by Mann, Marni
“Heroin brought me to prison,” he said.
He told me about the night he'd been arrested. He'd been on smack and needed money to pay off the dealers he owed, so he held up a store at gunpoint. The owner of the store had pulled out a gun, trying to protect himself, and Henry got scared and fired. The man died instantly. Henry took the cash from the register and got four blocks down the street before the cops picked him up. He was sentenced to life without parole.
“How old were you?” I asked.
“He was twenty-four,” Claire said.
“I started slamming junk when I was eighteen, I was living with Mom and stole all her valuables for drug money,” he said and reached his hand over to Claire. She held his hand between hers. “And I put her through hell.”
For the first time since I'd met her, I saw pain in Claire's eyes. They filled with tears, and as she blinked, the drops rolled down her cheeks. That was why she didn't freak when she'd caught me nodding out. But why didn't she tell me Henry was a junkie too?
“You've seen what dope did to your buddy Eric,” he said. “When it comes to heroin, it's either death or jail, there ain't nothing in between.”
He was so wrong. I didn't owe anyone money. I didn't own a gun and I'd never commit armed robbery or pull the trigger to get my fix. Eric had OD'd because he wasn't good at using needles and hadn't known how much dope to shoot. Renee got pregnant, but it wasn't from doing heroin.
If they thought they could turn me sober by bringing me here, they were wasting their time.
The buzzer went off, and visiting hours were over. Henry and Claire hugged, and he shook my hand again. His skin was clammy, and my hand slipped out of his grip from the sweat.
“I thought it would mean more,” he said, “seeing me in orange and listening to it in here.”
That didn't change how I felt. Jail was for people who were stupid enough to get caught or for people who got ratted on like Que and Raul. I was a junkie, not a dealer. And I wasn't stupid.
When we got outside, I went straight into the alley and over to the dumpster. I reached my hand behind it, searching for the Ziploc. My hand grabbed nothing but air.
The bag was gone?
“Claire, I can't find it, will you look?”
She bent to her knees and ran her hand along the crack. “I don't see it, honey.”
Where else could it be?
I looked all over, by all three sides of the dumpster, and under the piles of trash on the ground that hadn't made it into the bin. If it wasn't on the concrete, it had to be inside the dumpster. I opened the lid and climbed up the side. I ripped open all the trash bags, rummaging through the food and papers. The Ziploc wasn't in there either.
I jumped to the ground and took off my hoodie, ringing out the soaked sleeves. There was a banana peel stuck to my sneaker, and my hands were brown and sticky.
Someone had stolen everything I had, my needles, spoons, and a whole day's worth of smack. Who would do that to me? And how did they find my bag?
I had three dollars in my wallet. And five hours to make enough money to replace it all or I was going to be dope sick.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We didn't get back to the hotel until five, which didn't give me much time to dress and stuff my baby bump. I packed my stomach as fast as I could with Sunshine's socks and plopped down on a new corner, at Huntington Avenue and some cross street. Usually I chose a spot closer to the Prudential Building, but if I wasted anymore time walking, I wouldn't make any money.
Huntington was busy, but the people were barely looking at me when they walked by, and they seemed much younger than the usual business crowd. Some even laughed at my cardboard sign. They didn't understand how badly I needed their money and how sick I was going to be if I didn't earn enough.
I started calling out, “Can you spare some change,” to everyone who passed. That didn't help either. It was like I was invisible.
One guy dropped a couple pennies in my hand. “Use a condom,” he said.
Wasn't it too late for a condom?
“I did, it broke,” I yelled, but he was already walking away.
He must have heard me because he turned around. “People like you shouldn't be having sex,” he said.
What did he mean by people like me? Because my sign said I was sixteen? My sleeves were rolled to my elbows, so maybe he saw my track marks. That didn't matter though, just because I used heroin didn't mean I shouldn't have sex.
A group of teenagers were coming down the sidewalk and all of them were wearing Northeastern hoodies. I'd forgotten that Northeastern University was on Huntington Avenue and only a few blocks from where I was sitting. Damn, that was the reason I wasn't making any money. College students didn't have spare cash like business people. I'd picked the worst place to panhandle, but it was too late to move spots. It was already six o'clock and the evening rush was over. I went back to the hotel and counted the cash I'd made during both shifts. I had eight bucks and that was only enough for one bag. I used three bags for each shot and needed at least three more shots to get me through until morning. I was thirty-seven dollars short.
I searched the room, looking in all the spots where Sunshine might hide an extra stash. But I knew there wasn't smack in the room. Junkies didn't plan for times like this. And there wasn't anything of Sunshine's I could pawn. The TV was too heavy for me to carry, and pawnshops didn't buy clothes or makeup.
I called Sunshine's cell to ask if we could meet up, but she didn't answer. I phoned a second and third time and still, she didn't answer. Where the hell was she? She needed to change and paint her face before hitting the streets, and it was already dark.
I didn't want to work the corner without her. Pimps forced new girls into their cars and beat them until they agreed to be one of their whores. Sunshine knew all the pimps, so when I was with her, they left me alone. But she wasn't answering, so turning tricks wasn't an option.
I knocked on Claire's door, and she invited me in. The fish she was cooking made me queasy. It had been eight hours since my last shot. A couple more hours without dope, and I was going to be really sick.
I asked her for money, and she gave me the two dollars she had in her wallet.
“That's all you've got?” I asked. “Will you go to the ATM?”
“My check hasn't come in yet, so I don't have any more to give you.”
I thought of the Ziploc and how she had told me to hide it in the alley.
“Did you steal my bag of heroin?”
She was standing at the kitchen counter, mixing something with a big spoon. “Why would I do that?”
“For the same reason you wanted me to meet Henry,” I said.
She walked over to me and put her hands on my shoulders. “I wanted the two most important people in my life to meet, that's all.”
“Then why did he lecture me?”
“You and Henry share the same past,” she said. “Who better to hear it from?”
“The only thing I share with Henry is love for the needle. He murdered someone for—” I said and stopped.
Her eyes welled up, and her hands dropped from my shoulders.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “I shouldn't have said that.”
Still, it was too much of a coincidence that I'd gotten lectured and had my dope stolen on the same day.
“Just tell me, did you take it?” I asked.
“I don't steal people's things,” she said. “Plus, I was with you the whole time.”
She was right. She'd never left my side while we were inside the prison.
I told her I'd see her tomorrow and walked out the door. I paced the hallway, trying to come up with a plan. I could suck Richard's dick for a bag or two, but I needed more dope than that. I'd have to give him head all night, and I'd be too sick in the morning to panhandle.
I had to call Michael. He'd start in about what I had said to him at the train station, and I'd have to listen to all that rehab shit again. But I didn't have anyone else to
ask.
He picked up after the first ring. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I needed to come up with something good.
“I've been calling you nonstop,” he said. “Why is your phone always shut off?”
What would make him want to give me money?
“I've been looking for you too on the streets,” he said, “since I don't know where you live and…”
The streets? I had the perfect lie.
“Cole?”
“Yeah, I'm here,” I said.
“Will you go to rehab? For me? Please?”
“I'm in trouble.”
His voice was even more panicked than before. “What's wrong? What happened?”
“I'm pregnant and I need money for an abortion.”
“You're what?”
“I can't have the baby, you know, like this,” I said.
“Have you been to the doctor?”
“The abortion costs five hundred and I've scheduled it for tomorrow morning.”
“Come over, I've got the money,” he said, and I hung up.
I didn't have a lot of time. I needed to get the cash and go straight to Richard's so I could catch Sunshine before she left for work. She usually kept a few clean rigs in her purse.
When Michael opened the door, his face looked like I had kicked him in the gut. My stomach wasn't any better. I was starting to feel dope sick, and pretty soon I'd be throwing up.
He moved to the side of the door. “Let's talk,” he said.
I stood in the living room, and he took a seat on the couch. He asked me to sit next to him.
“I don't have much time,” I said. “So say what you have to say.”
He shook his head and put his hands on his cheeks. “What happened to you?”
What happened to me? Women got pregnant all the time and chose to have an abortion. Since I was slamming dope, wasn't that the more responsible decision?
“You had everything going for you,” he said. “And now look at you.”
I crossed my arms over my stomach, trying to hold the food down. “Are you going to give it to me or not?”
“Is it because you didn't get help after the rape?”
“That doesn't even make sense,” I said.
“Then why are you pregnant and addicted to heroin?”
“I don't know.”
I liked the way smack made me feel. I liked watching the needle glide into my vein and feeling the chamber empty into my body. I liked how it took me away into a dream, where I didn't have to think about my past or future or make any decisions. Everything inside me and around me was beautiful when I was high.
Why wouldn't everyone just leave me alone? I had to listen to Claire and Henry this afternoon, and now Michael too? How was I hurting them? This was the first time I'd asked anyone for money.
“I just don't want to be pregnant anymore,” I said.
“Are you selling your body?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It does to me,” he said.
“I'm selling it to anyone who will buy it. Now give me the money, so I can go.”
His face cringed like I was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen.
This was another reason why I used heroin. The look Michael had just given me and the questions he asked wouldn't have sunk in if I were on dope. But because I was sober, I felt his look all the way down to my toes.
“Do you want to die?” he asked.
I wanted to get out of here. And to make that happen, I needed to try a different approach.
I sat on the chair across from the couch and looked him in the eyes. “Michael please, I just want to get rid of this baby,” I said. “I'll come back to your apartment after the abortion and do whatever you want me to.”
“You promise me? You swear on my life?”
“I swear.”
He stood from the couch and disappeared into his bedroom.
I wasn't going to die, at least not from heroin. I was good at injecting. I knew how much dope to shoot so I wouldn't OD and how to get all the air bubbles out of the rig. Panhandling wasn't going to kill me, and Richard was harmless. Michael was just trying to scare me.
There was an envelope from CVS on his coffee table, and to keep my mind off puking, I opened it up. The pictures were all of Michael and some guy posing in front of Boston Harbor and Fenway Park. I didn't recognize the dude. He wasn't one of his college friends. He must have been a buddy from work.
I flipped to a photo and it showed—no. Michael had his arm wrapped around the guy's neck. And. And they were kissing. The next few pictures showed different stages of their kiss, from a peck to full-blown tongue shots.
Michael was gay? But he always had a girlfriend. In high school and college, the girls were all about him, and all my friends had a crush on him when we were growing up.
I put the pictures back in the envelope and placed it on the table. All except for one, the photo where their eyes were open and Michael's tongue was in the guy's mouth. That picture went in my purse.
“His name is Jesse,” he said from the doorway of the living room. He walked over to me, put the cash on the coffee table, and kneeled on the floor with his hands on my knees. “And we've been dating for over a year.”
“A year?”
He nodded his head. “I'm in love with him.”
A year ago, I'd found heroin. How funny, we'd both fallen in love at the same time.
Why didn't he tell me he was gay? We used to talk about everything, our relationships, dirt on our friends, and even stupid things like TV shows. And then I started using, and our friendship changed. When we spoke on the phone, I was high and did all the talking. I couldn't remember the last time he'd shared something personal with me.
“Do mom and dad know?” I asked.
“Not yet, they've been too worried about you, but…”
My mouth started to water.
“They won't have to worry anymore,” he said. “You're going to rehab tomorrow, right?”
“Michael, I'm—”
“You promised me,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Why don't you stay the night, and I'll take you to the doctor tomorrow?”
My stomach cramped, and a hot flash sent drips of sweat down my back.
“I don't feel good,” I said. “I think I'm going to be sick.”
He put his hand on my forehead. “You're burning hot.”
“Will you get me some water?” I asked. “Water and Tylenol?”
“Why don't you lie down on the couch.”
I knew if I moved, I'd throw up. That wasn't such a bad thing, I thought. At least if I hurled, it would get him out of the living room for a second.
He helped me out of the chair, and after my second step, I leaned forward. My stomach churned and puke poured from my mouth. My sneakers were covered with chunks, and it splattered on my shirt.
“Don't move, let me get you a towel and a clean shirt,” he said and sped off towards the bathroom.
When I heard him open the closet door, I grabbed the cash and ran out of his apartment. I bolted into the stairwell and shut the door behind me. Hopefully, he'd check the elevator first, which would buy me some time.
I made it out the back door of his building, and there was still no sign of him. I took side streets, and by the time I got on the train, I knew I'd lost him.
When I got inside Richard's bedroom, I gave him the five hundred dollars. What he handed me was the fattest sack of dope I'd ever seen. There was enough smack to last me about a week if I rationed it like Eric had.
I sat in the back of the train on the way home. The jerking and stopping made me throw up all over the floor again. A little taste would take all my sickness away, but I didn't have a rig and I couldn't snort a line in front of all these people. After each heave, more people stared or got up from their seats to move further away.
I held my stomach and ran to the hotel. There was a note taped to the outside of our d
oor. It was from Claire and it said to meet her at Boston Medical.
Why was she in the hospital? And if she was sick, how did she have enough time to leave a note?
Before I went anywhere, I needed to get straight first. Sunshine wasn't home, and there weren't any rigs lying around, so I snorted the powder. It took a few lines for the hot flashes to stop and for my stomach to feel good enough to walk to the hospital.
Claire was sitting in the waiting room of the ER. When she saw me come in, she stood and pulled me into her arms. “What's going on?” I asked.
“It's Sunshine.”
“What's wrong with her?”
Claire told me she'd heard Sunshine crying in our room and rushed over to see if she was all right. She found Sunshine on the floor, and there was foam coming out of her mouth. But that wasn't all of it. Her face was swollen and bruised. She'd been beaten up and there was blood on her legs.
Had someone raped her?
The last time I'd been in a hospital, dried blood had been all over my legs too.
“Did she tell you who did this to her?” I asked.
Claire shook her head.
“Is she going to be okay?”
She said she didn't know.
We sat by the reception area, waiting for the doctor. Claire cried and held my hand. She'd let go to blow her nose and then squeeze my fingers again.
If Sunshine was going to be in the hospital for a while, I needed to find a way to get needles. Maybe I could steal them from the hospital. There had to be a storage room with boxes of rigs, or I could snatch some from those carts the nurses pushed around.
What about the hotel? If Sunshine couldn't fuck Frankie, would he let me stay for free or would I have to bang him too?
Damn, Sunshine. Why did you have to let yourself get beat up?
Someone was always screwing things up for me. Eric had died, leaving Renee and me with one less income. Que and Raul had gotten arrested and that left us with no place to live and no more free dope. And then Renee took off and I was alone. Now Sunshine, too?
At least I had a fat sack of dope. Yes. I didn't have to panhandle with a whole week supply of heroin. And if I could get some needles, life would be really good.