Glass - 02

  fount, or over the icing on

  my birthday cake!)

  But, despite everything that

  went down over my summer

  in Albuquerque, I want to see

  Dad again. He’s a freak, true,

  and a piss-poor father.

  But he still belongs to me.

  Mom Is Still Ranting

  And suddenly she seems to intuit

  my inner turmoil, which only

  serves to make her angrier still.

  You can’t want him to come

  here, Kristina? Do you really

  want him to spoil this special day?

  What can I say but the truth?

  “Why does he have to spoil

  anything, Mom? You’ve been

  divorced, like, forever. Can’t

  you bury the hatchet—and not

  literally? Can’t you just let it go?”

  Hunter starts to fuss—he’s still

  soggy—and Mom takes him

  from my arms. I’ll never forgive

  him for the way he treated his

  family, Kristina, or for the path

  he put you on last year.

  Okay, that’s just not fair.

  “You can stay mad at him

  forever, Mom. I don’t care.

  But you can’t blame him for

  the choices I made. He didn’t

  make those decisions for me.”

  She levels me with a single

  glare. [Damn, that’s a real talent.]

  I suppose that’s true, and I guess

  I can’t stop him from coming.

  She hands me the phone.

  But you have to tell your sister.

  Mom Goes to Change Hunter

  I dial Leigh’s number,

  praying she isn’t home.

  No luck there. We exchange

  pleasantries, chat

  a few minutes. Finally,

  I break the news.

  Leigh takes it well.

  No fucking way! Kristina,

  I want to be there,

  you know I do, and I really

  want you to meet Heather.

  It’s taken both of us this long

  to make that meeting happen.

  But how can we possibly come

  now? I wouldn’t know what

  to say to Dad, or how to react

  when I saw him. Why hasn’t

  he ever once called me, Kristina?

  How can he care so little?

  I don’t want to tell her drugs—

  and maybe sex—mean more

  to him than anything, though

  I know in my heart that’s

  the truth. I don’t want to tell

  her that’s the way of the monster.

  “I don’t know, Leigh. But you

  have to come, okay?”

  I haven’t seen her in months,

  and want her here for my birthday,

  not to mention the baptism.

  Suddenly I know what to say.

  Pastor Keith will simply

  have to deal with it, one way

  or another. Anyway, I’m not

  so sure God will have a hard

  time with my choice.

  “I want you and Heather

  to be Hunter’s godparents.

  Please, Leigh. Please come.”

  It’s Been Almost a Week

  Since Leigh reluctantly agreed

  to serve as Hunter’s godmother.

  (Godfather? Thank goodness I don’t

  know all the little details. They

  might make me change my mind.)

  But I’m happy (and sort of surprised)

  to say I’ve managed to keep my use

  pretty much under control.

  I’ve only indulged maybe twice

  a day, and yesterday I completely

  ignored the monster’s whining.

  Mostly because my body finally

  demanded the sleep of the dead.

  I claimed a flu bug was taking me

  down, and Mom believed every word.

  With my red eyes, sweats, and chills, no

  doubt I looked the part. I slept thirteen

  hours, got up and ate dinner, then crashed

  back out until this morning. Of course,

  the first thing I did when I got up was

  sneak around back for a quick toke.

  I have to admit I totally misjudged a few

  things, like the crystal’s effect on my mothering

  capabilities. I thought it would make it

  easier to segue into my daytime routine

  after late-night hours cajoling Hunter

  to please, please go back to sleep.

  Instead, the glass tends to make me

  (with apologies for the coming pun)

  a tad cranky. Imagine trying to placate

  a fussy baby when his crying sends

  major body rushes up and down your spine,

  crashing into your skull and vibrating

  inside your brain. Imagine trying to hold

  him against breasts hard as boulders

  from all the milk left to ferment inside

  and finally—blessedly—dry up completely,

  leaving your boobs a whole cup size

  smaller than before you got pregnant.

  Imagine, when the idea of food

  makes you want to retch, trying

  to deal with mostly-digested

  baby formula, big green glops,

  smeared on a butt (even if it is a pretty

  cute baby butt), all yours to clean.

  Imagine trying to play This Little Piggy

  when what you really want is to hook up

  with a guy for a great night of smoking

  and “touch me right there, please.”

  Yeah, yeah, I know that—and exactly

  that—is what got me into this predicament

  to begin with. So no lectures. But hey,

  if there’s a cute, available guy out there,

  please, someone, please point him

  in my direction.

  The Garage Calls

  My car is purring like a kitten

  and wants to come home.

  “So what’s the total?”

  Fifteen hundred eighty

  big ones. Will that be

  cash, check, or charge?

  Like who’s got fifteen

  hundred in cash lying

  around? “Um, check I guess.”

  Mom will not be pleased,

  even though she promised

  she’d take care of it for me.

  She’s not. That’s a lot

  of money, Kristina. How

  are you going to repay us?

  She won’t be pleased

  about my answer, either.

  God, just please, no

  lectures! “I put in an

  application at the Sev.

  I should hear soon.”

  She shakes her head

  and I know that means:

  What will people think?

  “It’s not the worst thing,

  Mom. At least it’s close.

  I asked for swing shift,

  but sometimes they start

  you on graveyard.”

  Grade E’s loser shift.

  She tsks her tongue. Who’d

  have thought you’d end

  up working there?

  My First Inclination

  With the monster

  whispering in one ear, is to snap

  something rude.

  But Bree, believe it or not,

  reigns me in.

  [Won’t serve our purposes.]

  Her hiss is inside

  my head. [We do want Mom

  to agree to pay

  for our car, now don’t we?]

  Yes, in fact we do.

  So I temper my temper and

  say
, “It’s only for

  a little while, Mom. I have

  to pay you back

  somehow, don’t I?” I don’t

  mention my need

  to escape the confines of her

  house, but I do

  confess, “And a little cash

  for gas, diapers, and

  incidentals (!) would be nice.”

  Mom melts, but

  just a little. I guess you’re

  right. Thank you

  for taking the initiative to

  apply for a job.

  I don’t mind watching the

  baby while you

  work, and I know a degree

  of independence

  is important to every young

  woman. It’s just

  that you’ve always had such

  big dreams. I don’t

  want to see you lose them. You

  made an immense

  mistake, but it shouldn’t mean

  the demise of all you

  worked so hard to accomplish.

  She Opened the Door

  To a real conversation and,

  fired up on twenty hours’ sleep

  and a good strong whiff of quite

  excellent glass, I feel like talking.

  Does she really want to listen?

  “I’ve got lots of time to put

  my life back in order, Mom. I

  want to, really I do. But I need

  your help, and not just financially.

  I want to make a good life for

  Hunter, a good life for myself.

  I want to stay close to my

  family, but I also need the chance

  to leave the nest. To do that,

  I need an income. I need a job.”

  Her jawline turns to stone.

  What about college, Kristina?

  A job is all well and fine. But

  to continue the lifestyle you’re

  used to, you need a career.

  I want to scream. College?

  Career? Lifestyle? No! I

  need freedom—the freedom

  to make my own choices.

  The freedom to get high.

  But I know screaming

  is completely useless.

  [Counterproductive.]

  “You’re absolutely right,

  Mom, and I will go to

  college, enter a career I

  love. But for now, going

  to work at the 7-Eleven

  seems like my best option.

  Please support my decision.”

  We Leave It There for Now

  She goes to get her purse [check-

  book] and I run to my room for

  a quick hit off my well-loved

  lightbulb. I stick my head all the way

  out the window, thinking about—

  you guessed it—Trey, the artisan

  hundred-watt soft white refinisher.

  I’m still thinking about the tilt

  of his shoulders, the sexy lilt in

  his voice, while we drive to the

  garage and Mom pays the grease

  monkey. She hands me my car keys.

  Looks like Hunter is in La-La Land.

  I’ll take him home. See you in a bit.

  She’s cutting me loose? Now I’m

  thinking she’s thinking she’d better

  give me some room. She’s right.

  I’ve been cooped up for far too

  long. Time to spread my wings

  and let the wind carry me somewhere

  new. To someone new?

  The LTD chortles and the radio

  plays Def Leppard, Pour some

  sugar on me…I sing along, feeling

  liberated despite everything. Okay,

  I’m totally spun. And I plan to get

  spunner, having brought along

  my Trey souvenir and its glitter.

  Glitter. Sugar. Ice. Glass. God!

  I’m right where I want to be,

  at least for now. I drive down

  to the park on the river. Last time

  I was here, Chase and I spent some time

  getting buzzed and fooling around.

  I wonder if he’s all right. I miss him.

  He hasn’t sent me a letter in a while.

  Of course, I didn’t answer the last

  one. It was just too painful to think

  about his new life in California.

  I bet he’s got someone new.

  Not that I want to know.

  I’m not quite that masochistic.

  There’s a chill in the air when

  I open the window. I watch

  the cool breeze toy with the willows

  along the riverbank. Take several

  slow hits. Climb to a fine elevation,

  listening to my favorite radio station’s

  new mix of classic rock and metal.

  Everything changes eventually.

  I know that’s true, but it’s hard

  to wait sometimes. Sometimes

  you just have to make things

  happen. I’m making things happen

  now. Whether they prove good or

  bad simply remains to be seen.

  On the Way Home

  I stop by the Sev to actually drop off

  my application. (Okay, so I’ve only

  really managed to fill it out. I’ve been

  kind of busy the last week or so.)

  Lucky me. The “big boss man”

  is here, checking up on the day

  crew. He looks me all up and down.

  What can I do for you, young lady?

  Okay, so he’s kind of creepy. But I

  know how to plaster on a smile.

  “Just dropping off this application.

  I live right up the hill behind here.”

  Always good for our employees to live

  close by. No “traffic” excuses that way.

  Those really piss me off. Here comes

  the drool. But I can play that game too.

  “I can imagine. But no worries

  here. The only excuses I ever give

  have to do with my period.” OMG!

  Bree has taken full-blown control.

  Kevin is no match for her. He stops.

  Stutters. Accepts the application

  and suggests, Let’s go into the back

  office and discuss possibilities.

  Bree and I trail him into

  a big storage room, filled

  with cartons and stuff. On

  one table sits an old computer.

  Sit right there, Kristina Snow.

  I see you’re going to be eighteen

  on Saturday? He studies me like

  a tough-to-crack textbook.

  “That’s right. So I really need

  to make some money to move

  out on my own….” I debate telling

  him about Hunter. Decide not to.

  No employment history, I see. So, no

  cash register experience? He doesn’t

  flinch at my blank stare. Well, with

  scanners it’s easy. You can make change?

  Bree comes oozing out my pores.

  “I can make just about anything,

  Mr. Stewart. Change is a piece of pie.”

  Now I remember why I loved her.

  He leans toward me, close

  enough so I can see the hairs in his

  nose. Cream pie’s my favorite.

  What shift did you have in mind?

  Is he offering me—Bree—days?

  One way to find out. “Well, I’d like

  days, but I know you have to pay

  your dues, so whatever works….”

  Now the drool fairly drips. We’ll

  see what we can do about those dues,

  but you happen to be in luck. One of

  our day-shift people quit today.
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  Unreal. The cretin is offering days.

  And something else, too. I’ll have

  to consider that carefully. He’s really,

  truly nowhere close to my type!

  He scoots his chair even closer to

  mine, measures my [non] reaction.

  When can you start? I’ll be happy

  to come in and train you personally.

  Oh, yeah. I just bet he will.

  But what will he train me in?

  I tell him about the upcoming

  celebrations. “How’s Monday?”

  The shift starts at seven. He stands,

  gestures for me to precede him back

  to the front of the store. I can only

  guess what he’s looking at from behind.

  As We Pass the Counter

  The smell of fresh tobacco

  almost makes me reel.

  Damn, would I love a smoke!

  No way can I ask for a pack

  now. Kevin knows my age.

  But in two more days not

  only will I be old enough

  to buy them, I’ll have them

  at my easy disposal.

  Kevin pauses, extends a hand,

  so sweaty it threatens to slip

  from my grasp. Welcome to

  the team, Kristina. You’ll be

  working with Midge there…. He

  points to the middle-aged

  redhead behind the blinking

  cash register. Say hello to

  Kristina, Midge.

  She turns in my direction,