Crank (22 page)

that her boyfriend was to become a grandpa.

* *

8) My ultrasound--seeing a heart, beating strong inside me.

Having my doctor

inform me that my baby was all in one piece, then

suggest I shop "blue."

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7) school counselor,

Mrs. Green, arranging a home-study program to let me graduate

right on schedule.

(Six days before I gave birth!)

* *

6) Calling Grandma, expecting a lecture and getting one-- about how every baby, regardless of circumstances, is an angel on a special mission.

* *

5) Scott's losing his anger

long enough to teach

me to drive. Getting

my driver's license when

Grandma left me her obnoxious (but mint) '75 LTD.

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4) Jake, sharing his Internet

research on fetal

development. Did you

know that a fertilized

egg, 36 hours old, is the size of a pinhead?

* *

3) Sorting through 35,000 names in the

Dummy's Guide

to

Naming Your Baby,

opting for the strong, masculine moniker

Hunter Seth.

* *

2) Epidurals. I meant to do

Lamaze, really I did, but I managed to miss

most of the classes.

Here's to labor, without unimaginable pain!

* *

And...

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T

he #1 Best Thing

about those seven months:

* *

Holding

my baby for the first time, knowing just how to do it.

* *

Thinking his red, scrunched-up face was really quite handsome.

* *

Unwrapping the blanket to count fingers, eyes, ears, and toes,

* *

Finding

all twenty-four, precisely

where they ought to be.

* *

Crying because suddenly, for the first time in a very long time, everything felt right.

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Lows

10) Morning sickness. Puking

my guts out as soon as I lifted my head from the pillow, each and every day for weeks and weeks.

* *

9) Listening to Mom and Scott

argue. About me.

About the baby.

About the odds of it being some

sort of freak.

* *

8) Trying to quit tobacco after learning how

every puff made

my baby's heart

stop beating. How

could I be so hooked?

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7) Going to school (before

my "condition" became

obvious) an outsider.

Knowing my old

friends and I had

lost all common ground.

* *

6) Boredom. The succession of little-to-do

days, stretching

longer and longer toward the longest

day of the year.

* *

5) Long letters from Chase.

USC was great.

The football team was great. Los

Angeles was great.

Great enough to call it home.

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4) My dad's silence. He did call

once, to confirm Linda

Sue's tale. Then not a word, as if not talking about it could make the "problem" disappear.

* *

3) Losing Grandma, just when

I'd found her again.

A waterfall of flowers

brightened her funeral, but they couldn't disguise the stench of death.

* *

2) My water breaking, mid-Walmart...

Contractions, uterine lightning

bolts, striking

immediately and not letting up for 18 hours.

* *

And...

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The

#1 Worst Thing

about those seven months:

* *

My steady, needful, forever

relationship with the monster.

* *

Learning

that "addiction" is much more than a buzzword.

* *

Discovering

how very much it applied to my "me first" psyche.

* *

Struggling

not to give in to inner voices

much stronger than my own.

* *

Winning

most of the time, gritting my

teeth and "just saying no."

* *

Losing in those moments

when the world

I'd created for myself

closed in around me.

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H

appy Endings

I'd like to give you one.

But I'm not really sure

how this story ends myself.

* *

Being a mother is hard.

A lot harder than I imagined.

My baby boy is beautiful.

I sense an Old Soul within him.

* *

But he cries a lot and he doesn't really sleep like a newborn should. No lectures, okay? I accept my part.

* *

I watch my mom with my son, loving him, as she must have

loved me. She's patient when he cries. She paces him to sleep.

* *

I wish I could be like that. But

I'm only 17. I feel like life is passing

me by as I stand here on the deck, listening to him fuss inside.

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Sometimes I want to curl up in a ball and roll away. Sometimes

I just want to die. I only know one

thing that can make me laugh again.

* *

Crank is more than a drug.

It's a way of life. You can

turn your back. But you can

never really walk away.

* *

The monster will forever speak to me. And today, it's calling me out the door.

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