Glass - 02

  Being with Trey twenty-

  four, seven? A dream.

  I could get a job. And

  your baby could live with

  us too, if you want….

  Trey, Hunter, and me, like

  a real family? This is starting

  to sound pretty serious.

  We’ll need some money

  for furniture and stuff.

  Maybe we could sell

  this car. We’ll only need

  one, right? I think mine is

  probably more reliable….

  He talks all the way back

  to the motel about how we

  can make it all work out.

  By the time we park the

  car and go upstairs, my life

  has shifted gears, again.

  It All Sounded So Easy

  But a number of obstacles

  popped up right away.

  Getting an apartment

  when you don’t have a job

  is tough. I guess they want

  to know the rent will happen.

  Getting a job

  when all you want to do

  is get high isn’t exactly

  a priority. Anyway, dealing

  is much easier than

  working for a living.

  But you can’t really put

  “dealer” under “occupation”

  on the rental application.

  Convincing a manager

  took a fair amount of lying,

  and Brad’s cooperation.

  And, with Angela squarely

  in the way, that

  wasn’t easy either.

  But blood is thicker than

  marriage. Brad didn’t

  really give Trey a job.

  He just said he did.

  Selling an old LTD,

  classic or not, took a little

  time too. And now that it’s gone,

  I feel bad. It was all I had

  that was really my own. But

  with gas so expensive,

  it’s probably best. So now

  Trey and I have a place,

  garage-sale furniture, his

  Mustang. Each other.

  And a bottomless supply

  of the monster.

  May I Just Say

  That moving in with someone

  isn’t as easy as it sounds either.

  You both have habits, good

  and not-so. Sometimes those

  habits grate on each other’s

  nerves, especially when you’re

  wired. Especially, especially

  when you’re coming down.

  You have different tastes,

  in TV shows, music, and food.

  Compromise can be difficult

  to reach, especially when you’re

  wired. Especially, especially

  when you’re coming down.

  I do love Trey, and being with

  him is exponentially better than

  being alone. Especially when

  I’m wired. But not so much

  when I’m coming down. That’s

  when those little differences

  really get on my nerves. Then we

  argue. Sometimes we fight.

  Always, we make up with heart

  felt apologies and great sex.

  So maybe the compromise

  is worth it, after all.

  The Scariest Thing

  I’m facing now is trying to get

  Hunter out of my mother’s grasp.

  But he is my baby, damnit.

  Finally, I find the courage to call.

  “Hi, Mom. Trey and I are all set

  up in our own apartment.

  We want to bring Hunter for

  a visit. Can we come pick him

  up?” How will this go?

  Mom is silent for several

  seconds. Do you really

  think that’s a good idea?

  I’ve rehearsed this. I know

  what to say. “I appreciate

  that you’ve taken such good

  care of him. But he needs

  to get used to being around

  his mom…and stepfather.”

  Was it the wrong card

  to play? Kristina, I hate

  to say this, but Hunter

  barely recognizes you. Do

  you think it’s fair to

  leave him with a stranger?

  [Stay in control. Temper

  in check.] “There’s only one

  way to change that, Mom.”

  [Choose words carefully.]

  “Or were you planning on

  keeping my baby for yourself?”

  Ultimately, She Agrees

  I’m glad, because the last

  thing I need is to get

  the courts involved.

  Social Services frowns

  on the crystal scene.

  Trey drives me out,

  moves the baby seat

  into his car while I go

  inside to collect my

  baby and his things.

  Mom holds Hunter,

  kisses him gently,

  hands him off to me.

  Call me right away

  if anything goes wrong.

  Hunter waves bye

  bye, and as we turn,

  I notice Mom start

  to cry. She loves him.

  But I love him too.

  On the way back

  to the apartment,

  Trey detours east,

  to the Pink Pussycat.

  One quick delivery and

  we’re on our way,

  two hundred dollars

  in the black, plenty

  to buy formula and

  diapers for a week.

  Baby Makes Three

  And even though he’s

  little, his presence in this

  cramped one-bedroom

  makes the place even

  more claustrophobic.

  Seems he’s always

  underfoot, unless he’s

  in his porta-crib. And

  unless he’s sleeping,

  he’s not happy there.

  Trey says we’ll have

  to get a bigger place,

  and to do that he

  needs to get a job,

  one he can list on

  an application. He’s

  out looking right now.

  Which means it’s just

  Hunter, me, and the

  monster, killing time.

  It’s nice outside.

  Maybe Hunter

  and I could walk

  to the park. Only

  thing is, I’m tired.

  I do have a way to

  fix that, don’t I?

  I prop Hunter in a

  chair, in front of

  Sesame Street.

  “Stay there with Elmo.

  Mommy will be

  right back.” I go

  into the bathroom,

  open the window,

  so the smoke won’t

  taint the living room

  air. I’m halfway

  through my second hit

  when Hunter screams.

  I run into the other

  room. He’s crumpled

  on the floor in front

  of the chair, trickling

  blood from his mouth.

  “Oh, God.” I scoop

  him up, hug him

  close, and see he’s

  okay, except for

  biting through his

  bottom lip. He stops

  crying, looks up at

  me with big dark

  eyes, as if to say,

  You let me fall. How

  could you let me fall?

  That’s not what a

  mother should do.

  And it hits me. Maybe

  Mom was right, after all.

  Trey I
s Gone

  A very long time. Daylight

  fades to darkness, and still

  no word. I call his cell. Nothing.

  I put Hunter to bed, worry

  prickling my senses. I could

  get high. Instead, I let myself

  doze on the love seat. By the time

  the creak of the door wakes me,

  my neck is stiff from tilting so

  long at an odd angle. That is not

  conducive to a quiet discussion.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  Spent all day job hunting.

  I figured I deserved a couple

  of beers. You don’t have a

  problem with that, do you?

  I do, actually. Leaving me

  here, alone, while he’s out

  who-knows-where? But I’m

  not going to say that. “Why

  didn’t you call? Didn’t it occur

  to you I might get worried?”

  I’m okay, Kristina. I’m okay,

  you’re okay. Everything’s okay.

  I’m a big boy. I know what I’m

  doing. And you don’t have to

  worry about where I am or what

  I’m up to. You’re not my mommy.

  No way for this to go but from bad

  to worse. I could fall silent.

  Ballistic will feel better. “No, I’m not

  your mommy. But I am a mommy,

  and we had an emergency here today.

  I couldn’t get hold of you. Why won’t

  you just answer your fucking phone

  when I call? What’s wrong with you?”

  If I answer, I’ll just have to listen

  to this kind of shit…. His voice is almost

  as loud as mine, and now Hunter wakes

  up. His crying makes my words sink in.

  As I go to give him a comfort bottle,

  Trey asks, What kind of emergency?

  I don’t tell him everything, just

  that Hunter bit through his lip.

  Trey is contrite. I’m sorry. I should

  have called. I’ll do better, okay?

  For a Few Days

  He does do better. He

  even answers his phone.

  But he’s spending more

  and more time away.

  Job hunting, he claims.

  Seems to me anyone

  searching that diligently

  would have found one

  by now. Maybe playing

  house isn’t his thing after

  all. I’m afraid to ask.

  Afraid he’ll say I’m right.

  Without a vehicle, I can’t

  very well make deliveries,

  so when people call looking,

  they have to come to me.

  Grady is here when Trey

  gets home this evening.

  We’re just about to take

  a little test drive when

  Trey bangs through

  the door. He takes one

  look at Grady. Who

  the fuck are you?

  “This is Grady, an old

  friend. He’s here to b—”

  Apparently I should

  have said “customer.”

  Old friend, huh? Like

  a real good friend?

  Trey’s eyes are glazed.

  He’s wired out of his skull.

  “No, not that kind of

  friend. What’s wrong

  with you? And how

  come you’re fucked up?”

  I’m fucked up? Heh-heh.

  Guess I am. While you

  were getting high with an

  old friend, hey, so was I.

  Grady looks more than

  slightly uncomfortable

  as things heat up. “I don’t

  suppose her name was Angela?”

  Damn, you are psychic.

  Poor Brad has no idea

  she’s using again. He stops,

  waits for my response.

  It isn’t verbal. Before

  he can possibly react,

  I’m across the room, in

  his face, slapping. He puts

  up his arm, moves into

  me, and now we’re on

  the floor. As we roll

  around, I notice the pipe

  and its contents have

  spilled into the soiled

  carpeting. Grady doesn’t

  think twice, rooting

  around like a hog in

  the mud. Fine. Let him

  have it. I wouldn’t smoke

  that dirty stuff now.

  We bump heavily against

  the bedroom door. Instantly,

  Hunter is crying. Bellowing.

  It’s enough to end the battle.

  Trey Rolls Off Me

  Away from me, onto his feet.

  Take care of your baby.

  He vanishes into the night.

  Close behind is Grade E,

  with a sizeable buy and

  a pilfered rock. I glance

  around the cluttered room.

  An ash tray overflows on

  the coffee table. A glass

  pipe lies on the floor, midst

  papers, knocked off a chair.

  A raft of papers, floating

  on a swamp of nasty carpet,

  a place no baby should crawl.

  The sink cannot possibly

  hold another crusty dish.

  Clothing, dirty and clean,

  decorates the furniture.

  I should straighten up.

  Scrub. Make the place

  presentable. Habitable.

  A place I want to be in.

  But I’m exhausted. Sore.

  Sore. Too sore to pick up

  my stuttering baby. I warm

  a bottle. Similac pacifier.

  Then I locate the phone.

  “Mom? I know it’s late,

  and I’m sorry. But I need

  you to come get Hunter.”

  They Say a Picture

  Is worth a thousand words.

  Mom studies the picture

  that is my apartment, says

  not one word except, This

  is the right decision.

  I kiss Hunter good-bye,

  knowing this is the right

  decision, knowing too

  that I probably won’t see

  him again for a while.

  He goes to Mom with

  enthusiasm, gooing a hello.

  Poor baby should be fast

  asleep. He’s going home

  now. Home to sleep.

  I will not sleep tonight.

  I sit in the dark, staring

  out at the stars. Where

  is Trey? I want to tell

  him I’m sorry.

  Want to have “make

  up sex.” Want to make

  everything okay again.

  Stable again. More stable.

  Minus baby makes two.

  I Am Still by the Window

  When he stumbles in. Wasted.

  Like me. We don’t bother with

  words, instead collapse into bed,

  shedding clothes as we go.

  Finally, sweaty and shaking,

  I whisper, “I’m sorry. Oh, God.

  I don’t want to be without you.”

  The same hands that only hours

  ago hurt me now caress me. I’m

  sorry too. He lays his fingers into

  finger-shaped bruises. Perfect fits.

  I can’t believe I did this to you.

  Why do I hurt you when I love

  you so much? Am I crazy?

  We both know why, but we

  don’t dare admit it. What would

  we be if we did? “We’re both

  crazy. I don’t care, as long

  as you’re with me. Kiss me.

  Make lov
e to me, hard. Don’t

  think about it. Hurt me more.”

  Afterward

  We lie, knotted together,

  as if to undo this macramé

  would unravel us altogether.

  After a while, Trey sighs.

  I have to tell you something.

  Every muscle tenses. He’s

  leaving. Or he’s been with

  Angela. Or he wants to be.

  I haven’t been job hunting

  all the time I’ve been away….

  I don’t want to hear this.

  I don’t want to lose him.

  I don’t want to share him.

  I’ve been going to the casinos.

  I…I’m not lucky at gambling.

  He’s not leaving. I don’t have

  to share him. Wait. Gambling?

  He’s been gambling? And losing?

  I’m sorry. I thought I could make

  a little profit, to get a nicer place.

  My body stiffens and bends

  in half, like a mannequin, sitting.

  “Where did you get the money?”

  From the lockbox. I know some

  of it was to get more speed….

  Yes, and for rent. Electricity. Phone.