Glass (23 page)

More

than I thought.

possible. Turns out

more

than I wanted to.

Turns out I’ve

gone through a lot

more

of that quarter

ounce than I

realized. It’s

almost

gone and so is

my car and most

of my money,

gone

just like Christmas,

spent mostly alone,

like a downtown wino,

nothing

much to live for, no

better place to go,

too many hours

left

before tomorrow

arrives, bringing with

it,…what?

Nothing.

Come through the door,

one little girl fast asleep on

the shoulder of each guy,

I am very high. And also

a little bit out of my mind.

With the kids in bed, the guys

want to party. I’ve partied

solo for hours. Can I party

more, just because I have

company? [No-brainer. Ha!]

Smoking ice is the weirdest

thing. I mean, one minute

you’re totally pissed at the world

(not to mention the people

who populate the place).

The next, all is forgiven,

everything right, and you

can’t really remember why

you were so mad in the first

place. It’s irritating because one

of life’s true joys is being

righteously angry about

something. But load the pipe

and the “righteous” part

vanishes in a puff of smoke.

There’s been a lot of that,

in and out of my lungs,

in and out of my room,

in and out of my life, for

the past two-point-five weeks.

It’s Friday, the eleventh

of January. Trey and I have

been together the entire

time, a long, spectacular

semester break, almost over.

My car is out of impound,

thanks to a generous loan

from Brad. I asked Mom,

but she was still pissed

about Christmas and told

me to come up with the two

hundred sixty bucks on my

own. I tried Leigh, too, but

she’s tapped out from her

trip. Airfare isn’t cheap.

Brad’s tow buddy brought

the LTD home. It’s in the garage,

in need of a new radiator.

The nose-down gig sent the fan

smack through the old one.

That will have to wait until

I come up with a few hundred

dollars. The car can use a little

bodywork, too, but not much.

Those classic Fords are tough.

And anyway, Old Man Winter

has seriously arrived. More than

five feet of snow have fallen.

Not enough plows to go around,

even the streets are piled high.

No way could I maneuver icy

avenues. Trey’s Mustang isn’t

exactly a snow-country car either.

He finally broke down and bought

tire chains so we could go somewhere.

Mostly we’ve stayed inside,

watching Pay Per View, pulling

domestic duty, playing with the girls—

and each other.
Just like an old

married couple,
Brad observed.

Trey begged to differ.
Except

we’re not old, and I don’t think

too many married couples stay

up half the night, smoking glass

and playing kinky games.

That piqued Brad’s interest.

Oh, do tell me more. I’m living

vicariously through the two

of you, I hope you know.

Please feed my imagination.

Trey looked at me, and Kristina

flinched but Bree knew just what

to say. “Maybe someday we’ll let

you watch. Until then, your

imagination will have to go hungry.”

Damn, she is brave! I still can’t

believe she and Kristina share

a brain—or a mouth. And now

that Trey has to leave, I hope she

can show me how to stay strong.

To Trey, because I don’t really believe

it’s possible. I mean, I haven’t even

had a period yet, not since giving birth.

Think, Kristina, back to eighth-grade sex ed.

How long after having a baby until you’re

fertile? Doesn’t breast-feeding delay that?

[Yeah, like you breast-fed so long!]

Maybe it is possible. But not probable.

I guess I should go on the pill. But those

ob-gyn visits…I haven’t even gone in

for my postpartum checkup, and I wasn’t

supposed to have sex again until after

some icky doctor with plastered-on

concern put his gooey latex gloves

in unmentionable places; pushed

here, poked there, manipulated

internal organs, assessing any damage;

and finally, like the act could be a gift,

checking mammary glands for signs

of blockage. [Whose gift—his or mine?]

Nope, I didn’t exactly hurry in for that.

Too late now. [Hopefully not too, too late.]

Shut up. I can’t be pregnant because I won’t

be pregnant. There, I’ve made up my mind.

Next to Trey, who has somehow

managed to attain sleep on our

last night together, possibility

piles on possibility.

Possibly,

I’m pregnant.

Possibly,

I’ve damaged the baby.

Possibly,

I will choose to abort.

Possibly,

Trey won’t support me,

won’t even come back to me.

Possibly,

he’ll settle down with the pretty

girl in Stockton.

Possibly,

he’ll settle down with some

other pretty girl in Stockton.

Probably,

he’ll break my heart because

definitely,

I am totally in love with him.

I listen to the shallow in-and-out

of his breathing, reach

for the warmth of him,

draw it into the bitter cold

well in the pit of my stomach.

I will not sleep tonight.

I will cry.

He reaches for

me. Rains down

on me, showers

me with ecstasy.

My tears fall

upon the pillow,

fall upon his skin.

It drinks them in.

Don’t cry,
he

soothes.
You know

I love you, will

never hurt you.

But hurt pounds

against me now,

a hammer of pain

beating my heart.

I crawl into his

arms, lay my head

against his shoulder,

a fearful child.

“I know you have

to go. But I don’t

know how to let

you. So just go.”

On my forehead, coaxes

me awake. A kiss? Trey?

Did Trey come back already?

How long have I slept?

Wake up, Kristina.
No, not

Trey. I open my eyes.

Brad smiles.
I was starting

to worry. You’ve been asleep

since yesterday. Trey called

to let you know he made

it back okay. I asked if I should

wake you, but he said no.

The blizzard has cleared,

but I’m still pretty fuzzy.

The light is soft, secretive.

“What time is it, anyway?”

After three. You’ve been

out for almost thirty hours.

Even the girls were starting

to ask where you were.

I’m making a pot roast

for dinner. You could probably

use some food too. Do you

think you can eat?

“I’m starving!” I look into

his eyes, find a stew of concern

and humor, which I tap into. “In

fact, I could probably eat you.”

He laughs.
I’ll keep that

in mind. Maybe for dessert?

Anyway, we’re watching

Harry Potter.
Come on down

and join us, if you want.

Meanwhile, I’ll let the girls

know you haven’t left like

their mother, after all.

Five weeks since Trey went

back to school, and life as a nanny

has become the status quo.

It isn’t really hard most

of the time. LaTreya leaves

for school at eight
A.M.

Devon is in
P.M.
kindergarten.

She catches the bus at eleven.

The two ride home together.

So I have several hours each day

to myself. Funny thing is, except

for the easy supply of meth,

life isn’t much different here

than it was at home. I still get up,

have breakfast [or not], study

for my GED, which I plan to take

next month. Only now I care for

for a stranger’s children instead

of my own baby. Okay, that’s not

fair. Brad hardly qualifies as

a stranger. He’s become a real

friend, not to mention an ear for

my semi-demented ramblings,

mostly about Trey, who still

hasn’t learned to call. When he

first left, it was easy to believe

he was just too busy with settling

into the new semester. But now

I’m starting to think he has settled

into his pretty new girlfriend.

Don’t worry
is Brad’s learned

council.
Trey has never been

a master communicator.

But the fact is, I’m lonely, way

out here in Red Rock, still no

transportation, and no company

during the day but a couple of kids.

They’ve warmed up to me some,

but I will never be Mommy.

Trey manages to touch base

maybe once or twice a week.

Not enough. Not enough.

And there’s not enough crystal

between here and Mexico to combat

my growing sense of isolation.