Being with Trey twenty-
four, seven? A dream.
I could get a job. And
your baby could live with
us too, if you want….
Trey, Hunter, and me, like
a real family? This is starting
to sound pretty serious.
We’ll need some money
for furniture and stuff.
Maybe we could sell
this car. We’ll only need
one, right? I think mine is
probably more reliable….
He talks all the way back
to the motel about how we
can make it all work out.
By the time we park the
car and go upstairs, my life
has shifted gears, again.
It All Sounded So Easy
But a number of obstacles
popped up right away.
Getting an apartment
when you don’t have a job
is tough. I guess they want
to know the rent will happen.
Getting a job
when all you want to do
is get high isn’t exactly
a priority. Anyway, dealing
is much easier than
working for a living.
But you can’t really put
“dealer” under “occupation”
on the rental application.
Convincing a manager
took a fair amount of lying,
and Brad’s cooperation.
And, with Angela squarely
in the way, that
wasn’t easy either.
But blood is thicker than
marriage. Brad didn’t
really give Trey a job.
He just said he did.
Selling an old LTD,
classic or not, took a little
time too. And now that it’s gone,
I feel bad. It was all I had
that was really my own. But
with gas so expensive,
it’s probably best. So now
Trey and I have a place,
garage-sale furniture, his
Mustang. Each other.
And a bottomless supply
of the monster.
May I Just Say
That moving in with someone
isn’t as easy as it sounds either.
You both have habits, good
and not-so. Sometimes those
habits grate on each other’s
nerves, especially when you’re
wired. Especially, especially
when you’re coming down.
You have different tastes,
in TV shows, music, and food.
Compromise can be difficult
to reach, especially when you’re
wired. Especially, especially
when you’re coming down.
I do love Trey, and being with
him is exponentially better than
being alone. Especially when
I’m wired. But not so much
when I’m coming down. That’s
when those little differences
really get on my nerves. Then we
argue. Sometimes we fight.
Always, we make up with heart
felt apologies and great sex.
So maybe the compromise
is worth it, after all.
The Scariest Thing
I’m facing now is trying to get
Hunter out of my mother’s grasp.
But he is my baby, damnit.
Finally, I find the courage to call.
“Hi, Mom. Trey and I are all set
up in our own apartment.
We want to bring Hunter for
a visit. Can we come pick him
up?” How will this go?
Mom is silent for several
seconds. Do you really
think that’s a good idea?
I’ve rehearsed this. I know
what to say. “I appreciate
that you’ve taken such good
care of him. But he needs
to get used to being around
his mom…and stepfather.”
Was it the wrong card
to play? Kristina, I hate
to say this, but Hunter
barely recognizes you. Do
leave him with a stranger?
[Stay in control. Temper
in check.] “There’s only one
way to change that, Mom.”
[Choose words carefully.]
“Or were you planning on
keeping my baby for yourself?”
Ultimately, She Agrees
I’m glad, because the last
thing I need is to get
the courts involved.
Social Services frowns
on the crystal scene.
Trey drives me out,
moves the baby seat
into his car while I go
inside to collect my
baby and his things.
Mom holds Hunter,
kisses him gently,
hands him off to me.
Call me right away
if anything goes wrong.
Hunter waves bye
bye, and as we turn,
I notice Mom start
to cry. She loves him.
But I love him too.
On the way back
to the apartment,
Trey detours east,
to the Pink Pussycat.
One quick delivery and
we’re on our way,
two hundred dollars
in the black, plenty
to buy formula and
diapers for a week.
Baby Makes Three
And even though he’s
little, his presence in this
cramped one-bedroom
makes the place even
more claustrophobic.
Seems he’s always
underfoot, unless he’s
in his porta-crib. And
unless he’s sleeping,
he’s not happy there.
Trey says we’ll have
to get a bigger place,
and to do that he
needs to get a job,
one he can list on
an application. He’s
out looking right now.
Which means it’s just
Hunter, me, and the
monster, killing time.
It’s nice outside.
Maybe Hunter
and I could walk
to the park. Only
thing is, I’m tired.
I do have a way to
fix that, don’t I?
I prop Hunter in a
chair, in front of
Sesame Street.
“Stay there with Elmo.
Mommy will be
right back.” I go
into the bathroom,
open the window,
so the smoke won’t
taint the living room
air. I’m halfway
through my second hit
when Hunter screams.
I run into the other
room. He’s crumpled
on the floor in front
of the chair, trickling
blood from his mouth.
“Oh, God.” I scoop
him up, hug him
close, and see he’s
okay, except for
biting through his
bottom lip. He stops
crying, looks up at
me with big dark
eyes, as if to say,
You let me fall. How
could you let me fall?
That’s not what a
mother should do.
And it hits me. Maybe
Mom was right, after all.
Trey I
s Gone
A very long time. Daylight
fades to darkness, and still
no word. I call his cell. Nothing.
I put Hunter to bed, worry
prickling my senses. I could
get high. Instead, I let myself
doze on the love seat. By the time
the creak of the door wakes me,
my neck is stiff from tilting so
long at an odd angle. That is not
conducive to a quiet discussion.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Spent all day job hunting.
I figured I deserved a couple
of beers. You don’t have a
problem with that, do you?
I do, actually. Leaving me
here, alone, while he’s out
who-knows-where? But I’m
not going to say that. “Why
didn’t you call? Didn’t it occur
to you I might get worried?”
I’m okay, Kristina. I’m okay,
you’re okay. Everything’s okay.
I’m a big boy. I know what I’m
doing. And you don’t have to
worry about where I am or what
I’m up to. You’re not my mommy.
No way for this to go but from bad
to worse. I could fall silent.
Ballistic will feel better. “No, I’m not
your mommy. But I am a mommy,
and we had an emergency here today.
I couldn’t get hold of you. Why won’t
you just answer your fucking phone
when I call? What’s wrong with you?”
If I answer, I’ll just have to listen
to this kind of shit…. His voice is almost
as loud as mine, and now Hunter wakes
up. His crying makes my words sink in.
As I go to give him a comfort bottle,
Trey asks, What kind of emergency?
I don’t tell him everything, just
that Hunter bit through his lip.
Trey is contrite. I’m sorry. I should
have called. I’ll do better, okay?
For a Few Days
He does do better. He
even answers his phone.
But he’s spending more
and more time away.
Job hunting, he claims.
Seems to me anyone
searching that diligently
would have found one
by now. Maybe playing
house isn’t his thing after
all. I’m afraid to ask.
Afraid he’ll say I’m right.
Without a vehicle, I can’t
very well make deliveries,
so when people call looking,
they have to come to me.
Grady is here when Trey
gets home this evening.
We’re just about to take
a little test drive when
Trey bangs through
the door. He takes one
look at Grady. Who
the fuck are you?
“This is Grady, an old
friend. He’s here to b—”
Apparently I should
have said “customer.”
Old friend, huh? Like
a real good friend?
Trey’s eyes are glazed.
He’s wired out of his skull.
“No, not that kind of
friend. What’s wrong
with you? And how
come you’re fucked up?”
I’m fucked up? Heh-heh.
Guess I am. While you
were getting high with an
old friend, hey, so was I.
Grady looks more than
slightly uncomfortable
as things heat up. “I don’t
suppose her name was Angela?”
Damn, you are psychic.
Poor Brad has no idea
she’s using again. He stops,
waits for my response.
It isn’t verbal. Before
he can possibly react,
I’m across the room, in
his face, slapping. He puts
up his arm, moves into
me, and now we’re on
the floor. As we roll
around, I notice the pipe
and its contents have
spilled into the soiled
carpeting. Grady doesn’t
think twice, rooting
around like a hog in
the mud. Fine. Let him
have it. I wouldn’t smoke
that dirty stuff now.
We bump heavily against
the bedroom door. Instantly,
Hunter is crying. Bellowing.
It’s enough to end the battle.
Trey Rolls Off Me
Away from me, onto his feet.
Take care of your baby.
He vanishes into the night.
Close behind is Grade E,
with a sizeable buy and
a pilfered rock. I glance
around the cluttered room.
An ash tray overflows on
the coffee table. A glass
pipe lies on the floor, midst
papers, knocked off a chair.
A raft of papers, floating
on a swamp of nasty carpet,
a place no baby should crawl.
The sink cannot possibly
hold another crusty dish.
Clothing, dirty and clean,
decorates the furniture.
I should straighten up.
Scrub. Make the place
presentable. Habitable.
A place I want to be in.
But I’m exhausted. Sore.
Sore. Too sore to pick up
my stuttering baby. I warm
a bottle. Similac pacifier.
Then I locate the phone.
“Mom? I know it’s late,
and I’m sorry. But I need
you to come get Hunter.”
They Say a Picture
Is worth a thousand words.
Mom studies the picture
that is my apartment, says
not one word except, This
is the right decision.
I kiss Hunter good-bye,
knowing this is the right
decision, knowing too
that I probably won’t see
him again for a while.
He goes to Mom with
enthusiasm, gooing a hello.
Poor baby should be fast
asleep. He’s going home
now. Home to sleep.
I will not sleep tonight.
I sit in the dark, staring
out at the stars. Where
is Trey? I want to tell
him I’m sorry.
Want to have “make
up sex.” Want to make
everything okay again.
Stable again. More stable.
Minus baby makes two.
I Am Still by the Window
When he stumbles in. Wasted.
Like me. We don’t bother with
words, instead collapse into bed,
shedding clothes as we go.
Finally, sweaty and shaking,
I whisper, “I’m sorry. Oh, God.
I don’t want to be without you.”
The same hands that only hours
ago hurt me now caress me. I’m
sorry too. He lays his fingers into
finger-shaped bruises. Perfect fits.
I can’t believe I did this to you.
Why do I hurt you when I love
you so much? Am I crazy?
We both know why, but we
don’t dare admit it. What would
we be if we did? “We’re both
crazy. I don’t care, as long
as you’re with me. Kiss me.
Make lov
e to me, hard. Don’t
think about it. Hurt me more.”
Afterward
We lie, knotted together,
as if to undo this macramé
would unravel us altogether.
After a while, Trey sighs.
I have to tell you something.
Every muscle tenses. He’s
leaving. Or he’s been with
Angela. Or he wants to be.
I haven’t been job hunting
all the time I’ve been away….
I don’t want to hear this.
I don’t want to lose him.
I don’t want to share him.
I’ve been going to the casinos.
I…I’m not lucky at gambling.
He’s not leaving. I don’t have
to share him. Wait. Gambling?
He’s been gambling? And losing?
I’m sorry. I thought I could make
a little profit, to get a nicer place.
My body stiffens and bends
in half, like a mannequin, sitting.
“Where did you get the money?”
From the lockbox. I know some
of it was to get more speed….
Yes, and for rent. Electricity. Phone.