know me? Would she try
harder to break down the wall
if I radiate more gold flecks?
Will I ever find
the courage to storm
the wall myself? What do
I mean to my mother? Why
can’t I open my mouth and ask?
Summer
BEEN THINKING
So much about where I might
be going, I’ve kind of neglected
thinking about where I came from.
Wonder how Christmas was for Ashante.
Did Santa visit? Does she still believe,
despite having her innocence stolen?
What about Simone? Did Bear and Blonde
deliver? How about Eliana and Rosa,
sisters who I never really got to know.
Sisters missing their mother. At least
they have each other. And now that I have
a sister, will we have each other too?
We will not, I predict, ever have a mom,
not the kind who we’ll sit down at dinner
with. Except for on holidays, that is.
I wish Kyle were here to share this
holiday dinner. Wonder what hospital
turkey is like. Wonder if he is lonely.
NOT MUCH ROOM
For loneliness here.
The table is heaped
with food, surrounded
by four generations
of family. It’s sensory
detail, maxed. Perfume
of Christmas feast.
Assorted flavors, blended
with conversation.
Swelling. Fading. Swelling.
Loud. Soft. Loud. Silent.
In those scant moments
of silence, reflection.
Live-wire tension. You
can feel it building.
Something wants to blow.
You can see it, anxious,
in the lift of shoulders.
You can hear it whine.
Implosion imminent.
WHAT LIGHTS THE FUSE
Is an innocent question.
When are we going home?
asks David. Conversation brakes.
Everyone looks at Kristina,
who doesn’t answer right away.
Finally she says, I don’t know.
Donald stands, clenching
his fists. Fine by me. Who
wants to live with you, anyway?
He slams his chair back
into the wall, rattling dishes.
Then he stalks off into the other
room. Grandpa Scott says,
Excuse me, and follows,
leaving all eyes on Kristina.
I can’t go back to our old place,
she says. Ron knows where it is.
Why is everyone so mad at me?
I think about chiming in, and
so does Grandma Marie. But
it is Hunter who opens his mouth.
Hunter
MAYBE IT’S THE EGGNOG
I had a couple, heavily spiked,
before we sat down to dinner.
Maybe it’s just Kristina’s wide-
eyed pretense of innocence.
Whatever it is, I’ve had enough
of her acting like she gives a shit
about anyone but herself. “Look
at us, Kristina. I mean, take a few
minutes of your precious time
and really look at what you’ve done.”
My voice amplifies with each word.
“Every one of us at this table has
been hurt by you. Some of us have
been crushed—no, annihilated,
and all because of you loving yourself
best of all….” Nikki rests her hand
on mine. I stop, not for Kristina’s sake,
but because Nikki wants me to.
Autumn
HUNTER’S OUTBURST
Is completely unexpected.
The sound of yelling, so close
to me, jump-starts the race
of my heart. My fingers go numb.
I close my eyes. Concentrate
on my breathing. Deep in. Hold.
Trickle out. Deep in. Hold …
Nobody notices. Good.
Eyes still clamped shut, I hear
Kristina respond. You’re wrong.
I don’t love myself at all. In fact,
I can hardly look at myself
in the mirror some days. Don’t
you think I know what I’ve done?
It’s not that I don’t care. But
I can’t change anything now.
Heart still too quick, but slowing,
I open my eyes just in time
to see Kristina’s tough facade
crumble and fall away with the words …
Summer
I’M SORRY
That’s what Kristina says.
We all look at her as if we haven’t
quite heard her correctly.
But she repeats, I’m so sorry.
I never wanted to be a bad mother.
Maybe that’s why I kept on
trying, kept on begging for another
chance to finally do it right. But I
don’t have the skills, don’t have—
“Don’t you dare say it!” I yell.
“Don’t say you don’t have
the resources. You do, or
you could have. All you had
to do was ask for help.” Anger
oozes like blood from my pores.
Her anger is greater. No! she
shouts. You don’t understand.
I can’t ask for help from people
I turned my back on. People
I stole from. Lied to. Hurt.
People whose love I threw away.
Hunter
KRISTINA IS OUT OF WORDS
Good thing, because
that’s all they are. Words
without conviction
have no meaning.
I look
down the long table,
past turkey carcass and half-
eaten pie, and ignoring
the shock-iced eyes that stare
at her,
I measure her lowered
gaze, the foreign
language of her body.
And I
find
in the cold iron set
of her shoulders,
the boulders of her fists,
defiance.
Apology without regret.
The desire to challenge,
still. And, obvious through
a red haze of my own,
anger.
Autumn
KRISTINA IS OUT OF STEAM
I can’t help but feel sorry
for her. She is a bird,
too broken to fly.
I look
across the granite width
of table, beyond crystal
glassware and cloth napkins.
Notice the way Trey smiles
at her,
as if telling her she has said
exactly the right thing. But
Hunter is not swayed. Summer,
too, seems unconvinced.
And I
find
in Kristina’s refusal to meet
anyone’s eyes, in her knuckles
that tap without rhythm,
fear.
And in the way she hugs
her secrets close, like I must
continue to hold on to mine
for a while longer yet,
deception.
Summer
KRISTINA IS OUT OF EXCUSES
I know that’s what Grandpa
Scott would say, and the rest
of us would no doubt agree.
My mom has said enough.
I look
to my rig
ht, where Leigh
sits, drop-jawed, gawking
at her
sister, as if she’s never seen
her before. On my left, Autumn
seems lost in some obscure
distraction. Wonder where
her thoughts have wandered.
And I
find
in the tears that drop from
my mother’s eyes into puddles
on her dinner plate,
doubt.
A growing desire to escape
the confines of this house,
no longer her home, by
her own design. And in that,
loneliness.
Hunter, Autumn, Summer
I HOPE FOR
Trust. Joy.
Courage. Honesty.
Belief. Belonging.
Attaining these
things may not
come easily.
Because, look
very long at
Kristina, I see
me
me
me.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
The release of Marie Haskins’s and Kristina Shepherd’s highly anticipated mother/daughter memoir, Monster, was yesterday put on indefinite hold.
“We felt it was appropriate to wait until Kristina’s current round of chemotherapy has been completed,” said Haskins, whose novels Crank, Glass, and Fallout offer a fictionalized account of Shepherd’s twenty-year battle with methamphetamine addiction.
Shepherd said in June of the memoir project, “We want to fill in the blanks, not only for my mother’s readers, but also for my children, who still might not have all the answers they need.”
All five of Shepherd’s children currently reside with Haskins.
Shepherd, who reunited with her husband, Trey, after a fifteen-year separation, has recently undergone radical treatment for lung cancer. “The prognosis is about as good as you could hope for,” Shepherd said. “I throw it out there to the universe, pray God is listening and that he hasn’t given up on me.”
Author’s Note
This is the third and final part of the saga begun in my first novel, Crank. When that book released in October 2004, I could not have predicted its phenomenal success. The story in Crank, and in its sequel, Glass, is shared by many. But even those whose lives have never been touched by this particular monster are drawn to Kristina. Despite her many flaws, they come to care about her and her family. Especially her children.
Originally, I never planned a sequel to Crank. But readers demanded more of Kristina’s story. I could probably write ten books about her fall from grace, but series often degrade over time, and I don’t want to give my readers progressively weaker books. Rather, I wanted the final Kristina book to be the most powerful of the three. And I believe I’ve done that with Fallout.
The book is written from the points of view of her three oldest children, now teens in the book, and dealing with their own lives, which have been shaped by the choices she made when she was their age. At the time I pen this description, the real “Hunter” is thirteen, but I write him at nineteen in Fallout. Which means I’ve written the future. Please remember it’s only one possible future, created from how I see these children’s lives now. And also please remember that, while these books are rooted in our real life, they are to a large degree fiction.
I chose to pull out of Kristina’s point of view, into her children’s to give them a voice, and to give voice to my readers who struggle with their own parents’ addictions. There are many. I also believe the ultimate hope of these stories lies here, with the generation that can choose to break this cycle. You will get “the rest of Kristina’s story,” through different lenses because “the monster” doesn’t only destroy the addict. It tries to destroy everyone who loves him or her. Parents. Children. Partners. Spouses. Friends. If this describes you, take care of yourself first. Get help if you need it. You might find a sense of peace and community in an organization like Al-Anon. Above all, please know, without a doubt, that you are not alone.
Ellen Hopkins, Fallout
(Series: Crank # 3)
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