Turns Out
More
than I thought.
possible. Turns out
more
than I wanted to.
Turns out I’ve
gone through a lot
more
of that quarter
ounce than I
realized. It’s
almost
gone and so is
my car and most
of my money,
gone
just like Christmas,
spent mostly alone,
like a downtown wino,
nothing
much to live for, no
better place to go,
too many hours
left
before tomorrow
arrives, bringing with
it,…what?
Nothing.
When They Finally
Come through the door,
one little girl fast asleep on
the shoulder of each guy,
I am very high. And also
a little bit out of my mind.
With the kids in bed, the guys
want to party. I’ve partied
solo for hours. Can I party
more, just because I have
company? [No-brainer. Ha!]
Smoking ice is the weirdest
thing. I mean, one minute
you’re totally pissed at the world
(not to mention the people
who populate the place).
The next, all is forgiven,
everything right, and you
can’t really remember why
you were so mad in the first
place. It’s irritating because one
of life’s true joys is being
righteously angry about
something. But load the pipe
and the “righteous” part
vanishes in a puff of smoke.
Smoke
There’s been a lot of that,
in and out of my lungs,
in and out of my room,
in and out of my life, for
the past two-point-five weeks.
It’s Friday, the eleventh
of January. Trey and I have
been together the entire
time, a long, spectacular
semester break, almost over.
My car is out of impound,
thanks to a generous loan
from Brad. I asked Mom,
but she was still pissed
about Christmas and told
me to come up with the two
hundred sixty bucks on my
own. I tried Leigh, too, but
she’s tapped out from her
trip. Airfare isn’t cheap.
Brad’s tow buddy brought
the LTD home. It’s in the garage,
in need of a new radiator.
The nose-down gig sent the fan
smack through the old one.
That will have to wait until
I come up with a few hundred
dollars. The car can use a little
bodywork, too, but not much.
Those classic Fords are tough.
And anyway, Old Man Winter
has seriously arrived. More than
five feet of snow have fallen.
Not enough plows to go around,
even the streets are piled high.
No way could I maneuver icy
avenues. Trey’s Mustang isn’t
exactly a snow-country car either.
He finally broke down and bought
tire chains so we could go somewhere.
Mostly we’ve stayed inside,
watching Pay Per View, pulling
domestic duty, playing with the girls—
and each other. Just like an old
married couple, Brad observed.
Trey begged to differ. Except
we’re not old, and I don’t think
too many married couples stay
up half the night, smoking glass
and playing kinky games.
That piqued Brad’s interest.
Oh, do tell me more. I’m living
vicariously through the two
of you, I hope you know.
Please feed my imagination.
Trey looked at me, and Kristina
flinched but Bree knew just what
to say. “Maybe someday we’ll let
you watch. Until then, your
imagination will have to go hungry.”
Damn, she is brave! I still can’t
believe she and Kristina share
a brain—or a mouth. And now
that Trey has to leave, I hope she
can show me how to stay strong.
Highlights of the Last Two Weeks
One:
Sledding with the girls on a long, wide
track down a
nearby hill. Towing them up, pushing
them off, watching
them laugh—really laugh—for
the first time,
according to Brad, since their
mommy went away.
Bonus:
Hauling out-of-control
down that hill, safe in Trey’s arms.
Two:
New Year’s Eve with Trey and Brad,
after having made
ourselves eat and sleep for a couple
of days. Feeling
hopeful, like the resolutions I made
(less meth, more
family, and all the Trey I can get)
are within reach.
Bonus:
Staying up after
midnight without feeling sleepy.
Three:
Introducing Trey to Leigh and Heather.
Okay, Heather
didn’t really much matter, but it meant
everything for Leigh
to have met the guy I’m in love with.
I’m glad she agreed
to hook up with us, even though
Mom was livid.
Bonus:
She brought Hunter
along. And yes, he remembered me.
Every High
Has an equal, measurable low:
One:
Baking cookies with the girls. Slice-
and-bake dough,
a brand-new oven, and spotless
Teflon cookie sheets,
and no matter how hard I tried, how diligently
I watched them, I burned every
single batch.
Bonus:
LaTreya’s observation:
Mommy never burned the cookies.
Two:
My first real argument with Trey,
after a three-day
bender, both of us booming toward
a major crash.
He had the nerve to mention this
girl in Stockton
who has a thing for him, and tell me she’s cute.
Bonus:
This fabulous information:
If I wasn’t with you, I’d be with her.
Three:
That schizoid, blank-brain state
that accompanies
every total crash. Forcing yourself
into that state
because you know you have to
crash or die.
Sweating. Shaking. Running
to the bathroom.
Bonus:
Remembering Leigh’s words:
Throwing up? Kristina, you’re not…
I Haven’t Mentioned the Possibility
To Trey, because I don’t really believe
it’s possible. I mean, I haven’t even
had a period yet, not since giving birth.
Think, Kristina, back to eighth-grade sex ed.
How long after having a baby until you’re
fertile? Doesn’t breast-feeding delay that?
[Yeah, like yo
u breast-fed so long!]
Maybe it is possible. But not probable.
I guess I should go on the pill. But those
ob-gyn visits…I haven’t even gone in
for my postpartum checkup, and I wasn’t
supposed to have sex again until after
some icky doctor with plastered-on
concern put his gooey latex gloves
in unmentionable places; pushed
here, poked there, manipulated
internal organs, assessing any damage;
and finally, like the act could be a gift,
checking mammary glands for signs
of blockage. [Whose gift—his or mine?]
Nope, I didn’t exactly hurry in for that.
Too late now. [Hopefully not too, too late.]
Shut up. I can’t be pregnant because I won’t
be pregnant. There, I’ve made up my mind.
But Lying Here
Next to Trey, who has somehow
managed to attain sleep on our
last night together, possibility
piles on possibility.
Possibly,
I’m pregnant.
Possibly,
I’ve damaged the baby.
Possibly,
I will choose to abort.
Possibly,
Trey won’t support me,
won’t even come back to me.
Possibly,
he’ll settle down with the pretty
girl in Stockton.
Possibly,
he’ll settle down with some
other pretty girl in Stockton.
Probably,
he’ll break my heart because
definitely,
I am totally in love with him.
I listen to the shallow in-and-out
of his breathing, reach
for the warmth of him,
draw it into the bitter cold
well in the pit of my stomach.
I will not sleep tonight.
I will cry.
In the White Shadow of Morning
He reaches for
me. Rains down
on me, showers
me with ecstasy.
My tears fall
upon the pillow,
fall upon his skin.
It drinks them in.
Don’t cry, he
soothes. You know
I love you, will
never hurt you.
But hurt pounds
against me now,
a hammer of pain
beating my heart.
I crawl into his
arms, lay my head
against his shoulder,
a fearful child.
“I know you have
to go. But I don’t
know how to let
you. So just go.”
The Door Closes
behind him.
I pretend he’s
just gone to
the kitchen.
I worried all
last night. I’m
all worried out.
All smoked out.
All talked out.
Sleep hovers,
just there, and
I reach for it so
I won’t hear the
girls’ good-byes,
the Mustang’s rev,
the tink-tink of its
chains against
the pavement.
Chains against
the icy pavement.
Chains against
the snow. It’s
snowing, I think.
Snowing in my
brain. I close my
eyes, give myself
up to the blizzard.
A Kiss Falls Softly
On my forehead, coaxes
me awake. A kiss? Trey?
Did Trey come back already?
How long have I slept?
Wake up, Kristina. No, not
Trey. I open my eyes.
Brad smiles. I was starting
to worry. You’ve been asleep
since yesterday. Trey called
to let you know he made
it back okay. I asked if I should
wake you, but he said no.
The blizzard has cleared,
but I’m still pretty fuzzy.
The light is soft, secretive.
“What time is it, anyway?”
After three. You’ve been
out for almost thirty hours.
Even the girls were starting
to ask where you were.
I’m making a pot roast
for dinner. You could probably
use some food too. Do you
think you can eat?
“I’m starving!” I look into
his eyes, find a stew of concern
and humor, which I tap into. “In
He laughs. I’ll keep that
in mind. Maybe for dessert?
Anyway, we’re watching
Harry Potter. Come on down
and join us, if you want.
Meanwhile, I’ll let the girls
know you haven’t left like
their mother, after all.
I Still Haven’t Left
Five weeks since Trey went
back to school, and life as a nanny
has become the status quo.
It isn’t really hard most
of the time. LaTreya leaves
for school at eight A.M.
Devon is in P.M. kindergarten.
She catches the bus at eleven.
The two ride home together.
So I have several hours each day
to myself. Funny thing is, except
for the easy supply of meth,
life isn’t much different here
than it was at home. I still get up,
have breakfast [or not], study
for my GED, which I plan to take
next month. Only now I care for
for a stranger’s children instead
of my own baby. Okay, that’s not
fair. Brad hardly qualifies as
a stranger. He’s become a real
friend, not to mention an ear for
my semi-demented ramblings,
mostly about Trey, who still
hasn’t learned to call. When he
first left, it was easy to believe
he was just too busy with settling
into the new semester. But now
I’m starting to think he has settled
into his pretty new girlfriend.
Don’t worry is Brad’s learned
council. Trey has never been
a master communicator.
But the fact is, I’m lonely, way
out here in Red Rock, still no
transportation, and no company
during the day but a couple of kids.
They’ve warmed up to me some,
but I will never be Mommy.
Trey manages to touch base
maybe once or twice a week.
Not enough. Not enough.
And there’s not enough crystal
between here and Mexico to combat
my growing sense of isolation.
Alone
Everything changes.
You might call it
distorted
reality
and as much as I once
might have disagreed,
now the silence
closes in,
like in those B
scary movies where
a crypt forms around you,
walls you in,
brick by invisible
brick, regret the mortar
sealing the chinks,
until
there’s only a tiny hole
left, one pinhole
between you and
suffocatio
n.
One Good Thing
I finally started my period,
the bad part of that being that it
was a doozy. I bled like a butchered
pig for over a week. Don’t
know if that means I miscarried
or my body just jumped back
in, balls out. Either way, I’m not
pregnant. And that is a very good
thing, especially now that it’s over.
I’m marking the date on my
calendar so I have some idea
when to start being careful.
Oops. Don’t have to be careful.
Trey won’t be home until spring
break, and that’s still weeks away.
[Remember that ob-gyn thing?]
Yeah, yeah. I’ll get around to it,
maybe even before spring break.
Jeez, maybe I can’t get pregnant.
Maybe having a baby at seventeen
screwed up my uterus, confused
my hormones. [Wishful thinker,
aren’t you?] Anyway, I’m safe
for now. A couple fewer possibilities.
Brad Is a Little Late Tonight
Stopped to see my Mexican amigo,
he explains. Es muy bueno!
The new batch is really good.
Why is it I don’t doubt that?
As we eat dinner, my stomach
churns in anticipation. I can’t
afford to buy much, but I hope—