Crystal Clean by Kimberly Wollenburg Page A

crackers, ice cream...just a few things so I would have something to put in the cupboards and refrigerator. I felt uplifted, hopeful and normal. I had a little home with a kitchenette, sofa, coffee table and sleeping area. I made a few deliveries then called Garnett and arranged to see him later that night.
    I curled up on the queen-sized bed and turned one the T.V. with the sound down low, not really watching, just for background noise. I got out my journal and began to write. I wrote whatever came into my head: where I was, what I was doing and how I felt. Mostly I wrote about my desire to get myself out of my current situation. For the next couple of hours I filled page after page as I smoked meth and cigarettes and drank Diet Coke.
     
    Garnett came by and dropped off a couple of ounces and we passed time, getting high and chitchatting for an hour or so. I told him about Allan and he said he was happy for me, though his tone and expression didn’t match his words. I didn’t think much about it at the time.
    When he was gone, I wrote some more, finished what was in the pipe, and then went to sleep. Meth was so much a part of my daily diet, and had been for so long, that I could easily fall asleep after getting high. The room was warm and the bed and pillows felt so nice. It was a safe cocoon. I slept for seven hours that night. It was the most uninterrupted sleep I’d enjoyed in weeks and I felt like a new person in the morning. Within an hour of waking, I was getting high again.
    I felt so good, I decided to call my parents. I hadn’t spoken to them since the night before I left and I was nervous. I didn’t know if they would even talk to me, but I needed to find out how Andy was doing. It was worth risking their wrath and hatred if I could just talk to him for a minute, or at least find out how he was doing. When I heard my mother’s voice on the phone, my throat tightened and I couldn’t talk for a few seconds. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from flowing.
    “Mom, it’s me.”
    “Oh, Kimbo! Where are you?”
    “I’m in a hotel right now.”
    “Are you okay? We’ve been so worried. Why did you leave? Where have you been?” Her voice was so warm, it instantly brought home the shame I felt for what I’d done to my parents, my son and myself.
    “I’m okay, Mom. How’s my baby?”
    “He’s fine, Kimbo. How’s my baby?” That did it. I started crying, my tears running down my cheeks and my voice breaking.
    “I’m okay, I’m fine. I’ve been job hunting.” This wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth either. “I think I should have one here pretty soon. So I can get an apartment for Andy and me. How is he? Is he there? I miss him so much.”
    “He’s not here. He’s still at therapy. He misses you too. He’s always asking where Mom is. I don’t know what to tell him so I’ve just been saying you’ll be home soon. Will you be home soon?”
    “Like I said, I’ll be getting a job soon and an apartment for us.”
    “Kim, just come home.”
    “I can’t, Mom.” Jesus, it was so hard talking to her. I wanted to go back. I wanted my momma to wrap her arms around me and rock me on her lap telling me everything would be okay. But even in an ideal situation that would never happen. I’m too emotional, too needy, “too huggy,” as my mother once told me. I’ve always needed reassurance of love and physical affection. I think some people are just born that way. My brother was never like that, but I always have been. I need to be hugged and reminded that I’m loved, but I’ve always been told that this is unacceptable. Too huggy . What I want is not okay. I’m not like other people. I need to be strong. I need to learn to take care of myself because it’s not okay to ask for what I need. To do so is weak.
    But right then, in that hotel room, talking on the phone, I wanted my mom and dad and I needed my son. I wanted everything to be different but I couldn’t see