by Nic Sheff
We sit there like that.
Smiling back and forth.
When the fifty minutes are up, I immediately go to find Sue Ellen—walking some of the sickness outta my body—stopping only to watch a raven land clumsily on a gnarled tree branch. It cocks its head back twice before flying off again and joining the other birds gathered at the edge of the rooftop.
Sue Ellen is sitting, like always, up at the smoke pit. With long legs crossed, one hand compulsively ashing a cigarette, the other pulling at her flat-ironed black hair. Her oversize sunglasses teeter precariously on the end of her aquiline nose. Her jaw click-clicks like maybe she’s grinding her teeth or something. There’s a thick wool knit scarf wrapped around her neck, despite the sun, and she’s wearing two sweaters—a cardigan and something tight and low-cut that I don’t know the name for. Her blue jean bell-bottoms are cut short at the ankles.
“Hey, Sue Ellen,” I say—louder than I need to. “What’s up, girl?”
Everyone turns to look at me with these sort of horrified expressions on their faces, like I just climbed out on the ledge of a tall building and am threatening to jump.
Ray hunches over, putting a finger to his lips—eyes darting—whispering, “Nic, shh, what are you doing?”
I walk over next to Sue Ellen. “No, it’s okay. I’ve come to announce that, as of about three minutes ago, Sue Ellen and I are officially off our no-communication contract.”
She stands up. “Is that true?”
“Yeah, totally. We can talk as much as we want.”
“Or as little.”
She laughs at her own joke, and then everyone takes turns congratulating us. I mean, honestly, I think they all approve of me ’n’ Sue Ellen as a couple. At least, they all act super supportive. They can tell the difference, you know? This isn’t just some desperate, quick-fix substitute for getting high.
We really care about each other.
This is love.
Believe me, if it was anything else, I would never be capable of doing something like this. I mean, I’ve been on the other side.
When I first got here, there was this kid Matt, from Maine, who immediately took it upon himself to really try ’n’ mentor me. He was a tough kid—tatted up—with long, wiry hair and a thick, thick accent. He’d really fought the place when he got here, just like me, so I guess that’s why he took an interest. He’d sit up smoking with me, even when my body was still seizing from the detox, telling me about the way he’d been when he first got to treatment—how he’d packed his bags five different times with the intention of ditching this place. He’d been running the streets his whole life. The hell if he was gonna let these touchy-feely, soy-fed, patchouli-smelling, incense-lighting, mama’s little pansies order him around. All he had to do was clench his fists and the whole lotta them would flinch back.
But by the time I met him, Matt was like a totally different person. He’d become gentle and caring. He reached out to me when no one else did.
“I know this place seems like it’s all full of shit,” he told me, his bug eyes popping out beneath his thick brow ridge. “But just try doing, like, one or two things they tell you to. That’s what it took for me, man. One day I just decided, you know, ‘Matt, you’re gonna fuckin’ try this thing.’ I got a little boy in foster care ’cause his mom ’n’ me are both dope fiends and can’t take care of him. I know for damn sure his mom ain’t gettin’ clean ever, so that means I’m the only chance he’s got. ’Cause the hell I’m gonna let my boy be raised by some goddamn strangers. So I told myself to give this place a shot, you know, and I started participating in group and then, man, here I am. Gonna be outta here in a couple weeks, and they already got me parental visitation rights. I know it ain’t too much, but it’s a start for now.”
But then, a few days later, after a group trip to the aquarium in Albuquerque, we were all gathering down in the community room for our nightly meeting. Both Matt and this girl Rachel were absent, which was weird ’cause I’d been with them all day on the outing.
When the meeting was over, I ran up to the main lodge and saw Matt in there, with Rachel, closed off in the counselor’s assistant’s office, surrounded by, like, every staff member in the entire place.
An hour later two taxis showed up, one for Matt and one for Rachel. I watched them load up their different bags ’n’ things. Matt’s head was hung real low. He couldn’t make eye contact with any of us. He couldn’t even come say good-bye.
Of course, it didn’t take long for the details of what had happened to get passed down to us. It was basically what I’d expected—one of the counselor’s assistants, this club-footed woman named Sonia, was going from cabin to cabin reminding everyone about the community meeting. When she got to Rachel’s, however, she heard some sort of noise and stuck her head in the door. According to the rumors, Sonia hadn’t actually caught them in the middle of the act itself, but they were lying naked in bed together. Within less than two hours, they’d been removed from the premises. No trial. No jury. Just execution.
And as much as I felt sick about it, I had to admit that I understood why they’d been kicked out. I mean, it’s like that Peaches song that used to be so popular. “Fuck the pain away.”
They used to play it at, like, every goddamn club in New York when I lived there.
I guess that’s no wonder.
“Fuck the pain away.”
I mean, fuck it, drink it, shoot it, smoke it, snort it, cut it, binge it, purge it all the fuck away.
Get high. Relapse. That’s what we do.
And that’s what Matt and Rachel did.
So, yeah, no big surprise they were thrown outta here.
Even if that kid of Matt’s ends up having to stay in foster care.
Even if one of them gets loaded and ODs, or both of ’em do.
I cried, actually, as their taxis drove off, the smear of red taillights disappearing behind the first bend in the gravel driveway. There was a feeling like… like the time in San Francisco when this guy on the street sold me forty dollars’ worth of H that ended up being just a chunk of black-colored soap. I felt embarrassed—sickened—like I never wanted to tell anyone how easily I’d been suckered. And, man, this rage was surging through me—pounding—like blood filling my head so my ears exploded wide open—leaving me blind and dizzy and fantasizing about tracking down the motherfucker and bashing in his skull. With Matt getting kicked out, there was a rage like that. I’d trusted him. I’d genuinely believed all that bullshit he’d been telling me. I’d looked up to him. I thought he’d really changed. But it was all a con, man, a fucking con. He’d ripped me off, just like that guy in San Francisco. So, uh, yeah, there was a whole lotta rage inside me. And there was a whole lot of sadness and embarrassment, too.
But, then again, I was also worried about him, you know? I was worried about what would happen to him now that they’d kicked him straight the fuck out on his ass. I mean, people die from this shit all the time. Last year alone I lost two people—one to an OD and the other to a motorcycle accident. It never gets any easier. And there’s no telling which one of our dumb asses is gonna be next. Hell, Matt could get himself dead, and I’d probably never even know. It’s not like I have his goddamn phone number or anything.
But this thing with Sue Ellen, well, it’s totally different. We’re not fucking any pain away. We care about each other. I mean, we’ve fallen in love. And that hasn’t gotten in the way of the work we’re doing here—not at all. If anything, we’re just pushing each other to go deeper with all this shit. It’s cool, you know, ’cause we get to really support each other—lift each other up when we’re feeling weak, or scared, or just overwhelmed with hopelessness. She validates me and, well, I validate her, too. I make her feel beautiful, valuable, worthy of love. Honestly, there’s no way she would’ve been able to open up as much as she has without me there telling her over and over that I want her and need her. That’s not me bragging or anything; it’s just the truth. She relies
on me and I rely on her. We write each other letters. We look out for each other. There’s not one goddamn person who could find fault with that.
And no one does.
I mean, I’m pretty sure they all just think we’re sort of, uh, cute, or whatever.
And now that I’ve announced we’re off our contract, everyone seems genuinely excited—acting all supportive and everything. We stand around laughing and talking like that till it’s time to go to group. I can’t help but notice that the ravens have gathered in the branches all around us—waiting impatiently to pick through whatever trash we’ve left behind.
Ch.10
Sue Ellen agrees to meet me in the woods near the boundary of the property—mostly ’cause I just want to talk to her in private, that’s all.
The sun is setting quickly against the distant, silhouetted mountains—a child’s faded chalk drawing in orange and red and pink and purple.
We find a somewhat hidden shelter between the thorns and the parched, tangled branches—about three hundred yards behind our section of cabins and fifteen feet up from the encircling barbed-wire fence. That always seemed like a nice touch, you know, the barbed wire. Just in case we ever thought about escape.
Sue Ellen looks up at me—eyes searching, lips parted. She puts her small hands in my jacket pockets, pressing up against me.
I kiss her and she kisses me.
We kiss desperately—like we really need it—like we’ve been wandering lost for days in the woods—starving—weak and dying from dehydration.
I suck on her tongue, and then she pulls away.
“I’m sorry,” she says, whispering so we won’t get caught. “It’s just… I don’t know. I’m really scared, Nic. We’re so close to leaving, and I can’t help feeling like we’re never gonna see each other again.”
My gloved hands take hold of both her shoulders.
I crouch down so I’m right at eye level.
“Listen: I am not going to leave you, okay? I’m going to do whatever it takes to be with you. I mean, I love you. I’m in love with you. That’s the only thing that matters. Besides, we’re going to move to San Francisco together. We’ll build a life, you know? You and me.”
Her face goes flushed. There are tears forming. “But I don’t know if I can do that to my mom. She doesn’t understand. She won’t listen to me. She won’t even listen to my counselor. We had a conference call, and I tried to tell her how codependent she is on me and how I need to go away on my own, but she just started sobbing and asking me what she’d done wrong and everything. She wants me to come home.”
My jaw clenches, and then there’s that dropping-out feeling in my stomach again. “You can’t go home,” I tell her. “That’d be like death for you. The only way you’re gonna move past everything that’s happened is to get away from all those old places and people. Your mom’ll understand that. I mean, tell her it has nothing to do with her. Tell her it’s just about you making a fresh start. Tell her she can come visit whenever she wants, but you need to have some space from everything that’s happened. Besides, you’re gonna have a really awesome support system out in San Francisco. Tell her a whole bunch of us are moving out there. I’m sure it’ll be okay. If she wants what’s best for you, then she’ll let you go.”
Sue Ellen presses her body up against mine, and I kiss her forehead.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I say. “I just love you so much. And I swear I won’t let anything happen to you. Tell your mom she can talk to me if she wants. I’m sure I can convince her everything’ll be all right. I mean, better than that.”
She laughs a little.
“Yeah, right. I can just imagine it: ‘Hey, Mom, this is my drug addict friend. He wants you to let me go live with him in a random city on the other side of the whole country. But he promises everything’ll be okay, so it’s all good.’ Ha. I’m sure she’d love that.”
“Well,” I say, laughing along with her, “you could downplay the whole drug addict thing. Come on.”
I stretch my body out on the sharp, rocky ground—pulling at Sue Ellen’s sweater—trying to get her to lie alongside me.
She drops to her knees but won’t go any further.
“The thing is,” she whispers, “I’m having a hard time playing it down myself. I mean, how do I know you’re not going to relapse? How do I know I can trust you not to bring that shit around me?”
My jaw click-clicks back and forth.
I stare straight up at the sky being drained of its last bits of color.
When I speak, my voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat before answering her. “Sorry, yeah, no, I understand. I’m not trustworthy. I’ve proved that enough times. Everyone who’s tried to help me has ended up getting burned. In fact, about the only thing I’ve ever been trustworthy of is being fucking untrustworthy. And I’m not saying that to be all ‘poor me,’ or whatever. I’ve been a shit bastard my whole life. There’s no excuse, you know?”
Sue Ellen’s lying next to me on the dirt and rock.
I turn toward her.
Our eyes struggle to maintain direct contact. Her pupils are all dilated against the coming darkness.
I go on talking, mostly just ’cause of all the silence around us. “The only thing I can tell you, girl, is that, honestly, things really are different this time. I mean, I know that’s like the biggest cliché in the world, right? But what can I say? It’s the truth. I’ve finally learned to start loving myself here. And I can see now that loving myself is loving you. ’Cause you’re a part of me. You always will be. I think I was born to love you. I think we were created to meet here and love each other and hold each other as we go out into this fucked-up world together. And I’m not saying I believe in fate or God or whatever, ’cause I’m not sure I do. But if there is a God—some sort of spiritual force guiding us, like they tell us here—then it’s pretty obvious to me that us finding each other is all a part of some greater plan. I mean, it’s a gift—a fucking miracle. I’m not gonna turn away from that. I will not shrink back.”
A shiver crawls its way through me, and I squeeze her hand maybe a little too tight, ’cause she pulls back suddenly.
“You can be sure of me,” I tell her, not letting go. “And there’s not one person in this whole place who can deny what we have. I mean, hell, it’s what they try to teach us every day—to let go—to trust in spiritual guidance and intuition—to give ourselves over completely—to listen to that ‘still, small voice inside,’ as they say. Well, that voice in me has made me love you, and I’m pretty sure that voice in you has done the same, so there’s nothing we can do but follow that. ’Cause as long as we do, we will be taken care of—we will—and everything’ll be all right.”
“Sure,” she says, eyes going bloodshot, glossy—tears forming at each corner but refusing to fall. “But what’ll we do? How are we going to live?”
Her lips part as I lean forward, and we hold each other, kissing softly, pausing. I whisper, “Don’t worry, okay? Your mom will help us get started, but then we can both get jobs. And as soon as I can finish the second part of my book, I’ll be able to pay her back. Seriously. You can tell her that’s a promise. And otherwise, I mean, we’ll explore the city, go to shows and movies and galleries—get involved with twelve-step stuff out there—you know, live—together—in love.”
As we kiss again I can feel her tears hot against my face.
“But you don’t even believe in twelve-step stuff,” she says, half choking on her words.
We both laugh at that.
“Well, I believe in the community of it—even if I don’t really dig on the program. I mean, that’s what’s so awesome: We can go practically anywhere in the whole country and get totally hooked up with cool people who are working on the same shit we are—or at least’ve been forced to be a little more introspective than a lot of folks out there. Anyway, trust me, Sue Ellen, you are gonna absolutely love it there. It’s the most beautiful city, and there’s just this feeling, like,
I don’t know… like you can finally breathe there or something. You’ll see. It’ll be amazing—living there together, you and me.”
I kiss her again—rolling onto my back—her straddling me, letting her weight rest against my body.
We kiss and kiss and touch and whisper that we love each other.
The night closes in—gray turning black.
I know they’re probably serving dinner up at the lodge, but we decide to stay just a little while longer. Kissing till my body is consumed with fever—a vague oblivion in my bloodstream, like getting high, maybe, but not at all the same or even comparable. But something, you know, at least more than nothing.
“We should go,” Sue Ellen whispers in my ear.
My head nods in agreement as she pushes herself up to standing.
The harsh beam of a flashlight hits my eyes right then, but, I mean, who knows how goddamn long she’s been standing there. Her voice calls out to me specifically, saying my name with that thick accent. Marion—the goddamn troll.
“Neek, oh boy, vahss is going on here?”
The light gets out of my eyes, and I can see her bulbous head shake back and forth, back and forth.
I try slowing down my breath, even though my heart is beating so hard I feel like I might be sick. “It’s exactly what it looks like,” I say, hoping to God my voice isn’t wavering like I’m scared, which, of course, I am.
Marion’s head keeps shaking as she makes a “tsk-tsk-tsk” sound, literally. “Vell den, I am truly sorry to be de vone. I valk de perimeter each night at dis time.”
I force myself to laugh. “Yeah, uh, obviously I didn’t know that. Are we totally fucked, then?”
She nods slowly. “Ah, Neeky, you are so stupid. I mean, vhy do you do dis? Vhy?”
I finally stand up all the way. “We’re in love,” I tell her.
She laughs and laughs. “Vell, who knows, maybe you vill be very happy. It could be good for you both. But it could be very bad. Da, da, you are, as you said, fucked. Neek, you go to the office now. Sue Ellen, you come vis me.”