on the streets for a year before coming back home. He’s been on heroin for six, but he says he’s trying to kick it. Kick it and leave this place for good.
I know what he means about this place now. Being young and doing this shit is one thing, but here half the parents do it, too. I know one guy whose forty-five-year-old aunt gives his friends head as long as they dope her up first.
“No,” Derek says, ignoring the ten I tap against his shoulder.
“What the hell’s your problem? You mix me speedballs all the time.”
“I know, but shooting straight is different. You think I haven’t noticed your legs?” he asks, sucking the liquid into a needle. I tug down my cutoffs. I’d forgotten about my scars.
“That don’t matter, I already seen them,” he mumbles, one end of a belt in his mouth. “You got enough to figure out without fucking yourself up even more. Don’t wanna end up like me now, do ya?”
I’d normally continue to argue, but something in his tone silences me. He jerks his head sideways, pulling the belt tight while pumping his fist. Tapping his bulging blue vein, he shoots up. His blood replaces the junk in the needle and I watch the bright red mix with the fluid, like jellyfish tentacles. For some reason it reminds me of a womb, something about the blood curling up into the fluid and swaying gently. It seems warm and cozy and I want to be in there, just for a moment.
I start to say so but his eyes are already closed, his back slumped against the wall and he curls on his side. I push his devil lock to the side to see his profile. He looks young all of a sudden, small. I saw him curled up like this last week, only then it was because he was sick from withdrawal, his sheets covered in his own filth. He didn’t even make it six days.
I’ve been in Indiana visiting Mia for three days and haven’t looked into her eyes once. She won’t look at me and barely speaks to me. I know nothing of her now, what she thinks, what she does, where she goes. My daughter’s made me irrelevant. I need new skills. I need all-seeing eyes, I need the ears of a dog, I need clairvoyance, armor. I need many things to be Mia’s mother now, love least of all. Now, love is a liability.
She doesn’t know who I am, either, and I think it angers her. She doesn’t recognize this woman who is scared, who doesn’t know how to make her pain go away.
We share the same guest bed, and some nights she scoots over and puts her arm around me. The night before I leave, she says good night, Mom, I love you. I cry till long after she’s asleep.
I gotta get the hell out of here. By the time Derek picks me up, it takes two fat lines before I even begin to calm down. I’d forgotten how bad it is between my mom and me now, either awkward silences or pointless lectures.
When we get there, I’m thankful for the chaos that is the Wilkinson house. For Samson’s barking, for Linda’s hollering, for everyone high as hell and getting drunk.
I go to the corner where Melanie’s at and blow some coke while matching shots with Derek and Trevor. I lean back and the room splatters into pieces. Furniture and people’s faces and bodies all swirl together to dance a dervish and I see my mom’s face floating in the middle of it all, with her sad, defeated look. Ihate that face, it’s a lie. She was never like that until I ran away. She was never weak or helpless, she’s usually a fucking banshee.
A familiar rage builds, my hands clench. I stumble to the bathroom and fumble around until I find a razor. It pours out of me in a torrent, every thought and feeling leaving a red gash on its way out. I cry red until I can breathe again.
“Whooohoooo!”
Melanie’s on the bed in her underwear and a T-shirt, rocking her hips in tempo with the music. Five guys are crowded around the bed, shouting and whooping. Every couple seconds she stumbles, then giggles and keeps dancing. I want to leave but I shot some shit and am too
I know what he means about this place now. Being young and doing this shit is one thing, but here half the parents do it, too. I know one guy whose forty-five-year-old aunt gives his friends head as long as they dope her up first.
“No,” Derek says, ignoring the ten I tap against his shoulder.
“What the hell’s your problem? You mix me speedballs all the time.”
“I know, but shooting straight is different. You think I haven’t noticed your legs?” he asks, sucking the liquid into a needle. I tug down my cutoffs. I’d forgotten about my scars.
“That don’t matter, I already seen them,” he mumbles, one end of a belt in his mouth. “You got enough to figure out without fucking yourself up even more. Don’t wanna end up like me now, do ya?”
I’d normally continue to argue, but something in his tone silences me. He jerks his head sideways, pulling the belt tight while pumping his fist. Tapping his bulging blue vein, he shoots up. His blood replaces the junk in the needle and I watch the bright red mix with the fluid, like jellyfish tentacles. For some reason it reminds me of a womb, something about the blood curling up into the fluid and swaying gently. It seems warm and cozy and I want to be in there, just for a moment.
I start to say so but his eyes are already closed, his back slumped against the wall and he curls on his side. I push his devil lock to the side to see his profile. He looks young all of a sudden, small. I saw him curled up like this last week, only then it was because he was sick from withdrawal, his sheets covered in his own filth. He didn’t even make it six days.
I’ve been in Indiana visiting Mia for three days and haven’t looked into her eyes once. She won’t look at me and barely speaks to me. I know nothing of her now, what she thinks, what she does, where she goes. My daughter’s made me irrelevant. I need new skills. I need all-seeing eyes, I need the ears of a dog, I need clairvoyance, armor. I need many things to be Mia’s mother now, love least of all. Now, love is a liability.
She doesn’t know who I am, either, and I think it angers her. She doesn’t recognize this woman who is scared, who doesn’t know how to make her pain go away.
We share the same guest bed, and some nights she scoots over and puts her arm around me. The night before I leave, she says good night, Mom, I love you. I cry till long after she’s asleep.
I gotta get the hell out of here. By the time Derek picks me up, it takes two fat lines before I even begin to calm down. I’d forgotten how bad it is between my mom and me now, either awkward silences or pointless lectures.
When we get there, I’m thankful for the chaos that is the Wilkinson house. For Samson’s barking, for Linda’s hollering, for everyone high as hell and getting drunk.
I go to the corner where Melanie’s at and blow some coke while matching shots with Derek and Trevor. I lean back and the room splatters into pieces. Furniture and people’s faces and bodies all swirl together to dance a dervish and I see my mom’s face floating in the middle of it all, with her sad, defeated look. Ihate that face, it’s a lie. She was never like that until I ran away. She was never weak or helpless, she’s usually a fucking banshee.
A familiar rage builds, my hands clench. I stumble to the bathroom and fumble around until I find a razor. It pours out of me in a torrent, every thought and feeling leaving a red gash on its way out. I cry red until I can breathe again.
“Whooohoooo!”
Melanie’s on the bed in her underwear and a T-shirt, rocking her hips in tempo with the music. Five guys are crowded around the bed, shouting and whooping. Every couple seconds she stumbles, then giggles and keeps dancing. I want to leave but I shot some shit and am too
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