gives me a harder inspection
than Kevin himself did. And,
though she mutters an abbreviated
hi (can’t get much shorter than
that, I know, but it came out
kind of like “h”), the almost
obscene roll of her eyes says
most eloquently, Oh, great.
Here we go again.
Like I Care
I have my out.
I have my high.
I have more stash
waiting.
I have a job.
Almost have an income.
It is almost time
for an outstanding
eighteenth birthday.
I have earned my wings,
can’t wait for my
test flight to freedom.
My head buzzes,
my body rushes,
electric, anxious.
I want a taste
of flight, a taste
of adulthood, another
small taste of ice
before afternoon dwindles.
The last thing on my
mind is Hunter, waiting
for his mommy.
I don’t want to think
about Mom and Scott,
planning birthday
and baptism parties.
I don’t want to think
about Leigh, who will
arrive soon and want
to spend time with me.
I don’t want to think
that the monster
might have so soon
taken me hostage.
No, I don’t want to think
such a thing
is remotely possible.
It isn’t. Is it?
So Why
Do I take a little detour,
drive up the gravel road
toward the quarry, dust
sifting over the LTD,
find a spot under a tree,
and, despite being pretty
damned buzzed already,
take another short stroll
with the grabby monster?
Something is different
this time round, some
little thing that keeps on
nagging at me. The
crystal is better, true,
so I know addiction
is even likelier than
before. That bothers
me some, yes, but like
I said, I’ve managed to
keep my use under control.
Suddenly, as I inhale
a hot, fragranced hit,
it comes to me—the
thing that’s bugging
me. Before, I got high
as a way to socialize, to
fit in with the crowd, feel
less inhibited around guys.
This time, though, I’m
spending more and more
of my time, getting more
and more buzzed, alone.
I Tuck That Away
Into a not-so-accessible
recess of my psyche.
Everything is about to change.
I’ll be out around people more.
Mingling in crowds more.
Interacting with men more.
And I’m not talking Kevin
Stewart or Grady or Slot Man.
But first I have to get through
the challenges of this weekend.
Starting with going home and
pretending I’m a perfect mom,
a decent daughter, and a loving
sister. Leigh will arrive soon,
cheerleader in tow. We’ll all
have a wonderful dinner. (Will
anyone notice me, pushing
meat and veggies around on my plate
until everyone leaves the table?)
I won’t sleep tonight. No way.
So tomorrow I’d better turn my
back on the monster. I’ll need to
sleep before Sunday. Can’t go
to church and stand up in front
of everyone bleary-eyed and
trembling, let alone take a chance
on passing out completely. Oh, yeah.
That would be one for the Good Newsletter!
I Pull into Our Driveway
Park off to one side, where my dusty
LTD won’t be in Mom’s or Scott’s way.
I sit a few minutes, absorbing rock
and roll rhythms, trying to slow
the race of my pulse, the hammering
of my heart. Truth be told, I’m wasted.
Finally I gather the nerve to go on
inside, and when I do, Mom hands
me a couple of large envelopes.
Birthday loot, I’m guessing, she says.
I open the first—fifty dollars from
Aunt Lou, who lives in Gainesville.
The second holds a hundred from
Scott’s dad, my very cool Grandpa
Bill. The card reads: Don’t spend
it all in one place. Okay, you can!
I’d hate to tell him it’s already spent,
and I sure couldn’t tell him what on.
Which reminds me of my promise
to myself to return the hundred to
Hunter’s piggy bank. I will do that,
won’t I? Yes, of course I will. Someday
very soon. Well…I do have to cash
the checks. That could take a few days.
And this, says Mom, is from Scott
and me. It would have been more, but
you never returned the hundred from
the other night. You know, the money
you didn’t spend on the hotel. I’m not
sure I want to know what you did spend
it on, but anyway, happy birthday….
What does that mean? Do they
suspect the real intent behind
my visit to Robyn? They haven’t
acted strangely at all, but maybe
I have. Have I? I don’t think so.
Either way, she gives me a card
with daisies and puppies on the front
and two hundred dollars inside.
I can’t look her in the eye—not
with pupils the size of dimes—and
I’m afraid if I hug her she’ll catch
a solid scent of ingested crystal.
So I stand at a distance and say,
“Thanks, Mom. I promise to spend
it wisely. Maybe I’ll even put it
in my savings account. Maybe it can
even stay there, now that I’ve got a job.”
So you got the job at 7-Eleven?
She waits for my affirmative nod,
then adds, I hope this doesn’t mean
you won’t finish up your GED. You
need that to get anywhere, Kristina….
Tears interrupt. You could have gone…
I know she cares about me, wants
what’s best for me. But we already
went through this once today. Anger
carbonates inside me, bubbles hot
and red, and if I let Bree have her way
right now, she’ll say something I shouldn’t.
Luckily
The telephone rings, interrupting
a very tense situation. Mom shakes
her head and gives me a final look,
steeped with worry and something
kind of like curiosity. She knows
something, or at least intuits it.
She answers the phone, still
shaking her head a little.
Leigh? You’re here already?
I’ll grab my purse and see you
in a half hour. She turns to me.
They took an early flight. I have
to go get them. Want to ride along?
She wants me to, that much is
clear, but
that would mean more
one-sided conversation. “I think
I’ll stay here and play with Hunter.
He’ll probably need another nap
soon, anyway. Car naps don’t count.”
The baby in question gurgles and
smiles, snug in his infant seat.
Okay, then. We won’t be long.
She goes to the foot of the stairs.
Jake! Come on! Leigh’s waiting
for us at the airport.
Mom and Jake Leave
I gentle the big quilt
from its place of honor
on the living room couch,
shake it onto the floor
beneath the big picture
windows, marveling
for about the thousandth
time at the patience Mom
must have had to patch
the pieces all together.
Then I go get Hunter,
lay him in the center
of the colorful fabric
potpourri, lie down
next to him, and marvel
for about the millionth
time at how stunningly
handsome he is. Pride
inflates inside me, before
segueing to massive guilt.
I feel spectacular. I feel
shitty. I feel on top of
the world. I feel like I’m
on my way to hell. The
ball’s in my court. What
do I do? Serve? Volley?
Concede? I want to be a
good mom. I don’t want
to be a mom at all. But
what choice do I have?
Hunter coos and drools
sweet-smelling baby spit,
and I stroke his soft,
soft cheeks. “Mommy loves
you, Hunter.” I really do,
and he loves me, too,
with a purity that makes
my eyes sting. What have
I done? And more: What
will I continue to do?
Eventually
Watching dust motes play
in the afternoon light,
Hunter drifts off. I know
Mom et al will be home soon,
which gives me a small window
of opportunity to hook up with
the monster one last time.
I step out onto the patio, where,
shielded from the westerly
breeze, I can easily take a toke
and let the evidence escape
into the lengthening shadows.
Denying any earlier sense
of guilt, I ask the monster to
up to the plate, hit an inside-the-skull
home run. It doesn’t disappoint me.
Then I go to shower, douse myself
with deodorant and mouthwash.
Finally I hear the approaching party.
I zoom to meet them, at light speed.
Leigh Has Put On a Few Pounds
And it suits her almost
as much as shedding several
suits me. (You’d be surprised
how much weight you can
lose in two weeks when you
barely eat enough to keep
a very small rodent alive.)
Anyway, it’s awesome to see her
again. She hasn’t visited since
before Hunter’s birth. I know
she was mad at me for everything
that happened, and maybe she
had a right to be. Or maybe not.
I mean, she isn’t exactly
the perfect daughter herself.
Here she comes, waltzing
down the hall on her lover’s
arm—a stunning lesbian pair,
acting like they belong here.
[Belong here, together. Not
much room for us anymore!]
Bree talking, again. Shut up!
I tell her, and run to give Leigh
a mega mojo hug. [Good trick,
with Heather hanging on to her
like a monkey to a tree branch.]
Shut the hell up, I silently shout
to the bitch who lives in my brain.
Out loud I say, “God, I’ve
missed you. You look great.
Must be…” [the extra five
pounds or maybe the one
hundred twenty pounds
cemented to your right arm]
“…did you change your hair?”
Don’t be silly. My hair has
looked exactly like this my
entire life. Although it is a
little bleached from being
out in the sun this summer.
Heather tries to tell me
it’s bad for my skin, but I’m
not always so good at following
orders. Oh! I almost forgot
to introduce you. Kristina, Heather.
[Following orders? Can you
believe that?] I stow Bree and
give Heather a wary once-over.
“Good to finally meet you,” I
venture. “Leigh has told me so
little about you….” That
was mean, okay? [Not really.
Want to see “mean”?] No!
Heather maintains her grip
on my sister’s arm. Really?
Well, she’s told me just
about everything about you.
Much more than I’d ever
choose to know, in fact.
What does that mean? Okay,
maybe I’ll just have to let
Bree out of her bottle after
all. If anyone can debate
the Cheerleader from Hell,
it’s Bree. [Yeah, let me out.]
Can’t. This is supposed to be
a celebration, not an insurrection.
Truth Is
I don’t know Heather
at all, but I despise her
already. It’s not just that
she’s freaking beautiful
or that she obviously
despises me, too.
[You’re jealous.] Yeah,
yeah, that’s part of it. But
what I hate most about her
is the way she seems to be
in control of my no-longer-
totally-independent sister.
Oh, Heather, do you mind
if I tiptoe in to see the baby?
My curiosity is killing me!
You don’t have to come
unless you want to. Kristina
will show him off later.
Puke. Puke. Puke.
Smile that pretty girl-
on-girl smile for your
cheerleader. But don’t
ask her permission to
leave the frigging room!
I mean, I guess in a same
sex relationship, someone
needs to play the guy,
and if I had to choose roles
for Leigh and Heather,
Heather would be the guy.
But hey, in any relationship,
does the guy really need
to be in charge?
Instinct
Tells me to fall
deep into a well
of silence.
Keep your meth-
fired mouth shut,
it commands.
[Oh, just try that
with the monster
screaming, Let’s party!]
So I dare, “Must
you really ask
for permission?
“Didn’t you give
that up when
you left home?
“Is Heather your girlfriend,
or your
friggin’ mommy?”
Yeah, the verbal slap
is mean. Really mean.
So why does it feel
so damn good?
Okay, I’m guessing
you know exactly
why. But the look
on the room’s collective
face slaps me back.
Kristina! You
apologize this instant,
screeches Mom.
Kristina! How
can you be so
rude? cries Leigh.
Heather doesn’t say a word.
All she does is smile
a leprechaun smile.
Leprechauns
In case you don’t know,
are cute little
demons
with cherubic faces
and devil-born
souls,
and when they smile,
you’d better
run quick.
Well, Bree and I
decide no way will
the conniver make us
run.
“Sorry,” I say, but
when everyone except
Heather turns
toward
Hunter’s sudden
outburst in the living
room, I slip
the bitch
the finger. Guess
what. She slips it back.
So now we both know
exactly where we
stand.
I make a mental
note to keep her
the frick out of my
bedroom, hold
my ground,
don’t worry about
taking the high road.
Leigh’s future
happiness is at stake.
Then It Dawns on Me
If high school cheerleaders
indulge in “instant pep,” college