really believe the lie they’ve been selling us since we were kids? Play by these rules and you’ll be rich and famous and pretty and smart and all of that other bullshit?
—That’s not a reason.
—Sarie, come the fuck on. The game is rigged and every generation has it worse than the one before. Yeah, I’m an honors student who made the mistake of reading too much. Our parents were supposed to change things and whoa, big surprise, they fucked that up. Just like their parents did. Just like their parents did, and so on.
—Why drugs, though?
—The money, Sarie. I do it for the money. Just like everybody else.
—Do you need money that bad?
—If I don’t have two grand in the bursar’s office by next week, I’ll be thrown out of St. Jude’s.
—What about your parents?
D. sighs.
—Mom assumes Dad’s paying tuition, but she’s currently not speaking to Dad. Meanwhile, Dad assumes Mom is taking care of it, and currently not speaking to Mom. I don’t want to talk to either of those two assholes, so I’m taking care of it myself the only way I can. I’m a good dealer, Sarie. Smart. Careful.
—Then how come Wildey pulled me over Wednesday night?
—I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think it was about me or you. I think this is all about Chuckie. Because that night he was acting all weird. He called me during the party—I guess this was around eleven. Pick up the shit tonight or don’t pick it up at all, he tells me. Now, I’d gone through a lot of trouble to arrange a ride to his place Thanksgiving morning, and then a ride up to Tenth and Filbert so I could catch the Martz line back to my mom’s. I told Chuckie all this. Chuckie agreed to this. Then all of a sudden he calls me, says he has holiday plans out of town—all the shit has to move tonight. Take it or leave it, bro.
—Which is why you suddenly wanted to go down to Pat’s.
—I’m sorry, Sarie. I really am. I never wanted to drag you into this. I thought it was just a ride. And I wanted some time alone with you.
—Well, look, you got your wish twice. Enjoy now before you’re visiting me in prison.
The agonized look on his face tells me I’m being a dick. He knows he screwed me. I don’t have to keep reminding him.
I reach out, give his hand a small squeeze.
—I get the whole parent thing, I really do. Sometimes I think my dad and I just talk around each other, you know? Or we keep circling around the same thing over and over again—how much it sucks that my mom is gone.
—I didn’t know about your mom. I’m sorry.
There I go, being an even BIGGER dick. I give his hand another squeeze, tell him it’s okay, really. After a long, awkward moment of silence—no offense, Mom, but it’s hard to follow talk of the deceased with anything but—D. turns back to more pressing matters.
—Do the cops actually think you’re dealing?
—No, I don’t think so. The one cop saw you. He keeps trying to get me to give you up. Next time you go on a run, by the way, leave your red pants at home. That’s all he talks about.
—So what did you tell them?
—I swear, nothing.
—No, I know that. But I’m just wondering what kind of story you told them. Why you were down there, all that.
—I told Wildey I went for a drive.
—Wilder?
—The cop. Will-dee. That’s his name.
We sit in silence. It’s now dark. Somewhere out there, most people are having a perfectly reasonable Sunday evening dinner, not a care in the world. After a while D. asks:
—So what are you supposed to do?
—Find a drug dealer for him by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. You don’t happen to, ha-ha, know any drug dealers, do you?
Then D. looks at me funny.
Transcript of text messages between Officer Benjamin F. Wildey and CI #137, 12-1, 11:12–11:15
WILDEY: Tomorrow’s the day
CI #137: Where have you been?
WILDEY: Busy. Cop stuff. So you ready? Or you just want to tell me now, make it easier?
CI #137: Not over the phone
WILDEY: You got something for me?
CI #137: Let’s
—That’s not a reason.
—Sarie, come the fuck on. The game is rigged and every generation has it worse than the one before. Yeah, I’m an honors student who made the mistake of reading too much. Our parents were supposed to change things and whoa, big surprise, they fucked that up. Just like their parents did. Just like their parents did, and so on.
—Why drugs, though?
—The money, Sarie. I do it for the money. Just like everybody else.
—Do you need money that bad?
—If I don’t have two grand in the bursar’s office by next week, I’ll be thrown out of St. Jude’s.
—What about your parents?
D. sighs.
—Mom assumes Dad’s paying tuition, but she’s currently not speaking to Dad. Meanwhile, Dad assumes Mom is taking care of it, and currently not speaking to Mom. I don’t want to talk to either of those two assholes, so I’m taking care of it myself the only way I can. I’m a good dealer, Sarie. Smart. Careful.
—Then how come Wildey pulled me over Wednesday night?
—I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think it was about me or you. I think this is all about Chuckie. Because that night he was acting all weird. He called me during the party—I guess this was around eleven. Pick up the shit tonight or don’t pick it up at all, he tells me. Now, I’d gone through a lot of trouble to arrange a ride to his place Thanksgiving morning, and then a ride up to Tenth and Filbert so I could catch the Martz line back to my mom’s. I told Chuckie all this. Chuckie agreed to this. Then all of a sudden he calls me, says he has holiday plans out of town—all the shit has to move tonight. Take it or leave it, bro.
—Which is why you suddenly wanted to go down to Pat’s.
—I’m sorry, Sarie. I really am. I never wanted to drag you into this. I thought it was just a ride. And I wanted some time alone with you.
—Well, look, you got your wish twice. Enjoy now before you’re visiting me in prison.
The agonized look on his face tells me I’m being a dick. He knows he screwed me. I don’t have to keep reminding him.
I reach out, give his hand a small squeeze.
—I get the whole parent thing, I really do. Sometimes I think my dad and I just talk around each other, you know? Or we keep circling around the same thing over and over again—how much it sucks that my mom is gone.
—I didn’t know about your mom. I’m sorry.
There I go, being an even BIGGER dick. I give his hand another squeeze, tell him it’s okay, really. After a long, awkward moment of silence—no offense, Mom, but it’s hard to follow talk of the deceased with anything but—D. turns back to more pressing matters.
—Do the cops actually think you’re dealing?
—No, I don’t think so. The one cop saw you. He keeps trying to get me to give you up. Next time you go on a run, by the way, leave your red pants at home. That’s all he talks about.
—So what did you tell them?
—I swear, nothing.
—No, I know that. But I’m just wondering what kind of story you told them. Why you were down there, all that.
—I told Wildey I went for a drive.
—Wilder?
—The cop. Will-dee. That’s his name.
We sit in silence. It’s now dark. Somewhere out there, most people are having a perfectly reasonable Sunday evening dinner, not a care in the world. After a while D. asks:
—So what are you supposed to do?
—Find a drug dealer for him by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. You don’t happen to, ha-ha, know any drug dealers, do you?
Then D. looks at me funny.
Transcript of text messages between Officer Benjamin F. Wildey and CI #137, 12-1, 11:12–11:15
WILDEY: Tomorrow’s the day
CI #137: Where have you been?
WILDEY: Busy. Cop stuff. So you ready? Or you just want to tell me now, make it easier?
CI #137: Not over the phone
WILDEY: You got something for me?
CI #137: Let’s
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