Crank - 01 (7 page)

Too damn bad. Pretty girl.

Not so pretty now, Dad,

head to toe black-and-blue,

and shattered framework,

facing uncertain healing.

Hard to believe we just partied together.

He really didn’t get it,

turned back to his TV. I

went to the refrigerator,

held my breath, looked inside.

Sorry, not much in there.

Moldy cheese, outdated

milk, peanut butter, and

soggy celery. I found an apple,

soft, but edible. Almost sweet.

We could go out to dinner.

My brain claimed I was

crazy to even consider such

a thing. But my insistent

stomach won the day.

McD’s okay?

One Hour

Tons of tasteless, useless, meaningless

food and conversation later,

two rounded, roiling

bellies pushed

back through

the front door.

Not that Dad didn’t ask plenty of

questions, worthy of answers,

but how could I tell

the man who turned

his back on “daddy” status

how my life had changed?

How could I explain

gut-wrenching insights to

someone so lacking

vision?

How could I admit my

part in the current melodrama

to a psyche devoid

of guilt?

How could I share the

way my heart was breaking

when my confessor

didn’t believe

in love?

Instead We Returned to Small Talk

which is probably all we’ll ever manage,

all we’ll ever get to,

if we get to anything at all.

We couldn’t have spent more than

two hours, total, within three weeks,

tied up in trying to talk to each other.

Inter-family communication

must be an acquired skill.

He never even asked

if I’d gotten high before my little

Albuquerque adventure.

Never asked if I enjoyed

spending time with the monster.

He only wanted to know if Buddy

and I had done the dirty, perhaps right there

between his own disgusting sheets.

His question reeked

of voyeurism.

And he accepted my negative answer

with a smile that meant

he didn’t believe a word.

I wondered if Mom

would have.

Dad Went Out

Left me

to

fret

to

stress

to

cry

    to

    choke

    on

    emotion

    and

great

green

nose

clogging

gobs

    in

    sincere

    need

    of a

    good

    blow

instead,

I let

the

snot

drip.

I Was Mid-Drip

when Adam knocked on the door.

I half considered pretending

I wasn’t there.

Hurting.

Bursting.

Over him.

Over this whole sorry

pile of crap

I’d dug myself into.

But I wanted to see him

more than anything.

Needed to know

I hadn’t imagined

the whole head over heels

thing. I had to go home

in a couple of days. I

wanted to go

still in love.

I found a paper towel,

let go a mighty blow

and went to

let him in,

even though I knew

I must have looked

very much like my

dead and buried grandma.

Okay, I Looked Awful

        To anyone else,

     he probably looked worse.

To me, he resembled an angel.

  A poor, sad, beautiful angel.

     His hurt swallowed mine,

     like space swallows time,

       and the two intertwine.

         We tangled together

I’m sorry.

Me too.

I’m just so confused.

Ditto.

I do know I love you.

Ditto

squared.

So of Course I Did a Really Stupid Thing

He pulled a bindle from his pocket,

tapped the sparkly powder inside.

Cooked up fresh yesterday.

Mother Kristina said no.

The monster stormed Bree’s door.

That’s my girl. Let’s forget

the bullshit and fly.

We soared through the night,

well beyond daylight.

Funny thing about the monster.

The worse he treats you,

the more you love him.

I knew already that had to be true.

Blood geysered in my veins.

Thoughts stampeded across my

brain. Together, ecstasy.

You are the most incredible girl.

I never believed someone like you

would fall for someone like me.

But are you Kristina? Or Bree?

At the moment, all Bree.

“Kristina is who they made me.

Bree is who I choose to be. How

’bout you? Adam or Buddy?”

With you, I am Adam.

And you are my beautiful

Eve. Let’s run away,

find our garden, live there

together, happy. Naked.

Adam

But First I Had to Pee

Passing the mirror,

I chanced a glance at Bree,

crank embers glowing behind

dilated black windows.

She didn’t look half bad,

certainly not dead and buried.

In fact, she looked quite animated.

I dropped my jeans. And guess what

I discovered, already staining my panties?

That pesky monthly visitor

who shows, unbidden, on

your step, a true-blue party killer.

Only this time,

encouraged by the monster,

it blew across the threshold,

smashed down my door.

I staunched the flow, changed

my clothes, and went to tell Adam.

Flustered, flushed,

he swore he didn’t care,

pouted and pleaded and cajoled.

But I was not about

to lose my virginity

in a fountain of

menstrual fluid.

How many times

have I regretted that decision?

But That Day

there was still enough

Kristina left to feel

humiliation

still a smattering of

old-fashioned morals,

somewhere

inside; still a healthy dose

of survival instinct, buried

beneath

a childhood, fractured by

hormones, smashed by

the monster’s

fist and pressed into

memory by two-faced

bravo

So I Said

“No way.”

Why not?

“You know

why not.”

But you know you want to.

“I do.

But I

can’t.”

Not right, Bree. Look what you’ve done to me.

And I

thought,

What did I do?

You made me need you.

He brought

the crank.

Made me have to have you.

He let

things get

out of hand.

Not later. Not next time. Now.

And then

he took

my hand,

Put it right there.

showed me

how to make

things right.

Yes, just like that.

For him.

But what

about me?

Girls Get Screwed

Not that kind of screwed,

what I mean is,

they’re always

on the short

end of

things.

The way things work, how

guys feel great, but

make girls feel

cheap for doing

exactly what

they beg

for.

The way they get to play

you, all the while

claiming they

love you and

making you

believe it’s

true.

The way it’s okay to gift

their heart one day, a

backhand the next, to

move on to the apricot

when the peach

blushes and

bruises.

These things make me believe

God’s a man, after all.

I Considered That

One Day and Counting

Mom called on her cell.

You ready to come home?

Don’t forget to get to the airport

at least an hour early.

Kristina? We’ve really missed you

around here.

Translation:

You
are
coming home, aren’t you?

Your father’s a dunce, so remind him.

You
are
coming home, aren’t you?

Dad called from work.

I took the dayshift so we could spend

tonight together.

Want to go out to dinner?

Did you say good-bye to Buddy?

Translation:

We really should spend one evening together.

The fridge is empty again.

He’s not over there boinking you, is he?

Adam called from the hospital.

Lince is off the respirator,

but still in a coma.

Can I see you this afternoon?

I’ve got a surprise for you.

Translation:

Looks like she’ll survive, with or without a brain.

Are you still on your period?

I’m on my way to pick up a bindle.

To Speed or Not to Speed?

I told Adam to come on over,

I wasn’t going

anywhere

then proceeded to fret,

as I did

anytime

he and Lince popped up

together in a single thought,

anyway

I had only this day to make

him remember me, however

I could

I knew it wasn’t a great idea,

flying home, mostly high on

the monster

or crashing fast, the

last tiny remnants of speed

and I

fighting to feel good,

despite what the buzz

had become—

low, that is, so low it

was hard to remember the

best

of it. So of course I chose to

go for it. Adam, Bree, and

the monster were inextricable

friends.

A Couple of Toots

Skeletal lines, jaundice yellow,

evil little breezes up the nose.

One

inhale, awesome, mean, tiny

hammer blows to the brain, and I

didn’t care who knew that

I was high,

(well, okay, I preferred clueless cops)

not Dad, who would be home

soon. He’d want one or

two

himself. Not the people next door,

who I’m pretty sure kept an ear

to the wall, waiting to see if

I would fly,

or attempt, like our wingless lynx,

to defy all instinct and natural

law, ball up courage, count to

three

and crest the edge in one mighty

leap. Or maybe she did just fall.

I wonder, as I wonder if

I,

locked in a cage of dreamless sleep,

a place where only the monster

can drop you so hard,

heard the cry

           of a fallen

broken

        bird.

But Right Then

all I could think of, in

that speeded, heated moment,

was my own pain, stabbing

through the pleasure.

I asked Adam to hold me,

kiss me longer, harder.

Oh, God. I love you.

Begged him to help me

remember the taste of love.

How will I live without you?