Crank - 01 (4 page)

the drumming inside my head.

Went into the kitchen

to get a drink

to get away

to get a glimpse

of the biggest cockroach I’d ever seen.

Toss-and-Turn Night

Bone-oven hot outside,

swamp-cooler cool three

feet up the hallway,

temperature in Dad’s

claustrophobic guest

room: lukewarm.

The bed was a monstrous box

spring. Thin, mildewed foam,

two sprays of Lysol, and one

thrift-store sheet were all

that lay between

Bedzilla and me.

Tried my right side. Kept

seeing the kitchen

cockroach, the one I

tried to pretend was

only a Mormon cricket,

Los Alamos—grown.

Tried my left side. Flashed

on my bedroom at home.

Pin clean, pretty in

mauve, a ballet of pink

butterflies on the walls,

pillow-top mattress to die for.

Flopped onto my back. Found

the keyhole behind my eyes,

squeezed through, into sleep.

Not slumber, but sleep just this

side of waking, where dreams

fuse with reality.

Through the Keyhole

I found myself in a meadow,

brilliant green beneath a soft

wash of sunshine.

I moved at a near sprint,

drawn toward a symphony,

primitive passion.

Lovemaking.

Wildcats mating, snarls at

the joining, satisfied roars

signaling completion.

I slowed, shifted upwind,

crept very near,

somehow unafraid.

Fascinated.

Some movement gave me

away. Exquisite feline eyes

found me in the grass,

golden eyes, flecked green.

He purred and she looked up.

I gasped at her face.

My face.

So Much for Sleep

Jump-started awake,

I sat up in bed,

found the eyes of the lynx

at the glass, snarls

in the hallway.

Sweat-drenched,

shivering, I threw back

the sheet, went to the

window, three flights

above a deserted alley.

Found no eyes but dream eyes.

One demon conquered,

I slipped on flip-flops,

mediocre protection

against monster

cockroaches, wandered

toward the kitchen.

Found no snarls but Dad’s snores.

I Hid Out for Three Days

Spent them sleeping in,

like Dad.

I work late. No shame in that.

Afternoons we ate fast

food and talked.

Sure I want more. Some day.

He was pushing 45. Time

was running out.

A house of my own. A good woman.

Surely he’d dated one or

two since Mom?

Slept with a few. Don’t do movies….

There’s more to dating

than movies.

Don’t do dinner, unless they cook.

Come on, Dad. What

about love?

Love is overrated. Besides …

I couldn’t believe

his confession:

No one can measure up to your mom.

I Even Spent Time at the Bowling Alley

He Hadn’t Changed After All

But he wasn’t such a bad guy,

really. Not ambitious, true.

In fact, you might call

him lazy, at least when

the drug of the day

was green.

Been smokin’ pot since I was 13,

couldn’t quit if I tried. Besides,

why try? It keeps me happy,

mellow. Makes me eat

too much, but

oh, well.

The white

stuff was a different

story. He’d stay up all

night, eating zip, bowling

and snorting line after line.

Rent money, right up the nose.

We used to

do coke, till “Just

Say No” put the stuff

out of reach. Now it’s crank.

Meth. The monster. It’s a bitch

on the body, but damn do you fly.

You Fly Until You Crash

Two

days,

two

nights,

no

sleep,

no

food,

come

down

off

the

monster,

you

crash

real

hard.

Dad Crashed

Slept twelve hours, got

up for a drink and a

pee, slept six more.

Good thing it was his

day off.

But was it always his

day off? Or did he

sometimes go to work,

mind folded down

around exhaustion?

Did he sometimes

blow off work completely,

call in sick, notating on

his calendar the

Illness of the Day?

No bowling, no small talk,

just plain, empty time,

I walked down to

the corner store for

Pepsi and
Cosmopolitan.

Guess who was buying

cigarettes, copper skin

glistening bittersweet

summer sweat. One

look, I was Play-Doh.

He Knew It, Too

He turned, flashed

a drop-dead-in-your-tracks

gorgeous grin.

Hey, Bree.

His voice dripped

honey and cream,

irresistible poison.

You been avoiding me?

I plead not guilty,

argued spending time

with my dad.

All-night bowling?

He knew too much. I

fumbled for change,

came up short.

No worries. My treat.

He paid for my Pepsi,

asked if he could

walk me back.

I’ll be good. Honest.

Hip brushing hip,

his hand slipped

around my waist.

You on your own today?

Heartbeat bombs

went off in my head.

Spectacular.

Can we talk awhile?

His Mom Was at Work

We went to his apartment, a nice

quiet place to talk awhile.

Mind if I light up?

What could I say? It was his

apartment.

His lungs.

Bad habit, I know.

I watched hands, hard and etched

like granite, light a match

with finesse.

Do you have any bad habits?

I could have made up something.

Instead I shook my head.

Want any?

I wanted him. Bad enough. I reached

for the cigarette in his hand.

You don’t smoke, do you?

I took a small puff. Struggled

like hell not to cough.

Or throw up.

Careful. You’ll get sick.

So I did the sensible thing. Took

another drag. Felt better.

Come here, Bree.

He pulled me close, locked my eyes,

tilted his face just a fraction.

Then I really felt queasy.

He Wanted to Kiss Me

I felt it with every nerve,

every fiber,

every molecule

of my being.

I wanted him to kiss me,

with every nerve,

every fiber,

every molecule

of my being.

But I was scared to kiss him.

Every nerve,

every fiber,

every molecule

screamed!

He leaned forward,

parted those

perfect lips.

At that exact moment,

every

single

thing

about

my

life

changed.

Forever.

First Kiss

They say you’ll remember

your first kiss forever. I will.

It was Fourth of July.

It was Christmas.

Fireworks. Snowflakes.

Sunstroke and frostbite.

It was all that I could ask for

and completely unexpected.

I expected demands.

He gifted me with tenderness.

I expected ego.

He let me experiment.

I expected disrespect.

He called me beautiful.

I expected him to expect perfection.

He taught me all I needed to know.

The Week Flew By

Monday

Ducked Lince and made out

at the park.

Learned a thing or three.

Tuesday

Took in a movie.

Sat in the back row.

Really made out.

Wednesday

Had a Slurpee fight.

Kissed the sticky stuff

off each other’s faces.

Thursday

Back to his apartment.

Things got heavy.

Heart-stomping heavy.

Friday

Bummed a ride and went

skinny-dipping up

Red Rock Canyon.

Saturday

Talked with Dad, wishing I was doing

something else with Adam.

Sneaked out after dinner

for a smoke

and a taste of tongue.

Sunday

Met Adam at the bowling alley.

Somehow the Place Looked Different

What had changed?

It was still a run-down bowling

    alley in a bad part

         of town.

I had changed.

Somehow I didn’t care about

     other people’s

         obsessions.

I was obsessed.

Somehow I didn’t care about

      public make-out

          sessions.

I plotted make-out sessions.

Somehow I didn’t care about

    women, stealing other

        women’s boyfriends.

Had I stolen someone’s boyfriend?

Somehow I didn’t care about

      back-room parties.

It was my turn. I’d been invited.

Choices, Choices

Life is full of

choices

We don’t

always

make

good ones.

It seems to

Kristina

you gotta

be

crazy

to open your

windows,

invite the

demons in.

Bree

throws rocks

at the feeble

glass,

laughs.

You Have to Remember

It had been

a tempestuous week,

snared by emotions

rubbing me so raw

I hurt at night,

alone in the dark.

I finagled my way

on this trip to fall back

in love with my dad.

Instead I fell

for a boy from

the wrong side of the tracks,

worse, the wrong part

of the country! I

had come, wanting to

want to go home. Now the

dark side of Albuquerque

looked pretty damn good.

So when he asked

about getting high, I didn’t

think, I agreed. We smoked

some good California green.

Took three tries to put me in

the place he said I should be.

Sleepy. Not “high” at

all, but real low. And real

slow. Not my idea of a party,

except the munchies part. I

wanted to meet the monster.

Why go down if you can go up?

We Met at the Bowling Alley

I introduced Adam to my dad. He

and Buddy already knew each other.

Small building, you know.

Their networking surprised me.

Not exactly sure why.

Some good green bud around.

Dad seemed to accept that I

knew about such things.

Don’t worry. She’s safe with me.

Someone called for bowling shoes.

Adam and I eased down to the far lane.