Sean ran up the stairs and swung open the door of the room he shared with Buffy. Buffy was lain across the bed puffing on a cigarette. She looked up at him, eyes wide. Sean ran his tongue over his lips as he gawked at his chocolate beauty, and said, “It’s done.”
3
“Feliz cupleanos, Buffy!”
Buffy’s best friend Megan delightedly sang the joyful words right before she jumped onto Buffy’s back. Buffy damn near toppled over from the weight of Megan’s portly body but was so thrilled to see her friend all she could do was smile. Megan, bursting with excitement, held onto Buffy’s neck and wrapped her thick legs around Buffy’s waist.
“You’re twenty,” Megan screamed. Then she kissed Buffy on her cheek as if she was a wood pecker pecking on a block of wood.
Buffy couldn’t resist laughing. Today would be a joyous day. She stood straight and Megan slid back to the ground.
Buffy gave a cheeky grin. “Thanks, Megan,” she said.
Megan took the large messenger bag from around her neck and handed it to Buffy. Then she fixed her pants and shirt to hide her tummy; and patted her thick, curly, dark brown hair back into place.
Buffy slung the messenger bag over her shoulder, and said, “We’re going to celebrate my birthday today and then yours next week.”
“Nope,” Megan said. “What we’ll be doing is partying like rock stars for the next two weeks straight.” She pulled a cigarette from her bra, lit the tip, an inhaled. “Ready to get your birthday gear?”
“I sure am,” Megan said. “But not before we start the party.”
Buffy fiddled around in her pocketbook and retrieved a Ziploc bag with six pills inside. She opened the bag and tossed three pills into her mouth and swallowed. She then handed the bag to Megan.
“What’s this?” Megan said, after swallowing the remaining pills.
Buffy swiped Megan’s cigarette and took a drag. “Oxycontin.”
“Your mama’s?
“Yup,” Buffy said, “I need them more than she does.” Buffy laughed but Megan didn’t join in.
Megan’s eyes dropped sorrowfully. “We can’t keep taking your mama’s pills, Buffy, it’s not right.”
Buffy huffed and turned to walk to the Frankford train station. “Blah, blah, blah,” she said over her shoulder. “You sound like Sean. Everybody’s always so damn concerned about mama’s pain. I’m in pain too.”
“I’m just trying to help,” Megan said.
“You weren’t worried about helping when you was shoving those pills in your mouth.”
“I didn’t know they were your Mama’s.”
“You damn sure knew they weren’t mine,” Buffy snapped. She could hear the sincerity in Megan’s voice, but Megan needed to be set straight.
The girls boarded the train and rode downtown. It was a Friday around noon, so there were mainly employees on their lunch break shopping and enjoying lunch. Buffy and Megan headed straight to Only Ten, a low-end clothing store on the first floor of the Galleria Mall. Buffy and Megan marched into the store, chins to the sky, as if they owned the place. Buffy picked up a few items, and then headed to the dressing room, while Megan stayed behind to talk to one of the clerks.
Inside the dressing room, as suspected, there were clothes tossed everywhere. Buffy rapidly stuffed the items she liked in the messenger bag as she rummaged through the piles of clothing. She’d try them on later; and whatever didn’t fit, she’d return and exchange for something that did, or she’d sell it.
After she was done, Buffy strolled around the store and waited for Megan to get done at the five dollar rack. The pills were starting to kick in. With all her effort, Buffy tried to engage a shallow conversation going but her tongue was heavy and her mouth was dry. Finally, Megan removed one of the shirts from the rack and paid for it at the register. Buffy took that moment to exit with what she knew was at least eighty dollars–worth of items in her bag. She waited for Megan in front of a shoe store a few shops down. As expected it was an easy shoplifting experience.
One last stop at the local Walgreens and they’d be ready to head back home. Buffy’s newly legal status of turning eighteen didn’t feel complete until she purchased the two boxes of Sudafed using her own I.D. Today would be her first time whipping up the meth by herself, and she knew Sean would be surprised when he saw a batch of the meth awaiting his inhalation when he got home.
On the train ride home, Buffy pulled the sleeves of her sweat hoodie over her hands to keep from scratching at the prickly sensation that danced all over her arms whenever she thought about getting high. Megan offered to help her cook the meth, but she refused. She wanted this baby all to herself.
It was the later part of the afternoon when they exited the train station. “Are you sure you don’t want my help?” Megan said. It was the third time she’d asked the damn question since she’d learned Buffy intended to do it without Sean’s help.
Annoyed, Buffy murmured, “I got this. Just be ready by the time the party starts.”
Megan shrugged. “8PM?”
“Yup,” Buffy said, “and not a minute earlier.”
Buffy was looking forward to bringing in her birthday with a bang. She hadn’t been sure she would even make it to her eighteenth birthday with all the pills, alcohol, and drugs she had downed, and now she was about to light up the night. Megan grabbed Buffy by the hand just before Buffy turned towards Pratt Street.
“Not so fast,” Megan said. “I have a surprise for you.” Megan had a huge grin as she guided Buffy in the opposite direction.
Buffy held tight to Megan’s hand as they headed down a back alley, stepping over the puddles of stagnant water that gave off an all too familiar trashy-subway smell. Finally, they reached the backdoor of some filthy establishment. There were all kinds of debris scattered outside of the door. The wood was chipped and the paint barely existed. Megan pounded on the door hard enough that it sound like it was about to fall of the hinges.
“What is this?” Buffy whispered.
Megan squeezed Buffy’s hand. “Shhh, I said I have a surprise.”
Buffy anxiously waited for the door to open. A young Puerto Rican man, about twenty-two years old, opened the door. Buffy eyed him down. He had a well-built physique covered in tattoos from his waist to his neck. Most importantly, he was shirtless. Buffy licked her lips at the seductive Latin hunk but instantly thought about Sean. Had he known she was entering the house of a strange man, he’d surely kick her ass.
“Hola,” the man said nonchalantly.
“Buffy,” Megan said, “this is my cousin Juan.”
Buffy smiled and nodded her head. She was still flustered from seeing Juan shirtless and couldn’t part her lips to make out the words to say hello.
Megan then turned to Juan. “We’re here so you can give Buffy her surprise.” She then stepped past him and led Buffy down the hall. Juan closed the door behind them and followed.
If the surprise was Juan then Buffy was surely she in for a treat. Erotic thoughts of the zesty Puerto Rican raced through her mind. Perhaps a threesome? Megan was far from Buffy’s cup of tea, but fuck it. A little cottage cheese never hurt the taste of peaches; it would still be a delectable treat.
Buffy looked over her shoulder at Juan who appeared to be unaffected by her presence. Feeling slightly rejected, she dismissed her thoughts of a raunchy family affair and continued to the room at the end of the hall.
The blinds were pulled down and the room was dim. The only source of light was a single lamp on a table in the middle of the room, and the only other furniture was the steel fold-up chair beside it. There were empty Corona bottles all over the floor and the black walls were covered in graffiti that made them look like murals at a skate park.
Megan spread her arms wide, spun in a circle, and said, “Tada!”
Tada? If this was Megan’s idea of a sexy birthday gift she was crazy. This dump certainly wasn’t the Hyatt. Hell, it wasn’t remotely close to a Motel 6. Buffy f
everishly tucked her arms over her chest and stood in silence.
“Buffy,” Megan said, “I’m getting you your first tattoo.”
Buffy dropped her arms and placed her hands on her hips. “Who said I wanted a tattoo?”
“We did, remember?”
“No,”
“Sure you do,” Megan said, moving her hands to her own hips. “We agreed when we turned twenty we’d get matching tattoos.”
Buffy rolled her eyes, tsk. “Out of all the things I say, you decided to take that one thing seriously?”
“Yes,” Megan said. “And we’re here. My cousin is ready. And I know you don’t want to have wasted his time after he agreed to do this.”
Buffy turned to leer at Juan who was sauntering towards the lonely table. She really didn’t want to waste his time, or anything having to do with her steamy fantasy mate. Dejectedly Buffy sighed and gave Megan a wan smile. “Is this going to hurt?”
“Nope,” Megan said, “I got one done yesterday.” Megan opened the top buttons of her shirt, and revealed Puerto Rico’s flag stretched over her breast. “It tickles.”
Buffy frowned. “It looks like it hurt.”
“It doesn’t, now take a seat.”
Megan lead Buffy to the chair and eased her down into it.
“What should we get, Juan?” Megan said.
Juan ignored Megan and searched for his tools. Buffy watched Juan meticulously lay each needle, ink, and other components on the table. Suddenly the room felt cold. Buffy shifted in her seat and took a deep breath.
Megan unzipped Buffy’s hoodie and assisted in pulling it off. “How about a two leaf clover?” Megan said.
“Two leaf?” Buffy said.
“Duh, two for you and two for me. Both of us together make a lucky combo.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. Megan took a rubber band from the table and tied Buffy’s hair into a bun.
“How about on the back of our necks?” Megan said.
Buffy nodded. She didn’t care where the tattoo went. All she wanted was to hurry up and get the mess over with so she could go home and cook her meth. Megan took another rubber band and tied her own hair into a bun as well.
“Ready?” Megan said.
“Ready.”
Buffy was so happy, when she finally made it home, she rushed to her bedroom mirror to scope out her new tattoo. What a stupid idea. She went through all that pain for something she would never see. After changing into a pair of shorts and a tank top, Buffy flew down the stairs to cook her meth.
Sean was nowhere in sight and Mama was fast asleep. Buffy began the process of removing the coating from the pills and scraping the sides of the matchbox, until all the ingredients were ready to bake. She slid the glass jar into the oven and stepped out of the kitchen.
As she waited for the crystals to form, Buffy decided to grab another Oxycontin from Mama’s stash and wash it down with a 40oz. brew. Nothing wrong with a little foreplay. Buffy flipped on the TV and laid across the couch. The soft cushion was the perfect comforter as she curled up to watch episodes of Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and waited for her birthday too fly to the next level.
Sean watched his friend Ryan took a .38 caliber Revolver from the top shelf of his bedroom closest. At twenty-four, Ryan was a few years older than him and lived in a room he rented right off of Alleghany and Frankford Ave. Ryan held the gun with a firm grip and aimed it in the direction of the window.
“See this baby,” Ryan said. “Let a muthafucker try to rob me again.” Ryan jerked his hand forward like the pistol had exploded. “Pow,” he shouted. “The city’s murder rate just went up.”
Sean nodded his head in agreement. Days before, some young kids jumped Ryan and stole all the cash he had in his pockets when he was supposed to be delivering a pizza. Ryan swept his fingers over the gun like a blind person reading brail. Sean felt jealousy boiling at his fingertips. He rubbed his hands together and reached out for his turn to hold the gun.
“Let me see her,” Sean said.
Without hesitation Ryan passed Sean the gun. There was a surge of power that jolted in Sean’s fingertips. Yea, he needed one of these babies. As soon as he got a little extra money, the first thing he was going to do was buy a pistol.
“Where did you get it?” Sean said.
“Petey,” Ryan said.
“The homeless guy?”
“Yup,” Ryan said, “I told him what happened and that I needed to find a gun. He took me to some old lady’s house and told me to wait outside. A few minutes later he came out the back door with the gun and an Access card for me to buy some food stamps. All I had to do was pass him one hundred-fifty dollars,” Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess he stole it.”
“You think he could get me one?” Sean said.
Ryan must’ve witnessed the sparks in Sean’s eyes because he reached for the gun. Sean handed it to him, reluctantly.
“Probably,” Ryan said. “I’ll talk to him for you.”
Ryan placed the gun back in the closet and shut the closet’s door. Ryan was almost Sean’s twin, and they had known each other since the days at the orphanage. Sean looked up to Ryan like his older brother. He had managed to get a job, rent a room, and even buy his own piece of shit car all on his own. If Sean could finagle his way to land a third of those things he would’ve felt accomplished.
“You know it’s Buffy’s birthday, right?” Sean said.
“What are we doing?” Ryan said.
“There’s a red cup party on Torresdale Ave.,” Sean said, “red cups everywhere I heard. You down?”
“Hell yeah.”
Sean and Ryan slapped hands. Sean stood to his feet, sagged his skinny jeans, and let his eyes slide to the closet. His palms itched as he made his way across the apartment.
“Don’t forget to ask Petey,” Sean said, opening Ryan’s front door. He let himself out and closed the door behind him.
As soon as Sean stepped onto the porch, he smelled smoke. He jiggled the key in the lock and burst into the house. The pungent stench of crystal meth lingered as thick as musk and dark smoke that permeated the room left him struggling for air. He used the bottom of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose while he maneuvered through the room. Buffy laid knocked out asleep on the sofa. Sean’s eyes darted to the kitchen where he saw angry black smoke pouring out of the oven. He sprinted to the basement stairs and grabbed the fire extinguisher from off the wall. He then ran back to the kitchen where he snatched a towel from the counter, wrapped it around his hand, and yanked open the oven door. He jumped back as flames accompanied by blistering heat leapt out at him. Coughing and almost blind from the smoke and the tears forming in his eyes, Sean squeezed the valve on the extinguisher and sprayed inside the oven.
Once the fire was out, Sean walked around the first floor and opened all the windows. He shook his head. There were no fire detectors in the house and no home phone; a recipe for disaster. Sean sauntered past Buffy and kicked her foot that was hanging off of the sofa. She was still sleep. Pissed, he ran up the stairs to make sure that Mama was okay.
Her door was closed. He opened it a crack, peeked inside and was relieved to see she was sound asleep. Even still, Buffy had a lot to answer for.
He gently closed the door back and ran back down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He then stormed into the living room and in one swift motion grabbed a hold of Buffy’s shoulders and threw her off the couch.
“Ahhh!” Buffy yelled.
Sean raised his hand and struck her cheek with his open hand.
“Get your ass up,” Sean said. He grabbed Buffy by her hair and pulled her to her feet.
Buffy’s eyes bulged and her jaw dropped open. He clasped her hair like it was the rope between life and death and rained down slap after slap on her face, until eventually he just balled up his fist, and rammed it into her jaw.
“You stupid bitch,” he said, “You could’ve killed Mama.”
Buffy yelled out in pain a
nd dropped to the floor. Sean towered over her but Buffy quickly slid away. She hopped to her feet in hysterical tears and ran into the kitchen. It killed him to have hurt Buffy. He hated hitting her, but she had to learn her lessons the hard way. He ran behind Buffy and entered the kitchen.
Buffy rolled a chair out to the center of the kitchen as a barrier between her and Sean.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I didn’t mean to.”
“Get your ass over here, Buffy,” Sean yelled.
Buffy danced around the chair then ran into the basement and slammed the door shut. Fuck. Sean wanted to beat her ass so bad, but Buffy bolted the door. He could hear her crying out on the other side of the door, and he started to feel bad about the way he beat her. He felt his heart drop. Sean ran his hands over his face and released a deep breath.
“Okay, Buffy,” he said, “I’m calm.”
“Sean, you’re crazy.”
Sean took another deep breath. “Baby, let me apologize.”
“No,”
“You almost set the house on fire,” he said, “I couldn’t control my anger.”
He could hear Buffy sniffling on the other side of the door.
“Buffy,”
“Fuck you, Sean, I think my jaw is broke. I wish I did burn down the house and burnt you inside with it.”
Boom. Boom. Boom. Sean slammed his fist into the door uncontrollably. She needed the ass whooping of her life for talking like that. He banged on the door so hard the wood chipped.
“Open the fucking door, Buffy,” he said.
He stood banging on the door for about 10 minutes before he gave up. Tired of Buffy’s silence, Sean sent a final hammering blow to the door and walked off. He paced in the kitchen back and forth and tried to calm down. He would get to her later. She had to come out eventually.
4
Buffy nestled in Megan’s arms and cried out every ounce of anger, pain, and frustration her tears could release. It was supposed to be her birthday. Sean had startled her out of her sleep in such a gorilla-like rage, that she hadn’t a clue as to why he wailed the slaps onto her tender face. In the midst of Sean heatedly pounding on the basement door, Buffy freed herself by climbing out of the basement window and then running to Megan’s house.