inside. Believe it or not, there’s a guy
playing a slot machine. They have slots
in Nevada 7-Elevens. And grocery
stores, airports. Anywhere people get bored.
Even up-all-night bored. Turns out I know
the guy behind the counter. Grady’s a year
older than me and a total loser type.
He’ll probably never work anywhere
but at the Sev, which is doubtless
just fine by him. “Hey, Grady,” I say.
He gives me a total loser smile,
the kind that gives you the creeps.
Hey, Kristina. You’re up early.
“I haven’t been to bed yet,
actually.” Those seven words say
much more than he needs to know.
Grady looks at my eyes, and his
grin grows real wide. Oh, yeah.
I can see it perfectly now.
Whatever. If he knows, it’s because
he gets high too. “I came
by to pick up an application.”
Funny time of the day for that.
Let me see if I can dig one up.
He goes into the back room.
It takes a few minutes, but he
finally returns, application in hand.
You sure you want to work here?
Mostly what’s open is graveyard.
You’d have to put up with people
like him. He points to the slot addict.
The guy doesn’t even turn around.
Fuck you, he says, feeding
a ten into the money reader.
“It’s not like I really want to
work here, but I need a job
and my choices are limited.”
The monster goes on to tell him all
about Hunter. About living with my
parents, studying for my GED,
and wanting a way to escape.
“I’ll be eighteen in a couple
of weeks. But I can’t do anything
until I can save up enough
for a little place. Food. Diapers.”
I smile. “Miscellaneous.”
Yeah, well, if you ever need help
hooking up with that, give me
a buzz. You know where to find me.
All the Way to Stockton
And it was right here,
practically under my
nose (ha-ha) all the time?
As I start out the door,
the slot machine freak lights
a cigarette. Now, I haven’t
indulged that habit in quite
a while either. I quit when I
was pregnant—figured I
was eighty-sixing one bad habit,
why not lose that one too?
But meth and nicotine buddy up
real fine. The smell of fresh-
lit tobacco sucks me right up
tight against Slot Man.
“Could I bum one of those?”
I’m flat out of cash at
the moment, and still under
eighteen. Grady might
stroke me by pretending
he doesn’t know my age,
but the cameras are rolling
and stings for selling booze
or smokes to underage people
are common. I don’t want
to get him in trouble, not when
he might be helpful in the future.
Besides, one cancer stick, with
no more in a drawer, won’t
get me hooked again. Right?
Slot dude smiles a knowing
smile, shakes one from the
hard pack. You owe me one.
Yech. He’s scruffy. Kind
of smelly. I definitely hope
he doesn’t think I owe him.
Grady hands me some matches.
No law against that, right?
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
I retreat outside, into the cool
of sunless morning. My hands
shake a bit as I fire the Camel Light.
It tastes like heaven. Like
if I could just keep smoking
it, I’d never need to eat again.
If you’ve never smoked, you won’t
understand that, but if you have,
you know exactly what I mean.
I suck the poison slowly,
with great, immediate pleasure.
It’s almost as good as…
Okay, maybe not as good as
that. But it calms me,
convinces me to go on home,
do whatever is necessary
to keep my mom and Scott off
my back. Apologize like I’m
really, truly sorry. And, in
several ways, I really am. But
there’s no turning back now.
I Tiptoe Through the Door
Hoping the house is still
silent, and it is. Down
the hall, into my room,
where I quietly seek
out a new stash place,
then lie down on my bed.
The pink silk quilt is almost
too soft. Part of me—a small
part, growing smaller by
the minute—demands penance.
That small part, the Kristina
part, keeps whispering
what a fool the other,
Bree part, is. “Not only
were you stupid to sneak
back to the monster,” she
mumbles, “but ten to one
you’re going to get caught.
Mom and Scott will know.”
The Bree part just stares
contentedly at the ceiling,
really comfortable for the
first time in too many months.
Meth. Tobacco. A chance
at a spectacular guy, even
if he does live three hours
away, over a major mountain.
I get to Reno sometimes.
Will he come just for me?
“Yeah, right,” Kristina
says. “Trey is going to
dump Robyn (who no
doubt gives him head
after giving him money)
and drive over the Sierras
for a frumpy chick with a
baby, who lives with her
parents, who are going to
bust her anyway.”
[Shut the hell up.] Bree
talking, damn her sharp,
irritating whisper. [Don’t
talk too much, keep your
(my) temper in check, leave
the ranting to Mom and Scott,
you’ll (we’ll) be just fine.
And whatever you do,
leave your conscience—
and confessions—behind.]
I sit in bed, arguing
with myself until the sun
peeks up over the eastern
hills, eyes almost as red
as mine must be. Just about
the time the sky shimmers
light, Hunter wakes up.
I go to him quickly, hustle
into the kitchen to fix him
a bottle, kissing him quiet.
Since Mom was up so
incredibly late last night
(worrying about me!)
[hey, conscience, remember?],
she might just sleep in.
Maybe she’ll be so rested
that she’ll only give me
the second degree. I’m
sure not in any mood
for the third.
But It’s Saturday
Mom and a friend of hers
always go to the gym early
to work out. Which means
no way will she sleep in.
She pads into the kitchen,
notices I’m feeding Hunter.
Glad to see you made it home
okay. What time did you get in?
I suppose I could lie, but
that’s just stupid. “Around
four thirty, I guess. I’ll take
a nap when Hunter does.”
Mom gives me a solid once-
over, but if she notices
anything, keeps it to herself.
So how was the college fair?
College fair? Oh, yeah.
“Okay, I guess. It’s a
pretty nice campus and all.
Robyn seems to like it.”
She looks at me harder.
Robyn’s at UOP, isn’t she?
I thought you said the college
fair was in Sacramento.
One thing meth is good
for—manufacturing lies
sans hesitation. “I always mix
up Stockton and Sacramento.”
She stares me straight in
the eye. Good thing you
didn’t mix them up when
you were behind the wheel.
“Heh-heh. Yeah, you’re
right. Oops. Smells like
Hunter’s breakfast went
right through him….”
I start to get up, but Mom
puts a severe hand on my
arm. One second. I need to
talk to you about something.
I swallow hard. Does
she hear Bree’s voice
in my mouth, see the
monster in my eyes? “What?”
Leigh called. She’s planning
on coming home for your
birthday. I thought it might be
a good time to baptize Hunter.
Relief floods my face
like a hot, red tidal wave.
“Baptize Hunter? Oh.
Yeah. Well, I guess so.”
Good. I’ll talk to Pastor
Keith at church tomorrow
morning. You should
think about godparents.
Jeez, is that it? Inquisition
over? “Godparents. Right.
Meanwhile, diaper patrol.”
I make a hasty exit.
Hmm. Baptize Hunter? I’ve
never considered it, let alone
who I’d want to take care
of him, should something
bad happen to me. I don’t
have any friends who could
fill such big shoes. Mom
and Scott? Can grandparents
be godparents? Maybe Leigh?
But would I have to name her
partner, too? And how would
Pastor Keith feel about that?
Thoughts and ideas volley
back and forth in my head.
I put Hunter in his swing,
watch him rock along.
I feel exhilarated. I feel rotten.
I know I’ve made a terrible
mistake. I’m ecstatic that
I found a way to make it.
Mom Leaves for the Gym
Now I have to face Scott,
who finally comes downstairs,
“pissed” written all over his face.
Well, look who decided to
grace us with her presence.
I can’t believe how rude you are.
I didn’t have to take it from
Mom. Should I take it from
husband number two? “Sorry.”
Yeah, whatever. Just don’t
expect to borrow one of our
cars again anytime soon.
All the more reason to find
a way to keep my own vehicle
in tip-top shape. “I won’t.”
Did you apologize to your
mother? She sat up half
the night, worrying about you.
Irritation blossoms. And I’m
starting to want another
little toot. “Yes, I apologized.”
Damn straight. Kristina, you’re
a mom yourself now. Can you
not relate, just a little bit?
Like Hunter is going to
borrow a car and stay out all
night anytime soon. “Sure.”
Good. All it takes is a simple
phone call, okay? That’s why
we gave you the cell phone.
“I’m really, truly sorry, Scott.
Robyn and I just got to par…uh,
talking, and I lost track of time.”
Okay, Kristina. I can understand
that. I know it’s been a while
since you’ve spent time with a friend.
He’s letting me off this easy?
Unreal. “Yes, it has. Thanks
for understanding, Scott.”
Just don’t forget you won’t find
a better friend in the world than
the friends you have in your family.
Scott Takes Off to Play Golf
Jake is at a friend’s.
I put Hunter down
for a nap, decide to try
one myself. My
brain
might be doing
jumping jacks, but my
body is shutting down.
It feels like a lead anchor,
sinking
in a sea of quilt,
tugging me toward repose.
I’m drifting. Sleeping?
A parade of
faces
floats behind my closed
eyes. An ethereal Robyn
grins, her ecru face
distorting
into a vampirelike apparition.
Right behind her comes Trey
(predator or prey?),
handsome
and hungry as a winter-
starved coyote. Segue
to Grady, Grade-E loser,
vile
convenience store
slave and crystal meth
submissive, followed
by Leigh, my absent,
beautiful
sister, with her lesbian
lover, the cheerleader.
Then Mom and Scott, who
must suspect the
uglier
side of last night’s adventure.
So why didn’t they lash
out at me, bombard me
with
questions, search my stuff,
smell my breath, something?
Do they just not want
to know for sure, stress
themselves with such
wisdom?
Or have they, perhaps,
simply given up
on me?
That Feeling
Of wanting to sleep,
desperately needing sleep,
fighting the monster for sleep,
reminds me of one reason
I have been happy to leave
the meth in Hunter’s wake.
Though it’s calling to me,
Just one more little toot,
I simply will not give in.
I will keep the monster in
check. I am stronger
than any addiction. Right?
Somewhere, a telephone
rings. I swim up into gray
afternoon, the inside of
my head thick as chowder,
tug myself from bed,
go to find the offending bell.
I don’t get there quickly
enough. Hunter wakes
at the alarm, and by the time
I reach the phone, nap-wet
baby soaking one arm,
the caller is midmessage.
…haven’t been out your way
in a long time. I figured
your eighteenth birthday
was a good excuse. Besides,
I want to see my grandson
while he’s still a baby. We
should hit Reno on the twenty-
eighth, so
save a few hours
to celebrate with your old man.
My Dad
Is coming for
a visit?
(Why now, after
all these years?)
And not just
any visit,
but on the weekend
of my birthday,
when Leigh is
also coming for
an unexpected visit.
Leigh, who still
refuses to speak
to the father who
left her in his dust.
A visit now,
the same time as
Hunter’s baptism?
I can just hear
Mom: That bastard
has to plan
a visit to Reno,
a place your sister
and I figured he’d
forgotten about?
Why does he have to
remember it now?
I Expect Her to Say
Exactly that. She doesn’t.
But what she does say is enough
to make you cover your ears.
I never knew my mom could
have such a foul mouth! You
fill in the blanks. They scare me!
That mother——ing sonofabitch!
Did he spend all year, waiting
for just the right——sucking
moment to f—up what should
be a perfect day? He has no
——ing right! No right at all.
I simply cannot believe
that pr—would dare show
his face around here,
not after last year. And as for
his wanting to play “grandpa,”
I really don’t think so!
I’m conflicted about his plans.
I want no confrontations, no bad
blood. (Especially not if it’s going
to be spilled in the baptismal
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