Milk-Blood (7 page)

With his second puff of smoke
my dream started. I was Joey’s twin, his better part, and could feel each of his breaths in my own chest. I was a baby again and healthy as could be. I wasn’t defective. Why did I ever believe otherwise? Tiny spots of me bubbled with happiness until the bubbles were everywhere. With one finger I traced the underside of my arm and looked at the tiny puncture wound from the needle. I had found a tiny hole in me to put God inside. God and teachers don’t come on my street, but they were inside of me now.

When
my dad got home, I was holding the baby. Joey’s flesh on mine was the most amazing thing. I had been sitting there feeling his smooth skin and tracing his arms down to his little fingers. The tiny wrinkles in his fingers and the tiny little nails were amazing. I imagined I was Mary and he was Jesus and I just had a baby. That was how good I felt. This must be how regular people feel always, everyday.

My dad
barely gave me a glance when he got home but set Grandma in her spot and talked to Nelson in the other room.

When I lay in bed
that night, with the door cracked, I could hear Dad and Nelson with some friends. I didn’t care when I smelled the metallic smoke coming from the living room and the sound of men in the hallway. Nothing scared me now.

When the morning came,
I wasn’t sure if I had slept all night or just dreamed, but the good feelings had left me. Burning bile started to eat away at my warm spot, my stomach ached with need for food, and my spine hurt the worst.

I was going to need
more medicine.

Chapter Seven
: Lilly Back at School

It was
recess. My belly had a bowl of cheerios and a Pop-Tart in it so far. It was a frosted Pop-Tart. Plus I had half a banana, but not the whole thing since it had brown spots and those parts made me sick.

Yesterday, I had lunch with the counselor lady who asked me all sorts of questions. She said the world wasn’t a fair place but that I
probably knew that, but when it tips far enough out of balance that someone should come and help. She had a license that made her contact people who would visit my house—from the state. They watched over things. I listened, but knew not to say too much. I didn’t speak on things like what’s in the fridge and the roaches under the fridge and my dad’s friends who come over sometimes. I definitely wasn’t going to tell them about the medicine that Uncle Nelson gave me.

And I kno
w it’s not medicine. It’s heroin. Or H. Or dope. Or smack. But I like to say medicine.

Lunch
with the counselor for one day was all it was, not all week like she promised, so at recess I went back to my place sitting with my back to the wall. Sitting there twice was enough to claim it as mine.

The same three boys came to me again. One still had his shirt untucked, like he had to fix it each day to make it that way. The others were tucked in like the school policy said it had to be, but I saw on their faces something different, something schools don’t reach or get to control, like that space behind your fridge. They saw it in me too.

“Are
you going to show us your heart or not?”

“It’s fixed.
”

“
How did it get fixed?”

“
They injected me right here, and now it’s fixed.”

I showed them the tiny little mark like a chicken pock
on my underarm. I knew my heart wasn’t really fixed, but it just felt like that. If I could feel like a normal person for just a bit, then maybe I belonged. I wasn’t so strange, wasn’t so different from the boys next to me. The boy traced the big blue vein of mine up and down my underarm with his finger. It felt good.

“
But they still have to cut me open again.”

They left me alone, and didn’t want to see my heart anymore.
The day dragged on just the same.

Later on, two girls got into a fight, and
lots of boys laughed and screamed to root them on. The teacher had to leave us alone, and our classroom was empty when the bell rang. We didn’t get our homework assigned before the day ended, and I smiled right away thinking about home and the day before. Maybe I’d get some medicine again.

I felt older all of sudden, but also like I was just born.

The school bus bounced over holes in the street and shook my insides. When they got to my stop and the door opened, cool air got sucked into the bus and brushed against my skin. Colder days were coming.

I walked with Ciara and
Ciana and their mom, but didn’t want to be invited to their house. My legs moved fast down the sidewalk, brushing past the cracks but never stepping on them. Nothing could stop me. Home was different now. And Joey needed me.

I could feel
Ciara’s mom watching me down the sidewalk, like she does sometimes to make sure I’m safe.

I walked by the
abandoned house and looked to see if it was any different after everything that had happened. It stood there rotting just the same. The man was inside, moving fast again, and pacing back and forth, more like a robot than a person. I saw him through the front doorway, and he’d walk and disappear, walk and disappear.

But then he saw me
and stopped and both of us looked at each other.

I felt a small w
hoosh, like something had just passed me by, but I was alone on the sidewalk. My legs wanted to move, my chest wanted to stop, and my insides were torn. I thought about waving. But a soft male voice inside told me,
Stop, there’s
nothing here for you today
, so I dashed across the street. The man watched, I could tell he was watching, but I was safe back home.

I
twisted the door knob, twice, both ways. It wouldn’t budge and was locked. I tried again with my weight moving left to right and right to left. Nothing. Maybe Dad was with Grandma at the doctors again. Or maybe she was asleep upstairs and he was gone. I could climb up the chimney and get on the roof and see if the upstairs window was open.

Next door, Uncle
Nelson’s porch was empty. His dark blue Ford Escort with the rust spot that looked like a scab was parked in front. The car was there, so Joey and Nelson should be home. My dad said I could go there if I had to so I did. I left my backpack on the porch and hoped nobody would take it.

Unlike my
house, their front door was cracked open. Knocking didn’t feel right, so I walked in slowly. The smoke of the warmer air surrounded me. I didn’t smell food. I smelled a fight coming.

“Nelson, damn
it, get your shit off the washer. I got to use it.”

It was
Auntie’s voice from downstairs. My eyes winced a bit at her screaming, but Nelson didn’t move from his spot on the chair. He saw me and smiled. Proud he wasn’t moving. Happy to see me back.

“Fuck it
, Nelson, your shit’s going on the ground,” Auntie screamed.

I wanted to go downstairs myself and get the stuff off the dryer
and help them both out, but instead I waited to see how he felt about me being here. He made a motion with his head for me to come in. The clothes he had on were the same as yesterday. His t-shirt barely hung over his arms and his pants needed a tighter belt.

Joey was lying
on a blanket with a mobile over his head. He had a bottle in his mouth but wasn’t drinking it, just clenching the plastic nipple between his teeth so that the bottle hung down his chin. I pushed some of the plastic pieces of the mobile around to make them spin. His eyes went from me, to the red fish floating above him, back to me again. When they spun real fast he’d smile and move his hands and legs like a roly-poly bug on his back.

“Y
ou got bleach on my blouse,” Auntie yelled from the basement.

Nelson
still didn’t move. I wanted him to do something. I needed to know if he had his medicine lately or not. A lighter and spoon was right next to him, I saw that right away, and he looked at me different than yesterday. His eyes didn’t
scare me as much at his house than mine, like he didn’t need to scare me anymore. He smelled of smoke of all kinds, not just cigarettes but like a plastic pen was on fire. His bare feet stuck out of his pants, and one foot was swollen and purple. I wished he’d put socks on.

“C
ome here,” he whispered.

I walked
over, tiptoed really, ready to take part in this secret deal.

“Ho
ld out your arm. I know that’s what you want.”

I didn’t want to say yes
but my whole body was saying yes and there was nothing that could stop it. The memory of the pinprick from yesterday hadn’t left me all day. It made my skin think—like it had a mind and voice of its own and was saying
YES
. My heart thumped. Blood sizzled and shot through me. I laid out my arm and turned it to the underside. I was at his mercy. My veins stuck out through my blue-hued skin. I clenched my fist back and forth and moved my fingers like I saw him do yesterday. He made up his batch.

I wanted him to hurry. I wanted my aunt to
scream again from the basement again so I’d know she was still down there. If she walked up stairs he would have to stop. This would be over, and I’d be in trouble.

I could hear
Nelson breathe through his nose like he was snoring. It reminded me of the noise a sleeping dog makes. No sounds of footsteps from the basement. This was going to happen. He flicked the needle. Pointed towards my arm.

“Y
ou got the sweetest blue veins my sweet.”

The prick
of my skin, and blood was mixing inside the syringe.

A
rush went straight from the needle into my spine. An ocean of warm spread from my back and washed over the defects and emptiness inside of me. No longer sick. No longer hungry. Like a hug from a mom—that’s what this was. This feeling was something I had been waiting for since the day I was born—the magic to make me feel better. Life wasn’t always fair, but now it was.

Nelson looked at my eyes with a knowing smile. I smiled back and
lay on the carpet next to Joey. I pushed the mobile and watched the sea of plastic fish swim above me. I picked him up and his skin felt warm against mine. I looked at his face full of dark black skin and pretended that I had the same color skin on me. Like I was his mother. He slept in my arms.

Days went on like
this. The weather got colder. School days felt sicker. Boys came by and talked to me. I know they were just teasing me, or pretending to tease me because they wouldn’t admit to really liking me. But they talked to me more than before. I was normal. I held back my defective heart beats all day long. Held on while it pumped defective blood all day, until I could go home.

Even
if my door was open after school, I dropped off my backpack, and I went next door to Nelsons. My auntie was there, and still they fought. That was okay, giving me the H was somehow part of Nelson’s fight against her. I took his side with silent shakes of my head or laughing at him when he mimicked the way she talked. I saw his feet turn darker shades of purple and swell up. I got used to his grey, swirling eyes—as long as he could put the Medicine in me.

Then the day came that ch
anged. I walked home from school and the blue Escort was gone from its usual spot. I hoped that it was just stolen or that they drove together to the store for cigarettes and would be right back. When I checked, and nobody was there at the house, I knew something was wrong.

I sat on the porch. Cars drove
by full of boys who I know sold drugs. Girls were with them. Still I waited. Each sound of an engine I thought was the blue Escort. Each minute became the minute before they got there. This was all wrong. Even if they did get home, I may not get anything. Things started to ache inside of me. I looked at my arms, which were just tiny bones with veins in between. They needed to be fed.

I waited
. Shadows crept on the house across the street. My dad’s car pulled up before Uncle Nelson’s did.

“I’m waiting for Joey,” I said to my Dad before he could even ask.

“Don’t go anywhere else but there, and come right home.”

I said okay.
He went inside. A long time passed. Cars that came down the street had their headlights on. The grey clouds in the sky turned into a blanket of dark all around. Finally, a pair of headlights pulled in front of Nelsons. Auntie was driving. Joey was in a car seat in the back. No Nelson.

Auntie walked up the driveway carrying the
baby seat.

“
You here again child? We were at the hospital. They keeping Uncle Nelson. Maybe couple weeks this time. Maybe they have to amputate his leg. Maybe not until they get the drugs out of him. Maybe Methadone. You wouldn’t know about all that though. You around to watch Joey? We sure appreciate you coming by here like this. Nelson said he been paying you, but I don’t know if he’s been lying? How much he paying you?”

The warm hug was gone.

Chapter
Eight: Jervis Nabs a Junky

5 days to check day.
3547. The card was still in his pocket. He had ID for food. He paced and listened. He had no choice, the voices were screaming from his insides:

“You’re still alive Jervis? You’re evil you know that? You’re a devil. A red devil. Look at how you rage when you get mad. Cut yourself. Cut yourself right. Be done with it. Cut your own neck. Cut it and watch the blood.”

He paced fast and slammed his foot down
with each step. The bam bam bam bam of his foot sometimes stopped the voices. Talking to himself blocked them out and turned them into white noise static. But they kept coming, relentless. The voice was mostly his dad, still stuck inside him ever since that day in his momma’s basement, but there were other noises too. The little boy Oscar who had nobody to play with. Oscar said he wanted to be like the boy from
James and the Giant Peach
who was saved by magic after his mom and dad were killed. But not him. Not Oscar, he had nothing.

Jervis listened to the boy, but couldn’t always hear since the
tears of the buried mother made noise all the time. He heard her crying for her daughter. The sound was sharper than any piece of glass he’d ever stepped on. And the little pieces got stuck in his skin just the same.

“When are you going to stop that?” Jervis asked the mother.

“Not until she’s with me.”

“Why do you think she wants to be with you?”

“I grew her. She gnawed at my insi
des and clawed her way out. I made her out of nothing and gave her life.”

“I
put her inside you, she’s my girl, she’s not all yours.”

“
You poisoned me.”

“I gave her to you
.”

“The part of her that is
sick was from you. You are a fucking red devil.”

Jervis would have raised a hand and smacked her when he he
ard that, but she wasn’t there, she was just a noise, not a sight. Just a mouse scurrying on the floor that he could never find. He was done talking with the voices, but they weren’t done with him:

“You said you’d bring her
to me. Where is she?”

“
His dad died, but James got saved by a Giant Peach, who will save me?”

“
I will get her myself, get in someone’s head and get her.”

“Jervis,
Jervis. Jeeerrviiiisss”

“You an evil man Jervis. Bad. BAD. A devil. A red devil.”

Jervis
paced and scanned the street looking for something to help him stop the voices.
Two dogs fighting inside your brain, and you control who wins, the one you feed the most.
That’s what they told him once. The mental health team. Well, the voices won’t win. He’d pace and talk and mumble them away, or get some dope or get something.

Get my girl.

But h
is girl from across the street wasn’t stopping to see him anymore, so he looked for others.

There was a noise from
several houses down that he knew was real. He turned and saw men on the porch. The words were loud, angry. A door slammed, and a man left the house dejected. His head sunk to the ground and he walked defeated. The shroud of smack surrounded him as he approached. Jervis stepped up to greet him on the sidewalk.

“You spare some change?”
Jervis asked.

“
Fuck off. You think I got change?”

“
Well, one can never tell. What you looking for?”

“Nothing.
Never mind old man.”

“
Old man,” Jervis mocked, “Well, I may be old but you look same as me. You scrap?”

“S
ometimes scrap. Good money, but I got no way to transport it.”

“G
ot some scrap inside.”

“Oh yeah.
Maybe I got a guy who can come get it. What you telling me for?”

“Can’t get
the pipes out. Maybe you can help. We can split it.”

“L
et me see what you mean. Maybe. Maybe.”

Jervis saw the look on the man’s
face.
I can take advantage of him, I can punk this guy
, the man was thinking.

They walked to
the house, and Jervis could tell the man had been to prison. He could tell by his walk. By the way he hung his head. By the distant look in his eyes. The man stepped into the house cautious. Waiting for others to be there. His nose crinkled as if the air was about to make him sneeze.

“Bunch of pipes in the basement.
Copper. Can’t get it down.”

They stepped in further and the air of the house en
gulfed them both. Grey walls were like intestines and they squeezed and squished them in. Thick ashy air was digesting them both, and tiny bits of their flesh were being added to the dead flakes of skin of so many before that coated the floors.

Jervis was home
, and the master of this place, and had to do things here even if it made him sad.

The man’s head swiveled from side to side, and
after pausing enough to make sure he was safe, he walked directly to the basement stairs. Just as he took the first step, Jervis hit the man with the only scrap metal in the house that mattered—a rusted out piece of pipe that fit into Jervis’s hand. The man’s skull was crushed under the swing of the metal with a squishy thunk, and he collapsed and bounced down the stairs. His bones tangled, twisted, and snapped on one another, and he landed at the bottom like a rag doll. Jervis followed him into the darkness.

There were no lights, and
the black air of the place hung thick. It was a tomb. Moans came from the man, deep in his chest. The body still lived.
Good, he isn’t dead.
Were his eyes open? Jervis couldn’t tell, it was too dark, but one more smash of the pipe and another squishy thunk, and the man was unconscious, moaning no more.

Jervis took out
the syringe. It was so dark, he could hardly see it in front of his face, but he could do this blindfolded. He traced his hand and found the man’s neck. It was skinny, but warm, and still pulsing with life. There was smack left in this man’s veins. There always is. He inserted the syringe into the thick blue vein of his neck. It did get messy, he felt the blood spill, but he pulled back the plunger and captured what he needed and filled his syringe. He took the treasure upstairs.

God it’s been a long time since he’d done this. Why no others shared the blood of
others this way he didn’t know. Probably because it was just him who could do this. He had special powers. Milk-blood. His dad showed him the way years ago.

Jervis
pressed the tip of the syringe at his own vein but couldn’t get it to plunge. He needed a new needle. This one wasn’t sharp. He kept poking until it hit his mark, drew some of his own blood, and then mixed in the new.

Jervis felt a spastic energy, like a quick
sneeze or an orgasm. He grunted loud enough to make his chest vibrate. Inside his head, the voices left. New blood pulsed, new thoughts and memories rushed in.

Yes, the man had been to prison.
Sexual assault. The man had crack and dope in his blood. Fresh from today. Jervis could feel that as well. The man had kids too, but they didn’t talk to him anymore. Jervis could feel the scars that built over the man’s hurt that stopped him from caring. The man was as sad as Jervis was, and had traveled the city streets picking up whatever scraps he could find to make life bearable.

And now they were in
side Jervis.

3547.

Get my girl.

Stop the voices.

Good living one more day.