by E. Graziani
“I’m sorry about the head lice thing,” Connie says in earnest. “And maybe I did talk shit about Mom, but I was really pissed at her and I still am, in a way. She really fucked the three of us with her weak way of coping with life.”
I can’t disagree. “Yeah, but I was still a kid, you know. And hearing my older sister echo everybody else’s opinions about the woman I wanted most to love me and care for me—did something to me inside. More than anyone else’s, your words cut through me, Connie. The kids at school, Gran, our neighbors, Josephine—then you. It was like I was in a dark pit and slowly the walls were closing in on me. And when you started to get on Mom, I felt like I was being buried alive.” My voice rises, as I remember the old pain. “It didn’t matter when everyone else said stuff about her, but when you did, you made it true—then, deep down, I knew it was. That’s when things started to get worse for me. I felt like everyone was talking about me and saying stuff about our family—or lack of one.”
“Come on, Faith, we weren’t the only ones with an abnormal family—I mean now, if you come from a family where your parents aren’t divorced or separated, you’re the abnormal one.”
“Maybe, but it’s not normal to have a drug-addicted runaway for a mom.”
Connie pauses, and takes a deep breath. “That’s true.” She shivers again. “Can we get out of here and get warm somewhere? My apartment’s about ten minutes away by cab.”
I shake my head vehemently. “Not yet. I want to talk this out. Then I’ll decide what I’m gonna do.” I’ve become defensive again.
“Okay, okay. No worries.” Connie blows warm air in her hands and rubs them together. “You know, Destiny is doing pretty good. She volunteers at St. Joseph’s Hospital on weekends, when she’s not working at the mall. And she won Gold in the district science fair last month—looks like she’ll be going on to regionals.”
“That’s awesome.” I have mixed feelings of great pride and jealousy.
“You wanna know what she did her project on? It’s on drug and alcohol abuse.”
I can’t help it: I burst out in a huge snort of laughter. The entire thing is just too ironic. Connie must agree with me because she’s laughing, too. “Wow!” I manage to say when I find my voice again. “How very appropriate for her to score so well on that subject. She’s been surrounded by textbook cases since she was a toddler.” Connie nods, laughing softly.
“Actually, her research was brilliant. She used fruit flies and got them to develop a tolerance or something like that—”
“No way—that’s incredible….” My voice trails off as I realize how people’s characters and mental well-being can make them react to the same situations in polar opposite ways; I think of Destiny and then of myself. But then I think of Connie’s situation again, and I know I can’t let her get off that easily.
“I just had the freakiest thought, Connie. I mean, people respond so differently to their environment—you know, our family would make a brilliant scientific study. Our mother was a drug addict, who conceived three children by three different men, died as a result of drug use, and who I had only seen a handful of times in years; our grandmother is a miserable, neglectful old bitch who thinks that just feeding her grandchildren and telling them to bathe every week is the extent of her responsibilities as a custodial guardian—”
“Stop, Faith—”
“Wait, I’m not done.” I’m getting angrier with every word. “Of course, it’s the middle child who follows in the footsteps of her mother, she’s mentally screwed up and living on the streets of Toronto. Then there’s the youngest, who decides to use her knowledge of her messed-up family, hoping to do some good in the world. Of course, we can’t forget the oldest child, who, relieved to be spared from living in a crappy house with an unfeeling grandmother, denies her siblings and may as well be living on another planet, and shitting in a golden toilet.” I’m rambling and irritable and in need of a fix really soon.
“You know that’s really an offensive thing to say, Faith.” Connie gets up clumsily, shaking her legs to get the feeling back into them. As for myself, I feel the rage building. I can picture Connie at her birthday party, standing around with her shallow friends, acting like a queen bee, and thinking she was all that. I rise to my feet, too, egged on by the fresh adrenaline surging through me.
“Don’t you call my words offensive, Constance! I heard you, goddamn it! You wanna know why I’m here, Connie?”
“Take it easy, Faith. You don’t have to shout…” Her hands are up.
“Yes, I do! Because you need to hear it loud and clear! You are the reason I ran away. You!”
She motions to herself with both hands. “Me?” She shakes her head. “No, not me. Don’t blame your inability to cope on me.”
“Yes, you. Because you were all I had left. You were all the good I had left that was like…like Mom…. Someone to lean on, who I thought I could trust to be there for me. And then you just threw me away, like everyone else did.”
“You’re delusional,” she says as she fakes a laugh. “I never did anything but support you. I made Josie drive to get you and Des until I was old enough to drive, and then I did—I came to get you or to visit. Don’t lie to me about that shit.”
I’m feeling really edgy now, and I note that there are passersby who are gawking at us. The pain inside is starting. “You’re so stupid, Connie,” I say, clenching my teeth. “Your nineteenth birthday party…”
“Oh boy! Here we go again with the damned birthday party…”
“Yes, I’m gonna talk about your party because that’s when I heard you tell your friends that I was the social outcast of the family.” My breathing is shallow and I can’t take in enough air. “You basically told your preppy friends that your sister is a loser. Now, in my books, sisters who truly care about each other don’t talk shit about one another—am I wrong?” What is left of my common sense tells me that I need to calm down or I will pass out or something. Then my eyes well up. I try not to cry, but the emotion is too strong.
I can tell that she’s thinking, replaying the night over in her mind, and as the tears rise in my eyes, I see the moment she recalls exactly what she said, where she said it, and who she said it to. Connie looks as though someone pulled a rug out from under her. Is she shocked that I heard her, or is she shocked that so few careless words could have affected me so deeply?
She folds her arms across her chest and looks down at the ground. The ensuing quiet seems to disinterest the gawkers, and so they move on, but now I can hear that her phone is blowing up—her friends must be wondering if I’ve killed her.
“Oh my God, Faith.” She paces and turns her body in circles, as though trying to escape the truth. “I was drunk. I’m sorry, I’m sooo sorry.” Her speech drawls out for emphasis. “If it’s true that I did this to you—I just…” She shakes her head, her eyes finally meeting mine. “I’m sorry, Faith. I was just trying to be cool. I remember saying it to some of the girls from my school but I never thought you would ever—”
“You never thought I would hear you. By saying that you were forced to have your freak of a sister there, you absolved yourself from any voluntary association with me. But I was still at the party, thinking I was welcome.” My tone is stoic, though I still have to wipe tears from my cheeks. My restlessness is increasing with every passing minute, and the pain in my bones tells me I need to get out of here.
“Again, I’m sorry, Faith. What can I do to help you? Please let me…”
“Nothing. Just say good-bye and go—go get your friends.” I motion to her phone in her pocket. “They’re looking for you—they probably think you’re dead or something.”
“I already told you I’m not leaving you.”
“Look, I need to get a fix soon—so unless you want to come with me, that’s where I’m headed next.” Then the thought strikes me—maybe she can help me. I’ll ask her
for the money I need to survive the next few hours. I’m certainly not going to fall asleep in the cold, puking and convulsing. I need to get high again, and soon. “I feel really sick, Connie. Do you have any money you can give me? So I can buy some H.”
“Are you nuts? I can’t do that—that’s like, enabling you—”
“If I don’t get high soon, I’ll get sick, Connie. Do you understand?” I shiver. “If you won’t help me, I’ll have to steal to get money for it.” I turn abruptly to leave the alley from the other end, toward Gerrard Street, knowing that time isn’t on my side.
Suddenly I feel a tug on the back of my jacket, and instinctively I whirl around and push her hand off. “What the fu—. Don’t do that. I told you I have to—”
“Okay! I’ll give you the money,” she shouts out. Her breath is coming in short bursts. “I’ll give you the money, just come with me afterward. Promise me.”
I hold out my hand. “Give it.”
“No. I…I go with you,” she sputters. “That’s my condition. I go with you, you get your fix, then you come with me. I have more money after that. I’ll give it to you again, but you have to come to my place. You have to promise me, or no money.” Her breathing increases. I see in her eyes that she’s afraid. “Promise me or I walk away.” The restlessness in my bones is increasing, and my head is starting to pound. I can’t let this go too far; I’ve been down this road before. I’m ready to give in, though in a different way from my late-afternoon post-high grogginess. Connie’s phone is ringing again.
“Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll come home with you.”
My sister lets out a huge sigh, takes off her glove, and holds out her hand to me. This time I don’t hesitate—I grasp it and squeeze it tight like she’s thrown me a lifeline. A reaction I wasn’t ready for on my part, but I never thought it would feel so good to let myself be overcome by someone else’s hope against hope.
“Thank God, Faith. Thank God.” She pulls me closer to her, and her arms wrap around me like wings. And then we just hug. We hug and cry for a long time.
Then Connie calls Des, and we cry again.
Chapter 27
Connie was patient. She came with me the three times I visited Henry for my hits and stood outside uncomfortably as he ogled her from the window of his car in the back alley. Once my fifth set of folds was done, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore—I was living for my next hit. Connie’s conversations with Destiny and her “normal” way of life made me see it. That was when I approached Connie and I agreed to at least try to stop. She still wasn’t exactly what I would consider my best friend at the moment—I was still cool to her, even though she was trying damned hard to be apologetic.
I lived with Connie for a couple weeks before I was ready to give up chasing the dragon. I told her about Shaylee and Taylor and Trevor and Kyle, and about the gentle kindness of Mrs. Lieberman and how her death affected me as much, if not more, than Momma’s. To this day, I still don’t understand why that is.
In that time, I spoke to Destiny only once. I didn’t want to talk to my little sister while I was on H.
“Please, Faith, let me come there,” Des begged. “I want to see you so much. I miss you—and so does Gran. I know you don’t believe me but it’s true.”
I raised my brows, laughed softly. Gran? I don’t think so. “Not right now, Des. In a while, when I feel better.” Oh my God, I sound exactly like Mom. That’s what she used to say all the time to stall us. Am I that much like her? Am I going to end up like her in the end? “I swear, Des.”
Gran wanted to talk to me, too, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach for the phone that Connie thrust at me. Eventually, Connie made up some excuse about me needing to sleep, and I think Gran figured out I wasn’t in the mood.
The only other person I spoke to every day besides Connie was Josephine. Her calm voice grounded me with her talk of the garden she would plant this year and of the early perennials starting to bud.
We decided on a place I would go to for detoxification—the beginning steps to getting clean. The name of the detox place at the hospital didn’t sound offensive or scummy at all—it was called the West Toronto Mercy Hospital Withdrawal Management Centre. It almost sounded like a bank. Josephine’s doctor suggested it, along with a clinic that specializes in treating teens with addictions. I was to check in there after my initial withdrawal symptoms dissipated.
On the morning I was admitted into the withdrawal center, Gran, Josephine, and Destiny met me and Connie there. When Connie ushered me down the long corridor to the Medical Detoxification Services desk, I saw the three women from Greenleigh waiting for me—I assume it was a show of solidarity and moral support for my upcoming cleaning out, but when they got a good look at me, there was a collective gasp. Had I changed that much in the year and a half that I had been gone?
...
Destiny meets me at a run halfway down the hall and throws her arms around me, almost knocking me over.
“Faith—I can’t believe I’m touching you,” my little sister gulps between sobs. I hold on to her tightly, but tears won’t come for me.
“I’m so sorry I left you, Des.” My gaze drifts to my Gran. “So sorry.” Gran edges over, keeping a close grip on her handbag. Destiny sees her and lets go. With a Herculean effort only my sisters and I will ever appreciate, Gran lifts her arm and side-hugs me for a brief moment. Destiny exhales, as though she’s been coaching Gran so she would get it right and has achieved her one objective for the event. I smile slightly, then turn to Josephine. Her pancake face powder is streaked by her tears, and she dabs at her eyes from under her glasses.
“So happy to see you again, Faith.” I get a big hug from her. She smells like Chanel No. 5. “We’re all rooting for you.” A smile warm enough to make toast graces her mouth, but I start to feel the slight cold of “need” coming at me.
I had my last hit about four hours ago, which made me feel relatively normal. But everyone knew that wouldn’t last for long—about halfway into the intake meeting, I’m edgy and nervous and irritable. The need is coming fast.
We walk as a group to the admitting desk, and soon a nurse appears from a room down the hall. She has beautiful skin and pink lips. She shows us into the little intake room and has me fill out some forms. “I need a signature from a parent or guardian?” Her request sounds like a question as her gaze skips from Gran to Josephine.
“That would be me,” answers Gran. She purses her lips as she signs and draws in a judgmental breath. Destiny’s pointed gaze goes right for her, and Gran eases up.
The nurse asks some questions, then she explains the procedure to me. “All right, honey, so you are going to be started on what they call a medical detoxification program. This program will take place in this special hospital wing, where you will be closely supervised by trained professionals who will use medication to help you through the withdrawal process.” She smiles, but I’m now distracted and breaking out into gooseflesh as I shudder with a chill.
It’s time. Before I go in, I grasp Connie’s arm and pull her toward me, holding on to her for what seems like forever. “I’m so afraid, Connie,” I finally say, my voice a raspy, tearful whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this.” I sense she knows I don’t mean only the detox, I mean everything.
“You are a tough, determined woman, Faith.” She holds me like a mother holds her crying child. “You have strength and courage in you that you aren’t even aware of. You’re gonna kick ass.” We all hug for a minute or two longer, even Gran hangs on clumsily, and then the nurse tells them that it would be best if they leave and that staff will be in contact regularly to let them know how I am doing.
“You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.” Bob Marley said that.
I’m whisked away and placed in a hospital bed, hooked up with an IV cocktail of medications to help me purge the heroin out of my body.
The cocktail will also help to ease the physical side effects of withdrawal, such as vomiting and cramping.
If that cocktail is easing the symptoms, then I’d hate to feel the full impact—I think my head is going to explode. Think of your worst flu, your worst sick ever. Now multiply that by about a bazillion times and you’ll get an idea of what detox feels like: shivering cold sweats, throwing up, a twisting pain in the belly that feels like someone is tying your guts into a knot. Throw in muscle spasms and soiling yourself a few times, and all the romance of drug use flies out the window if it hasn’t already.
All this peaks at about Day Two then tapers to a dull, numbing pain by about the seventh day—probably due to the muscle twitching and dry retching. I feel myself slowly swimming up from the shadows, and I let my essence feel the sunlight again. But only a small ray will be permitted to peek through the layers just yet.
Chapter 28
“Our treatment program not only addresses substance abuse and addiction, but also treats the underlying psychological and social issues that may be affecting your sobriety.” My eyes are intensely focused on the counselor’s eyebrows. Underlying psychological and social issues. She moves them in such a way that they’re synced harmoniously with each syllable she utters. I’m finding it hard to concentrate on what she’s saying about my “next step in the journey to sobriety” because of those damned eyebrows. She turns to Gran and Connie.
“We work with clients and their families to identify and target the possible underlying causes and vulnerabilities linked to addictive behaviors. Our approach here at Horizon House is to provide a foundation for long-term sobriety.”
I want some dragon, I think to myself. I want some of that curly white smoke. A shudder and a headshake, and I’m back on her eyebrows, chasing the thought away by thinking of the hell that I just came through.