Glass - 02

  inside. Believe it or not, there’s a guy

  playing a slot machine. They have slots

  in Nevada 7-Elevens. And grocery

  stores, airports. Anywhere people get bored.

  Even up-all-night bored. Turns out I know

  the guy behind the counter. Grady’s a year

  older than me and a total loser type.

  He’ll probably never work anywhere

  but at the Sev, which is doubtless

  just fine by him. “Hey, Grady,” I say.

  He gives me a total loser smile,

  the kind that gives you the creeps.

  Hey, Kristina. You’re up early.

  “I haven’t been to bed yet,

  actually.” Those seven words say

  much more than he needs to know.

  Grady looks at my eyes, and his

  grin grows real wide. Oh, yeah.

  I can see it perfectly now.

  Whatever. If he knows, it’s because

  he gets high too. “I came

  by to pick up an application.”

  Funny time of the day for that.

  Let me see if I can dig one up.

  He goes into the back room.

  It takes a few minutes, but he

  finally returns, application in hand.

  You sure you want to work here?

  Mostly what’s open is graveyard.

  You’d have to put up with people

  like him. He points to the slot addict.

  The guy doesn’t even turn around.

  Fuck you, he says, feeding

  a ten into the money reader.

  “It’s not like I really want to

  work here, but I need a job

  and my choices are limited.”

  The monster goes on to tell him all

  about Hunter. About living with my

  parents, studying for my GED,

  and wanting a way to escape.

  “I’ll be eighteen in a couple

  of weeks. But I can’t do anything

  until I can save up enough

  for a little place. Food. Diapers.”

  I smile. “Miscellaneous.”

  Yeah, well, if you ever need help

  hooking up with that, give me

  a buzz. You know where to find me.

  All the Way to Stockton

  And it was right here,

  practically under my

  nose (ha-ha) all the time?

  As I start out the door,

  the slot machine freak lights

  a cigarette. Now, I haven’t

  indulged that habit in quite

  a while either. I quit when I

  was pregnant—figured I

  was eighty-sixing one bad habit,

  why not lose that one too?

  But meth and nicotine buddy up

  real fine. The smell of fresh-

  lit tobacco sucks me right up

  tight against Slot Man.

  “Could I bum one of those?”

  I’m flat out of cash at

  the moment, and still under

  eighteen. Grady might

  stroke me by pretending

  he doesn’t know my age,

  but the cameras are rolling

  and stings for selling booze

  or smokes to underage people

  are common. I don’t want

  to get him in trouble, not when

  he might be helpful in the future.

  Besides, one cancer stick, with

  no more in a drawer, won’t

  get me hooked again. Right?

  Slot dude smiles a knowing

  smile, shakes one from the

  hard pack. You owe me one.

  Yech. He’s scruffy. Kind

  of smelly. I definitely hope

  he doesn’t think I owe him.

  Grady hands me some matches.

  No law against that, right?

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  I retreat outside, into the cool

  of sunless morning. My hands

  shake a bit as I fire the Camel Light.

  It tastes like heaven. Like

  if I could just keep smoking

  it, I’d never need to eat again.

  If you’ve never smoked, you won’t

  understand that, but if you have,

  you know exactly what I mean.

  I suck the poison slowly,

  with great, immediate pleasure.

  It’s almost as good as…

  Okay, maybe not as good as

  that. But it calms me,

  convinces me to go on home,

  do whatever is necessary

  to keep my mom and Scott off

  my back. Apologize like I’m

  really, truly sorry. And, in

  several ways, I really am. But

  there’s no turning back now.

  I Tiptoe Through the Door

  Hoping the house is still

  silent, and it is. Down

  the hall, into my room,

  where I quietly seek

  out a new stash place,

  then lie down on my bed.

  The pink silk quilt is almost

  too soft. Part of me—a small

  part, growing smaller by

  the minute—demands penance.

  That small part, the Kristina

  part, keeps whispering

  what a fool the other,

  Bree part, is. “Not only

  were you stupid to sneak

  back to the monster,” she

  mumbles, “but ten to one

  you’re going to get caught.

  Mom and Scott will know.”

  The Bree part just stares

  contentedly at the ceiling,

  really comfortable for the

  first time in too many months.

  Meth. Tobacco. A chance

  at a spectacular guy, even

  if he does live three hours

  away, over a major mountain.

  I get to Reno sometimes.

  Will he come just for me?

  “Yeah, right,” Kristina

  says. “Trey is going to

  dump Robyn (who no

  doubt gives him head

  after giving him money)

  and drive over the Sierras

  for a frumpy chick with a

  baby, who lives with her

  parents, who are going to

  bust her anyway.”

  [Shut the hell up.] Bree

  talking, damn her sharp,

  irritating whisper. [Don’t

  talk too much, keep your

  (my) temper in check, leave

  the ranting to Mom and Scott,

  you’ll (we’ll) be just fine.

  And whatever you do,

  leave your conscience—

  and confessions—behind.]

  I sit in bed, arguing

  with myself until the sun

  peeks up over the eastern

  hills, eyes almost as red

  as mine must be. Just about

  the time the sky shimmers

  light, Hunter wakes up.

  I go to him quickly, hustle

  into the kitchen to fix him

  a bottle, kissing him quiet.

  Since Mom was up so

  incredibly late last night

  (worrying about me!)

  [hey, conscience, remember?],

  she might just sleep in.

  Maybe she’ll be so rested

  that she’ll only give me

  the second degree. I’m

  sure not in any mood

  for the third.

  But It’s Saturday

  Mom and a friend of hers

  always go to the gym early

  to work out. Which means

  no way will she sleep in.

  She pads into the kitchen,

  notices I’m feeding Hunter.

 
Glad to see you made it home

  okay. What time did you get in?

  I suppose I could lie, but

  that’s just stupid. “Around

  four thirty, I guess. I’ll take

  a nap when Hunter does.”

  Mom gives me a solid once-

  over, but if she notices

  anything, keeps it to herself.

  So how was the college fair?

  College fair? Oh, yeah.

  “Okay, I guess. It’s a

  pretty nice campus and all.

  Robyn seems to like it.”

  She looks at me harder.

  Robyn’s at UOP, isn’t she?

  I thought you said the college

  fair was in Sacramento.

  One thing meth is good

  for—manufacturing lies

  sans hesitation. “I always mix

  up Stockton and Sacramento.”

  She stares me straight in

  the eye. Good thing you

  didn’t mix them up when

  you were behind the wheel.

  “Heh-heh. Yeah, you’re

  right. Oops. Smells like

  Hunter’s breakfast went

  right through him….”

  I start to get up, but Mom

  puts a severe hand on my

  arm. One second. I need to

  talk to you about something.

  I swallow hard. Does

  she hear Bree’s voice

  in my mouth, see the

  monster in my eyes? “What?”

  Leigh called. She’s planning

  on coming home for your

  birthday. I thought it might be

  a good time to baptize Hunter.

  Relief floods my face

  like a hot, red tidal wave.

  “Baptize Hunter? Oh.

  Yeah. Well, I guess so.”

  Good. I’ll talk to Pastor

  Keith at church tomorrow

  morning. You should

  think about godparents.

  Jeez, is that it? Inquisition

  over? “Godparents. Right.

  Meanwhile, diaper patrol.”

  I make a hasty exit.

  Hmm. Baptize Hunter? I’ve

  never considered it, let alone

  who I’d want to take care

  of him, should something

  bad happen to me. I don’t

  have any friends who could

  fill such big shoes. Mom

  and Scott? Can grandparents

  be godparents? Maybe Leigh?

  But would I have to name her

  partner, too? And how would

  Pastor Keith feel about that?

  Thoughts and ideas volley

  back and forth in my head.

  I put Hunter in his swing,

  watch him rock along.

  I feel exhilarated. I feel rotten.

  I know I’ve made a terrible

  mistake. I’m ecstatic that

  I found a way to make it.

  Mom Leaves for the Gym

  Now I have to face Scott,

  who finally comes downstairs,

  “pissed” written all over his face.

  Well, look who decided to

  grace us with her presence.

  I can’t believe how rude you are.

  I didn’t have to take it from

  Mom. Should I take it from

  husband number two? “Sorry.”

  Yeah, whatever. Just don’t

  expect to borrow one of our

  cars again anytime soon.

  All the more reason to find

  a way to keep my own vehicle

  in tip-top shape. “I won’t.”

  Did you apologize to your

  mother? She sat up half

  the night, worrying about you.

  Irritation blossoms. And I’m

  starting to want another

  little toot. “Yes, I apologized.”

  Damn straight. Kristina, you’re

  a mom yourself now. Can you

  not relate, just a little bit?

  Like Hunter is going to

  borrow a car and stay out all

  night anytime soon. “Sure.”

  Good. All it takes is a simple

  phone call, okay? That’s why

  we gave you the cell phone.

  “I’m really, truly sorry, Scott.

  Robyn and I just got to par…uh,

  talking, and I lost track of time.”

  Okay, Kristina. I can understand

  that. I know it’s been a while

  since you’ve spent time with a friend.

  He’s letting me off this easy?

  Unreal. “Yes, it has. Thanks

  for understanding, Scott.”

  Just don’t forget you won’t find

  a better friend in the world than

  the friends you have in your family.

  Scott Takes Off to Play Golf

  Jake is at a friend’s.

  I put Hunter down

  for a nap, decide to try

  one myself. My

  brain

  might be doing

  jumping jacks, but my

  body is shutting down.

  It feels like a lead anchor,

  sinking

  in a sea of quilt,

  tugging me toward repose.

  I’m drifting. Sleeping?

  A parade of

  faces

  floats behind my closed

  eyes. An ethereal Robyn

  grins, her ecru face

  distorting

  into a vampirelike apparition.

  Right behind her comes Trey

  (predator or prey?),

  handsome

  and hungry as a winter-

  starved coyote. Segue

  to Grady, Grade-E loser,

  vile

  convenience store

  slave and crystal meth

  submissive, followed

  by Leigh, my absent,

  beautiful

  sister, with her lesbian

  lover, the cheerleader.

  Then Mom and Scott, who

  must suspect the

  uglier

  side of last night’s adventure.

  So why didn’t they lash

  out at me, bombard me

  with

  questions, search my stuff,

  smell my breath, something?

  Do they just not want

  to know for sure, stress

  themselves with such

  wisdom?

  Or have they, perhaps,

  simply given up

  on me?

  That Feeling

  Of wanting to sleep,

  desperately needing sleep,

  fighting the monster for sleep,

  reminds me of one reason

  I have been happy to leave

  the meth in Hunter’s wake.

  Though it’s calling to me,

  Just one more little toot,

  I simply will not give in.

  I will keep the monster in

  check. I am stronger

  than any addiction. Right?

  Somewhere, a telephone

  rings. I swim up into gray

  afternoon, the inside of

  my head thick as chowder,

  tug myself from bed,

  go to find the offending bell.

  I don’t get there quickly

  enough. Hunter wakes

  at the alarm, and by the time

  I reach the phone, nap-wet

  baby soaking one arm,

  the caller is midmessage.

  …haven’t been out your way

  in a long time. I figured

  your eighteenth birthday

  was a good excuse. Besides,

  I want to see my grandson

  while he’s still a baby. We

  should hit Reno on the twenty-

  eighth, so
save a few hours

  to celebrate with your old man.

  My Dad

  Is coming for

  a visit?

  (Why now, after

  all these years?)

  And not just

  any visit,

  but on the weekend

  of my birthday,

  when Leigh is

  also coming for

  an unexpected visit.

  Leigh, who still

  refuses to speak

  to the father who

  left her in his dust.

  A visit now,

  the same time as

  Hunter’s baptism?

  I can just hear

  Mom: That bastard

  has to plan

  a visit to Reno,

  a place your sister

  and I figured he’d

  forgotten about?

  Why does he have to

  remember it now?

  I Expect Her to Say

  Exactly that. She doesn’t.

  But what she does say is enough

  to make you cover your ears.

  I never knew my mom could

  have such a foul mouth! You

  fill in the blanks. They scare me!

  That mother——ing sonofabitch!

  Did he spend all year, waiting

  for just the right——sucking

  moment to f—up what should

  be a perfect day? He has no

  ——ing right! No right at all.

  I simply cannot believe

  that pr—would dare show

  his face around here,

  not after last year. And as for

  his wanting to play “grandpa,”

  I really don’t think so!

  I’m conflicted about his plans.

  I want no confrontations, no bad

  blood. (Especially not if it’s going

  to be spilled in the baptismal