Have Dozed Off
Because I wake to an assault
of midmorning sun and,
somewhere close (outside?),
children’s laughter. It takes
several long seconds to
remember where I am, all
that happened last night.
I was with Trey, slept here
with Trey, confessed to Trey
that I love him. And Trey told
me he loves me, too. Me and
Maryann Murphy. Trey loves
me. Trey! Where is he, anyway?
Beside me, the bed is empty.
I’d say it must have all
been a dream, but this
is most definitely not
my bedroom. Suddenly
I notice, in the adjacent
room, the sound of a shower.
I could definitely use one too.
I rouse myself, climb naked
from bed, and am already
through the bathroom door
when it occurs to me it might
not be Trey in the shower.
I take a quick peek. It’s Trey,
all right, in all his soapy glory.
“Morning. Mind if I join
you? I’ll wash your back.”
Trey invites me to share
the hot water and after
I wash his back, he says,
Turnaround’s fair play. He
washes more than my back.
By the Time
We’re scrubbed and dressed,
the clock says 11:16
and I’m glad I called work
last night, even if I did have
to talk to Grade E.
Sick, huh? Grady’s voice
dripped skepticism.
Okay, I’ll let Midge know.
Thinking about it now,
however, I realize I didn’t
call home. Mom was already
pissed. Now, most likely,
she’s worried, too.
Before I can remedy that,
Trey says, Come here.
Look out the window.
I can’t believe it! While
Trey and I were all wrapped
up in each other, it snowed.
And snowed. Inches of white
cover everything in sight.
Including Trey’s car. Hmm.
I don’t have chains. Wonder how
the Mustang handles in snow.
I slide my hand into his.
“I don’t have to work today.
Might be a good excuse to
of something to do, that is.”
Doing nothing—with you—
might be nice. I don’t have
anywhere I need to go.
First things first. “I have
to call home. My mom
probably thinks we slid off
into a snowbank. Give me
a kiss for courage.”
Mom May Be Worried
But she chooses an entirely
different tack than I expected.
You think I don’t know what’s up
with you? Why you don’t eat?
Why we catch you awake all
hours of the day? Why you stutter
your way through simple sentences?
How dense do you think we are?
You’re using. I can smell
the speed, the tobacco, too.
Cigarettes aren’t illegal, but
crystal meth is, and I won’t have
that stuff in my house. Why would
you bring it around your baby?
You’re right. You’re eighteen now.
It’s your life, so maybe I shouldn’t
worry about how you live it. But
you’re still my daughter and I love you.
We’ll get you help if you need it.
But you have to stop, and stop now.
You’re a danger to your baby.
You’re a danger to yourself.
So okay. Stay with this new guy.
Get him out of your system.
But don’t ever bring him home.
And do not come back here stoned.
Oh. By the way. A Kevin from work
called you. He wants you to come
in Sunday to make up for today.
He left a number for you to call….
Click. She’s gone. That was way
too easy. That was way too hard.
They Know I’m Using
Want me to stop, and I know
I should. But I don’t want to.
Don’t even know if I could.
I want to use right now, in fact.
And guess what. I’m not home,
am I? “Can we catch a buzz?”
Uh, sure. Hey, are you okay?
What did your mom say?
I’m not going to tell him,
don’t want him to know.
“She said work called.”
He looks into my eyes.
Nothing about snowbanks?
Nothing about snow,
plenty about ice. I smile.
“Nope. Nothing at all.”
He senses something.
So…what’s wrong?
What can I tell him? That
everything has changed,
everything is changing still?
That even though I wanted
that change, initiated it, fueled
it, part of me wants to go back
to last summer, before Bree
reawakened, before I went
looking for the monster.
Before I met Trey. Should I
say that, even though he has assuaged
certain hungers, brought me
to a level of love I didn’t believe
I would ever experience, fear
of losing him later makes me
think it might be better to lose
him now? [Don’t even think it. You
don’t want to lose him ever.]
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect.”
It’s Late Saturday Afternoon
Before Trey takes me home.
Two whole days, and two
whole nights, together.
We played in the snow
with the girls, watched
movies on Pay Per View.
Got high, talked with Brad.
Talked with each other. Kissed.
Talked. Kissed some more.
Last night was magical,
filled with monster-fed sensations,
sleepless hours in each other’s
arms and declarations of love.
Night spilled well into morning.
I wanted it never to end.
But all great things must
end sooner or later. The plows
have been busy, the roads
cleared. Trey has to go
back to Stockton. And I
have to go home.
Before we leave, Trey and Brad
wander off for a private
conversation. Nosy me
eavesdrops as best I can.
I don’t hear all the details, but
do understand that Brad is fronting
Trey a quantity above and beyond
his personal stash. What I learn
isn’t surprising, but does make me
worry a little. Trey, it seems, buys
books and food by dealing at UOP.
I ask Trey to make a stop
on the way. I run into Target
for a lockbox, large enough
for a stash and some money,
small enough to fit under
the seat of my car. No way
will I bring anything in the
house. From now on, it will
reside in the LTD.
Trey pulls to a stop at the bottom
of our driveway. I told him it’s
steep and icy, both true. Didn’t
mention my mom’s orders
never to bring him around.
I’ll be back at the semester
break, he says. We’ll have lots
of time together then. You gonna
miss me, little girl?
I’m going to go totally crazy
without him. “Of course
I’ll miss you. More than
I can possibly tell you. Please
be careful, and promise you’ll
call me!” At least I’ll know he’s
safe and thinking about me.
I promise. But the phone
works both directions. You
can always call me. If I don’t
pick up, leave a message.
I’ll call you back. He watches
me lock up my valuables,
then kisses a soft, sad good-bye.
I’ve Got a Good Idea
What’s waiting for me inside.
I’m strung. Tired. Scared
I’ll never see Trey again,
despite his vows of love.
Mom is going to yell.
Scott is going to yell.
Jake will watch, with some
sort of bent satisfaction.
Hunter will cry, and I’ll bloat
with guilt for not loving him better.
By the time I reach the front
door, I’ve built a barrier against
all that. Don’t want to hear
it. Refuse to hear it. All I want
to do is lie on my bed, listen
to music through headphones,
think about being with Trey,
dream about the semester break.
Suddenly I feel angry. Out
of-control pissed off at the world.
I yank open the door, slam
it shut behind me. Scott stomps
in from the kitchen. What the hell
was that about? Did you have
a fight with your boyfriend?
The last word drips vitriol.
If you think you can disrespect
my house in this way, you’d
better think about living
somewhere else. Understand?
Obviously, they’ve been
discussing options. Like
kicking me out of here. Mom
comes up behind Scott, carrying
a smiling Hunter, and it comes
to me that I have the means
to hurt her more than she can
hurt me. “Go ahead. Kick me
out. Hunter and I will go live
with Dad in Albuquerque.”
Okay, that was semivicious.
The look on Mom’s face
is indescribable—a mixture
of disbelief, panic, and rage.
She tries to sputter an answer,
but Scott interrupts her. Over
my dead body will you take
this baby out of here. Have
you gone completely insane?
He would be dead in a week.
What is he talking about?
The anger, hot and red inside
me, boils over completely.
“Do you really think I’d kill
my fucking baby? What kind
of a person do you think I am?”
I notice Jake, standing in the
archway, staring. “What the fuck
are you looking at, you
freaking little monster?”
Now Hunter does start to cry.
I reach toward him, but Mom
shakes her head. No. Jake,
please take Hunter upstairs.
I expect a heated spew, but
she stays completely calm.
Look at yourself, Kristina.
You’re incapable of caring
for a baby. You’re off the deep
end. Do you want to drown him, too?
Her words bring back a dream
I had when I was pregnant.
A dream about Hunter drowning.
Suddenly it’s Bree I want to drown.
Bree and the fucking monster.
Tears well up, unbidden, and I
have no chance at stopping
them from falling. I want to die.
But all I can say at this moment
is, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Not Exactly Forgiven
SEMICONSCIOUS
On my big bed, swathed in mauve, almost catatonic,
some part of me does understand that I have deserted
my motherhood post, gone AWOL, at the urging of the
the enemy—the monster. But I think, if I can only sleep,
I’ll find a way back to the company of my family. They
have to forgive me, fold me in. Prodigal daughter, kill
the fatted lamb. The image comforts me. But not as much
as knowing I’ve still got a fat stash of ice in my car, safe
inside its lockbox. And I’ve still got Trey, safe in memory.
November Empties
Into December and life
has taken on a certain
rhythm.
Bumpy,
you might call it.
Work. Home. Work
again, all
up and down.
I’ve tried to keep
cool about my use.
But I can’t not get
high,
especially in the early
A.M., have to get to work,
deal with that crap.
And
then I go home, deal
with that crap too.
That brings me down, way
low,
especially since I’ve only
heard from Trey twice
in two weeks.
Still,
Mom and Scott have tried
to leave me alone. In fact,
; they’ve remained mostly
silent,
despite their assessing
stares, which must confirm
every suspicion. Hunter
cries
a lot, it seems. I do my best
to comfort him, but I’m
starting to think he
screams
because he sees me as a
stranger, like I’m the baby-
sitter. Guilt
rages
in me, but only when
I finally come down enough
to really think about it.
Today I’m Coming Down
It will be a fast crash,
and for that I’m grateful.
My body aches. My brain
feels like mush. I need sleep,
even more than I need food.
Recognizing those needs,
I haven’t played with
the monster for two days.
Work today was impossible.
I don’t know how I made it through.
Now I’m home, and Mom
says, I’m going to the gym
and then I’ve got some errands
to run. Jake is at practice.
You’ll have to watch Hunter.
“Sure. No problem,” I say,
knowing full well that it might
be a problem. I give him a bottle,
lay him on a big quilt on the living
room floor, plop down beside him,
close my eyes. Tread a pool
of murky water, dreams gone
stagnant, or brewing dementia.
Somewhere I hear a baby gurgling,
giggling, cooing. Somewhere I hear
a baby fussing. Crying. Screeching…
But I can’t wake up. Don’t want
to leave this place so very near
sleep. I have to. Can’t. Have to.