Glass - 02 (18 page)

On my big bed, swathed in mauve, almost catatonic,

some part of me does understand that I have deserted

my motherhood post, gone AWOL, at the urging of the

the enemy—the monster. But I think, if I can only sleep,

I’ll find a way back to the company of my family. They

have to forgive me, fold me in. Prodigal daughter, kill

the fatted lamb. The image comforts me. But not as much

as knowing I’ve still got a fat stash of ice in my car, safe

inside its lockbox. And I’ve still got Trey, safe in memory.

Into December and life

has taken on a certain

rhythm.

Bumpy,

you might call it.

Work. Home. Work

again, all

up and down.

I’ve tried to keep

cool about my use.

But I can’t not get

high,

especially in the early

A.M.
, have to get to work,

deal with that crap.

And

then I go home, deal

with that crap too.

That brings me down, way

low,

especially since I’ve only

heard from Trey twice

in two weeks.

Still,

Mom and Scott have tried

to leave me alone. In fact,

they’ve remained mostly

silent,

despite their assessing

stares, which must confirm

every suspicion. Hunter

cries

a lot, it seems. I do my best

to comfort him, but I’m

starting to think he

screams

because he sees me as a

stranger, like I’m the baby-

sitter. Guilt

rages

in me, but only when

I finally come down enough

to really think about it.

It will be a fast crash,

and for that I’m grateful.

My body aches. My brain

feels like mush. I need sleep,

even more than I need food.

Recognizing those needs,

I haven’t played with

the monster for two days.

Work today was impossible.

I don’t know how I made it through.

Now I’m home, and Mom

says,
I’m going to the gym

and then I’ve got some errands

to run. Jake is at practice.

You’ll have to watch Hunter.

“Sure. No problem,” I say,

knowing full well that it might

be a problem. I give him a bottle,

lay him on a big quilt on the living

room floor, plop down beside him,

close my eyes. Tread a pool

of murky water, dreams gone

stagnant, or brewing dementia.

Somewhere I hear a baby gurgling,

giggling, cooing. Somewhere I hear

a baby fussing. Crying. Screeching…

But I can’t wake up. Don’t want

to leave this place so very near

sleep. I have to. Can’t. Have to.

Won’t. No, I’ll deal with it

when I come up for air. Up from

this place I’ve finally settled into.

Sleep. Deep, deep sleep. What is

that noise? It won’t stop, like an

alarm clock without a snooze button.

Suddenly I’m ratcheted awake,

roughly set on my feet, pushed

out the front door. Mom’s

crazed face parts the cerebral mist.

This is the last straw, Kristina.

What’s going on? My brain

feels like mush. Behind Mom,

I see Jake, holding Hunter,

who’s howling like he’s

just been bitten. “Wha…?”

You are leaving. And Hunter

is staying. Do not come back

here until you’re completely

sober. And don’t even think

about trying to take this baby.

I don’t get it. All I did was

take a nap. My head is thick,

my mouth unsure how to

work. “Wha…what d-did I do?

And where will I go?”

While you were
sleeping, Hunter

rolled under a chair, and got

stuck under there. He was screaming

and you couldn’t be bothered to

wake up and find out why?

Rolled? Hunter can roll?

Since when? He’s only six

months old. Six-month-olds

can roll? Why didn’t anyone

tell me he could roll?

I don’t care where you go.

Live on the street, sleep

in your car. Just don’t come

back here. And don’t ask

for money. Get help, Kristina.

She won’t even let me back

in the house to get my clothes.

Get my keys. She makes me

sit in my car while she gets

them for me. What do I do now?

When I wake up, dark and bitter

cold. My thoughts scatter

like a swarm of mosquitoes.

I know I’m in the backseat

of my car, but I can’t remember

exactly why. Hunter? Something

about…Oh, now it all comes

back to me. I screwed up.

I screwed up and Mom called

me on it. Called. Called?

Did Trey call? I reach for my cell.

No voice mail. He didn’t call?

I punch my own call button.

On the other end, the phone

rings and rings, finally goes

to voice mail. “Would you
please

call me?” I beg. “I need you.”

Where the hell is he, anyway?

Then I glance at the clock

on my phone. Three
A.M.

Most likely he’s sleeping.

But is he sleeping alone?

Now that I’m awake, I can feel the cold,

whittling my skin, worrying my bones.

I want to get high, but I need to eat first.

My belly is empty as a Mojave water hole.

Three
A.M.
I’ll have to drive to Denny’s

if I want to eat at this hour of the day.

I start the car, de-ice the windows, wonder

why Trey never called me back.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in a pink

and orange booth, waiting for my Moons

Over My Hammy. Filling. Easy to eat.

Cheap. Guess I won’t be eating at home

for a while. Maybe Mom was only jiving.

[Yeah, right. And I’m a prima ballerina.]

The food comes, served by a stone-

faced waitress.
Want anything else?

Let me see. How about a place to go to

when I get off work later? “Not right now.”

The sandwich is greasy and tasty and I eat

it slowly, not to savor the flavors, but to kill

time, three-plus hours until work. At least

it’s warm in here. Safe. Warm. Safe. That reminds

me of a night, spent in Trey’s arms, at his

cousin Brad’s house. Brad! He has that big spare

room. It’s kind of far from work, but hey,

there’s a convenience store in Red Rock, too.

And guess what. Now I’ve got cash

register experience. Brad, who’s cute.

Brad, who’s cool. Brad, who has the best

connection this side of Mexico. [Give him a call.]

I tell him what happened—that my

loving mother kicked me out

and kept my baby—omitting a little

information he doesn’t need to know.

“So…any chance I might be able

to stay with you for a while?”

[Tell him you’ll make it worth

his while.] I tell him exactly that.

He hesitates.
Uh, well, I never

really thought about taking in

a renter.
He thinks a bit.
First

off, you
are over eighteen, right?

“Eighteen and extra,” I say,

giving him plenty of time to

think it over. It seems to take

a helluva lot more than plenty.

Well, I can let you stay for a while,

I guess. I’m not sure I’m willing

to commit to a long-term thing,

so we’ll have to play it by ear, okay?

Whatever works. At least I won’t

have to sleep in my car tonight.

“Okay. Thanks, Brad. Um, can

you remind me how to get there?”

I stop by the store, pick up the few

things I know I can eat when I’m

walking with the monster—fruit,

light yogurt, several cans of soup.

Probably rather impolite

to expect Brad to feed me too.

I also buy a toothbrush,

toothpaste, and a hairbrush.

Mom neglected to pack mine.

She also forgot to include my

makeup, but I can’t afford more

than mascara, at least not until

my next paycheck. Paycheck

to paycheck. Hey, I think I get

that now. It really
does
suck.

As I’m driving down Red

Rock Road, my cell rings.

The caller ID makes me

happy. Pissed. Relieved. Pissed.

I flip open the phone. “Where

the hell have you been?”

Hey, you okay? What’s wrong,

anyway? Are you hurt? In jail?

What kind of help do you need?

I tell Trey what’s up, but really,

really want to know, “What took

you so fucking long to call?”

I just got your message. My cell’s

battery died and I couldn’t find

my charger. Just got another one.

I hate when someone has an

unshakeable alibi. “Oh. Sorry.

It’s just that I really needed you.”

Apology accepted. And I promise

to try to call more often, okay?

Anyway, it’s almost semester break.

Two weeks and counting down.

Am I done being mad at him?

For now, I guess. Thinking

about being with him again

has got me feeling a little

antsy. “Can’t wait to see you.”

Me too. Hey, tell Brad everything’s

jake, okay? And let me know how

you’re doing. Love you, Kristina.

I hope so. I need him

more than ever right now.

“I love you, too, Trey.”

Isn’t bad. I mean, I’ve got

this great room, utilities

included; easy access to

the best ice in Reno (not to

mention a cool place to smoke it);

and I’m pretty much free

to do exactly as I please.

Okay, I do need to work

because I promised Brad

fifty dollars a week—not bad.

I’ve been driving all the way

to the Sev, which has to change

very soon. I mean, with gas

at this price, and the LTD

rating a whopping nine miles

per gallon, I’m not netting

a mint from my paychecks.

There’s another little problem.

And that is from time to time

my mom or Scott or Jake

happens in while I’m working.

It’s awkward, to say the least,

especially if Mom has Hunter.

The Glacier Queen doesn’t ignore

me, exactly. But she doesn’t

act like more than a customer.

Mom and I, in fact, have not

exchanged more than a dozen

sentences since she pushed

me out the front door, almost

two weeks ago. I thought she

might invite me to share Christmas

with the family, but so far,

not one word.

At Brad’s, preparation for

Santa is in full swing. I try

to participate (mostly because

I’m incredibly homesick), but

Devon and LaTreya have not

as yet identified me as “family.”

I don’t think they have a clue

why I’m here, and I’m pretty

sure they’d rather not have

me here, but such is life,

little girls. Still, I do my

best to be nice. Very nice.

That isn’t always easy,

especially when the monster

insists their whining could

be dealt with by giving them

a good shake, or locking

them up in a closet. Okay,

not really viable options,

but kind of fun to think

about, when they go on and on

about cartoons and snacks and

When is Mommy coming back?

That one really gets to me.