Carry Me Home

by Jessica Therrien

  As I close the front door quietly behind me, it feels like I’m fifteen again, locking up a secret keepsake in my jewelry box of hope.

  CHAPTER 33

  Lucy

  I STAY WITH MOM for the next week. It’s nice to be home. The little things remind me how much I miss her. Like the way she smells like coffee when I hug her in the morning, or how her upper arms feel like silk. Big breakfasts with lots of eggs and potatoes. Dance-cleaning the house to our favorite girly music. Endless episodes of Friends and bags of sunflower seeds.

  I’m a terrible daughter. I never meant to worry her. I just forget or get distracted when I’m out. Being home makes me want to make it up to her.

  “Hey,” I say, climbing through her bedroom window out into the courtyard.

  She tucks the cigarette she’s smoking behind her back and tries to casually exhale the smoke without me noticing as she stubs it out.

  I laugh. “You suck at hiding.”

  “It was my last one,” she says. “I’m quitting.”

  “Yeah. Right.” I lean against the pink stucco wall. She’s “quit” about ten thousand times. It never works. “So you gonna share, or what?”

  The face she gives me answers my question. I’m not sure the crease in her brow could get any deeper.

  “Whatever,” I say, pulling a pack from my back pocket. I draw the delicate stick from the box and grab her lighter off the glass table she leaves out here just for this purpose. Her face is priceless, like she’s watching me shave my head or something equally mortifying.

  “You smoke now?” she asks, trying to be stern, but failing.

  “Like mother like daughter.”

  “How long?”

  “I hide it better than you.” I blow out the smoke and flick my cigarette ash into her ashtray. “A while.”

  I hand her my open pack. The same brand she smokes—Marlboro Reds. She takes one and lights it, letting go of her charade. It’s nice to smoke with her. I can’t stand it when parents pretend to be perfect when we all know they’re doing all the shit they tell us not to do behind our backs.

  Something about smoking in the open with my mom makes me love her for how real she is. She’s more of a friend than a parent. Making us happy and having fun has always come before structure and discipline, but that’s made us close in ways other mothers and daughters wouldn’t understand. I could tell her everything, every secret I have and she’d still love me. She’d even try to help me. But I don’t. I’m not going to. She’s too fragile to know the truth. I want to protect her from it.

  She takes a drag. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m a wreck when you don’t come home.”

  “It’s not that I plan on not coming home. I like being here. Most of the time it just makes sense to stay where I am.”

  “You could call.”

  I nod. There’s no excuse. “I will. I’ll try and call from now on.”

  “You know if you just call I can even come get you. I don’t mind driving. I’d rather drive at 2am to pick you up than not know where you are. Even if you’ve been drinking, I don’t care. I just want to know you’re safe.”

  All of the motherly instincts she’s having are right. She should be worried. I almost got shot in the street last week. But I play it off so I don’t scare her.

  “I’m always safe. I’m just in the moment, and I forget.”

  She leans her head back as she exhales. I can’t tell if she believes me.

  “But I’m going to try harder,” I tell her. “I’m going to stay home more now. I promise.”

  It’s a genuine promise, too. Like I told Gabe. I’m done with all the gang stuff.

  I scoot closer to Mom, right up against her silky arm, our backs both pressed against the building wall.

  “I love you, Mama,” I say as I kiss her equally silky cheek. Even through the cloud of cigarette smoke, she smells like coffee and coconut shampoo.

  I’m going to be a better daughter, I tell myself.

  And I am. I keep my promise. I stay home, but with summer classes and work, Mom’s gone a lot, so I invite Gabe, Paco, and Dani over after she leaves. The three of us make a habit out of hanging out when she’s gone. Mostly we just eat and make out in separate rooms or get high and play card games like BS or Hearts.

  Paco doesn’t even bother knocking when he comes over this morning. He just busts in, leaving the door wide open. Dani follows him in and shuts if for me.

  “Waz up, Guera,” Paco says as he body-slams the couch. It kinda bugs me that he keeps his shoes on as he rests his feet on the arm, but I don’t say anything.

  I smile at Dani. “Hey.”

  I’m stretched out on the recliner in my PJ’s, and she comes and sits on my lap.

  “I’m so tired,” she whines, turning sideways so her head is on the armrest, hair falling toward the floor. “Paco freakin’ woke me up.”

  They are here kinda early. “Where’s Gabe?” I ask.

  “His mom is making him take Gordo to the doctor for his shots.”

  “Awww. Poor little guy. I should have gone.”

  “Nah, fuck that,” Paco says. “I hate doctors. Plus. I got my own medicine.”

  He pulls a ziplock bag out of his backpack. It’s full of clear crystals that kind of look like rock candy. It’s followed by a pipe and lighter.

  “What the hell is that?” I ask him.

  “Oh chill, it’s just tweak, Guera. It’s nothing crazy.”

  I glance at Dani, wondering how she feels about this new drug, but she’s watching everything he’s doing like a hungry dog.

  “Since when are you into that shit?”

  “I dabble,” he says with a shrug.

  I don’t know much about tweak. In my mind it’s not one of the “bad ones” like crack or heroin. I think of it as a fun drug, non-addictive, like dropping acid or popping an E pill before a concert. I’ve done neither, but kids talk.

  “Whatever. Just don’t get it everywhere.”

  I’m unsure about it as I watch Paco prepare the pipe and crystals, but I don’t look away. I have to admit I’m intrigued.

  “It’s pretty, but it eats your skin and burns if you hold it in your hands,” he tells me as he puts a rock inside the pipe. It has a long glass handle and a round hollow ball at the end with a small hole. “Okay, now you don’t touch the flame to it as you melt it down.”

  Paco uses his lighter to turn the rocks into a clear fluid. I can see the tube fill with smoke as he puts his mouth to it and slowly spins the pipe back and forth. The liquid slides from side to side, burning as it hits the hot glass over and over.

  The smell is acrid, like mildew or old people.

  When he exhales, the giant billowing white cloud that comes from his mouth is incredible. He blows it into Dani’s face and it’s so thick I can’t see through it.

  Being a smoker I’m enthralled with the amount of smoke he produces.

  Then Dani takes a turn.

  I watch in amazement. They’ve never steered me wrong before. When I first met Dani I worried about weed and it was fine. Fun and harmless.

  “Okay. It’s my birthday tomorrow, right?” I say, convincing myself I’m just doing it to celebrate. “I’m not having a party, so consider this my sweet sixteen. Let me try it.”

  I do it carefully and the faceted crystals melt like wax. The fumes burn off the sides of the hot pipe and start to smoke. I inhale and the biggest white cloud I’ve ever seen comes out. It feels unbelievable. It’s so awesome to see that much smoke that I just keep going and it starts to taste like stale steam from a dirty bathroom shower. My mouth gets dry and my body feels like it's starving and dehydrated within minutes, but I don't care.

  Tweak hits my system like a rock to the face. My whole body is overrun with energy. I want to run, but also hide. I want to scream I feel so good. We keep going, sitting cross-legged on the couch, trying to see who can make the biggest cloud and blowing circles into each other’s faces.

  When we’re done
I have so much energy and excitement I pierce Dani’s belly button with a thick sewing needle and an earring. The three of us go nuts in the apartment. It makes us creative and witty. I want to clean my room and draw a mural and work out, all at the same time. My thoughts are scattered and unorganized spinning me in five different directions. I love it.

  We spend hours playing games and cleaning, but mostly coloring random detailed designs into a phone book. There is no rhyme or reason for what we’re doing, just doodling to pass the time. It seems the most constructive way to hold it together on this drug is to color.

  It gets late, but we can’t sleep and Mom will be home from her waitressing job soon so we go for a walk. Dani buys us slurpies at the 7-Eleven to kill the cottonmouth and we smoke a blunt to mellow us down enough to be in public. But I swear every person that passes is watching me, judging me. I start to obsess over them, the passing strangers and their thoughts.

  We spend the night at Dani’s, completely spun out. Paco finally runs out of tweak, which I learn is just another name for Meth, and we come down.

  I crash.

  Glued to Dani’s couch I experience the most horrible feeling in the world. My whole body is made of stone. I can feel the chemicals seeping through my skin. I want to pick it off or pull the drug out of my pores somehow. When I muster enough energy I wash my hands and face over and over again trying to get clean, but I feel dirty and weak no matter how much I scrub.

  While I wash and wash, Paco burns the empty pipe, desperate for what little is left.

  “I just need one more hit, just to get on my feet, you know?” I hear him whisper to the pipe like it’s a lover of his.

  It’ll be gone in the morning, I think to myself, unable to move or eat or do anything but lay there and hope for sleep.

  But Tweak is never gone.

  Once the devil knows your name, he calls it until you come.

  CHAPTER 34

  Ruth

  MOM AND I HAVE been spending our free time going to the movies and hanging out when she’s home, but Lucy likes to stay gone. This is the first time I’ve seen my sister all summer. It’s partly my fault, too. I’ve been with Josh.

  “She promised she’d start trying to call more,” Mom says, sitting next to me on our couch. She’s wearing her nicest dress, a dark purple floral that hides her midsection and large thighs under a flaring skirt. Her hair has been cut into a chin length bob, and her curls are actually styled not frizzy.

  “Is she? Calling more?”

  “A little. She’s trying.”

  “At least she’s here now.”

  One of Mom’s professors owns a fancy Chinese restaurant and invited our family to eat for free. Lucy agreed to come, but only if she could bring her friend Dani. We’ve been waiting for them to get ready.

  “What is taking them so long?” I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling with impatience. “It’s been like half an hour.”

  “She’s plucking her eyebrows.” Mom gets up to check. She tries the bathroom door, but it’s locked. “Hey.” She knocks gently. “You guys almost done. We’ve got to go.” I watch her check the clock for the tenth time, and her worry wrinkles slowly deepen. “Luce?” she tries again.

  “What!” Lucy shouts through the closed door.

  “You almost ready?”

  The door stays closed. “Fucking chill out. We’re coming.”

  Defeated, Mom makes her way back to the couch. “She’s in a mood.” Mom sighs and shakes her head. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, digging through my purse for lipgloss. “We don’t have reservations right? We get there when we get there.”

  “I know, but I was planning on introducing you to someone. He’s meeting us there.”

  “What?” I ask, my voice elated with interest. I smile at her, and her worried grimace cracks a bit. “Like who?”

  “Like someone I’ve been seeing.”

  “Oh my gosh!” We giggle like she’s one of my teenage girlfriends. “Okay. Lucy needs to get it together. How long does it take to pluck eyebrows?” I stand and charge toward the bathroom. “You have five minutes or we’re leaving.”

  Dani opens the door, her large brown eyes topped with tiny dark lines hardly recognizable as eyebrows. Through the crack I see Lucy five inches from the mirror, plucking hers into oblivion. The skin beneath is flushed red.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, mortified by the obsessive way she’s destroying her face.

  She turns away from the mirror. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Okay, well, we’re leaving. You’re being a real bitch.”

  She lunges at the door, her body tense, and lifts her fist threateningly. “I’ll fucking punch you in the face.”

  I flinch away startled, honestly afraid she’s going to hit me. Dani’s hand to her arm diffuses the crazed look in her eyes. “Let’s just go,” Dani urges.

  “Fine,” Lucy seethes.

  I have no idea why she’s so pissed, but I already can’t wait to not see her again for who cares how long. No matter how many times I try to tell myself she’s good, she always proves me wrong. I’m convinced she was born without a conscience.

  I follow the two girls to our car, giving Mom a look. They’re wearing twin outfits. Cut-off shorts that are rolled up so high you can see their butt cheeks and tank tops made for five-year-olds. It’s embarrassing.

  Unfortunately for Mom and I, the restaurant is very small, which means we are noticed. Quiet couples dressed in suit jackets and nice dresses gawk at Lucy and her friend in their booty shorts as we make our way to a table off to the side.

  The two of them don’t belong here amidst the gleaming marble floor and delicate red paper lanterns. They talk too loud, and cuss, snort-laughing uncontrollably at stupid jokes.

  I try hiding behind the menu hoping to somehow separate myself from them while Mom focuses on trying to find her mystery guest.

  She cranes her neck. “I texted him we were going to be late. Maybe he’s not here yet.”

  I peek around my menu to help her look, but the effort is interrupted by a sound so disgusting it makes me gasp in surprise.

  Lucy continues the guttural hawking of mucus from the back of her throat without noticing my reaction.

  “Lucy,” I hiss at her. “Stop that.”

  It doesn’t really matter, people have already been staring this whole time, but I’m flushed with red-hot humiliation.

  “What?” she asks, as if she has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “That gross snot sound. Stop it.”

  She ignores me to keep talking to Dani, but Mom has abandoned her search to look at me, as if silently asking me how to proceed with things.

  She does it again.

  “Lucy!”

  “What?” the level of irritation in her voice is rising, and I’m so tempted to take the bait, but I don’t want to cause a fight.

  “Can you guys just go wait outside until the food comes?” I ask nicely. Thankfully she agrees without arguing.

  “I need a cigarette anyway,” she says.

  As the place returns to its normal hum and rhythm, I watch Lucy outside the adjacent window. Her butt is pressed up against the glass, and she shamelessly smokes in public, even though she’s clearly underage.

  “So you’re just letting her smoke now?” I say to Mom without looking at her.

  “You act like I have any control over what she does. You know I don’t.”

  A young Asian waitress comes over to take our order. Mom’s too distracted, scanning the restaurant for the fifteenth time, so I just order a bunch of things for everyone to share. She hardly notices.

  “Where is he?” she asks the universe.

  As I turn to look at the door, a man enters.

  “There. That’s him,” she scoots her chair back and goes to meet her date.

  It feels strange to watch her approach another man in an intimate way. He has flowers for her. She’s all smi
les.

  Something is familiar about the man. I try and figure out how I know him as they make their way toward me. The two of them seem to match the way most couples do, they’re both overweight but have equally gorgeous facial features that forgive the extra pounds.

  “Ruth, this is Art.” Mom takes a breath and holds it in, waiting for my reaction.

  Things start to connect. “Wait...” I say, “from...” the police raid. For some reason it feels rude to say the words.

  “Sorry I didn’t make a very good first impression.”

  I force a smile, feeling slightly uncomfortable as our food comes.

  “So your mom tells me you’re into theater. Are you doing any shows?”

  Mom is scooping orange chicken onto her plate, but mine stays empty. I’m busy watching Lucy smash the butt of her cigarette into the concrete, remembering the last time she encountered this officer.

  Fuck you, Mendoza. I think those were her last words to him before they shoved her into their police cruiser.

  My heart is starting to hum with panic at the idea of conflict.

  “Hey Mom, can I talk to you for a second?”

  I’m too late. What was she thinking bringing us to a public place to do this?

  Lucy is already headed back to the table. She stops dead in the center of the restaurant, trying to figure out what’s going on. Her face is a hard mask of hatred.

  “What. The. Fuck.” It’s not a question, but an accusation. “What are you doing here, Mendoza?”

  “Lucy, this is Art. He’s not on duty—”

  “I don’t give a shit.” She looks Mom in the eye for the first time all night. “You need to leave,” she says to Mendoza.

  He puts his hands up in surrender. “All right. All right.”

  “No,” Mom says. “Lucy, you can’t talk—”

  “He’s a murderer. But I guess he didn’t tell you that.”

  The whole restaurant is quiet and everyone is openly staring at us.