Crank (18 page)

Unforgettable

Birthdays

aren't easy to come by.

* *

Do you remember

Your 4th? Your 12th?

* *

To my 90th birthday,

I will never forget my 17th.

* *

If you do remember

them, why?

* *

It was a day of firsts: giving

myself willingly to ecstasy.

To a man. A needle.

* *

Presents? Surprises?

Firsts?

* *

It didn't hurt, not at all.

The sting was rather

pleasant, like excising an ingrown toenail.

* *

Or did pain define

those memorable days?

* *

Now take the rush of snorting, multiply by

100, you get smoking.

To find mainlining, you

approach infinity.

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Have you ever once in your life

reached out to touch infinity?

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E

levation

Oh, but a whole lot more. They say people who die from ecstasy die from overheating.

* *

Adding speed to the mix accelerates the process because it makes you want to dance until the sun comes up.

* *

The music made me dance. It entered my brain, firing spark plugs and pistons. It revved me to my feet.

* *

The crank was jet fuel, pumping through my veins, propulsion.

I shifted into overdrive, motor heating steadily.

* *

I danced with guys, I danced with girls, hotter, closer, melting together like candles in a south-facing window.

* *

Our dance was primitive, beautiful, waves at high tide.

Our dance was sensual, sexual, and yet somehow innocent.

* *

Spent calories orbited, raising temperatures. Some drank alcohol.

The wise drank water. It tasted as good as champagne.

* *

And then somehow the subject of my birthday came up.

Word spread and the mood elevated beyond celebratory.

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Gifted with kisses. Tender. Probing. Inviting. Feminine. Masculine.

One emptying into the next, eddies in the swollen river.

* *

I kept my eyes closed, absorbing sensation until it screamed for release. So the part that came next seemed very right.

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I

Don't Know

whose blade it was, whose idea it was.

* *

I don't remember

saying yes.

I know I didn't

say no.

* *

The knife was sharp.

One knick at my wrist.

It didn't even hurt.

It didn't seem wrong.

* *

Rust in my mouth.

Rich red salt.

I drank it down, asked for more.

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Offered my own to those who would partake.

Fever. Fire. I was on fire.

Time hesitated.

Solid earth gave way.

Strong arms caught me, carried me into the cool of outside.

* *

A familiar mouth found mine.

I looked into Chase's eyes, found emotions in turmoil.

* *

Fear. Need. Concern. Lust.

And then he said the words

we were both afraid to hear.

I

love you, Kristina.

439

I

Was Cinderella

and Chase was my unlikely Prince Charming.

(Hey, I'd graduated from knights to princes, even if they were unlikely.)

* *

Suddenly I was very sure.

"I love you, too, Chase."

For real?

* *

I reached up and kissed him and it was very, very real, despite the quite

surreal juxtaposition of colors in the night sky.

You take my breath away.

* *

"Make love to me. Please? I don't

care who sees." He might have.

But just then his watch beeped "two."

No way. Come on, let's go!

* *

Well beyond the witching hour,

Chase hustled most of his guests

out the door. (A few were tied up in the bedrooms.)

I

didn't want to piss off your parents.

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We wouldn't make it home until almost three. But the E insisted

I remain hopeful.

"They're always in bed by ten..."

Doesn't look

like they're asleep.

* *

Every light was on, upstairs and down, and I caught my mom's face at the window. We had turned back into pumpkins after all.

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If

You Guessed

I was GUFN, two points for you.

Can you believe Chase was brave enough to walk me to the door?

Mom pounced.

"Do you realize it's three A.M.?"

* *

Chase tried to apologize, said we'd lost track of time, talking.

"I'm

sure

that was all you were doing."

* *

Mom lectured him on responsibility and gave

him the old,

"We were worried to death!"

* *

(She looked just fine to me.) What could

Chase do but nod?

"Well, Kristina won't be going

anywhere for a while."

* *

I tried to talk my way

out of her anger zone.

No good.

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"What were you thinking, Kristina?"

* *

Scott flashed a half

apologetic look as

Mom carried on.

"Don't you know the cops keep a lookout for kids like you?"

* *

I wasn't a kid. And

I'd never so much as seen a cop drive by.

Not yet, anyway.

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Exiled

to my private mauve island where pretty

pink butterflies fluttered on my wall in a lovely E-enhanced butterfly dance,

I tried to be angry, but the ecstasy

wouldn't let me. In fact, it made

me take a peek at things from my

mom's POV. I

mean, we did

stay out until the cock woke up to stoke his crow. Not only that, but we did the very things she worried about us doing, and more.

Introspection

would be easy as a dual-edged

sword. If you

acquaint your

self with your

self, you don't

always like the person you find

inside. I could deal with that. The

bigger problem was discovering Bree

didn't really give a damn about liking me.

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I

Spent the Next Day

helping Mom can tomatoes.

It was an annual event and I

had always hated the tedious

chore. But the last tiny tendrils of ecstasy, infiltrating me, somehow

made it enjoyable. I didn't even mind

my mom's company. In fact, my mood

seemed to rub off on her. She didn't once

bitch, though she enthusiastically quizzed

me about the previous evening's activities.

This very big part of me wanted to confess, to ask forgiveness, request help. Oh, I knew

my bad habits had escalated, and if Kristina

had had her way that day, well, who knows?

But over the last few weeks, Bree had grown

stronger and her argument--that Mom might

put her away, far removed from friends, Chase, and all personal choice--was feasible. So I

refused to waver from the concert and long

conversation excuse. And when she asked about drugs, I summoned every ounce of righteous indignation I could muster and denied touching a thing except a toke or

445

two of weed. I knew she wouldn't be

too upset about that. And by the time

all the jar lids popped down on row upon row of salsa, sauce, and ketchup,

I was still grounded. But at least

Mom wasn't as mad anymore.

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Bur

ned Out

Burning

up, coming down,

I popped three

aspirin against the

* *

throbbing in my skull, and attempted a nap.

I laid in bed,

* *

sweating

out toxins, the last of the E and crank,

* *

aching from the inside out. Could I ever

shift into reverse?

* *

Falling from euphoria,

I face-planted into depression. Hard,

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somersaulting through your own

manure. Harder yet to get back up without

* *

tripping and falling all over again. I felt out of control, a meteorite

* *

tumbling through space, tugged by gravity toward certain doom.

448

J

erked Awake

well after dark, yanked into consciousness by Mom and Scott, yelling in the hall.

* *

"Are you blind, Marie? You don't sleep like that unless you're crashing."

She's running a fever, Scott.

And just what makes you an expert?

* *

"Come on. We both know the scene.

You just refuse to believe it."

We had a long talk today. She swears

the only thing she has tried is pot.

* *

"Like your sweet, little Kristina is above lying to you?"

But what do we do? Search her

room? Have her tested?

* *

"We pull the reins tighter. No dates.

Straight home after school."

For how long? We can't keep her

locked up here forever.

* *

"At least until report cards come home.

If her grades are okay, she's free."

449

What about tonight? Should I try

to wake her up for dinner again?

* *

"Let her sleep, If she's really sick, she needs the rest. Especially after last night."

Okay. Just, please, try to keep

an open mind. And, Scott?

Thank you for caring.

450

R

eport Cards?

If grades were the criteria,

I would be in deep frigging dung.

Two weeks till "d" (for dung) day, no way could I make up for how

I'd screwed up this quarter.

* *

And if they were going to start

searching my room, I had some

serious stashing to do.

But I didn't dare move, not for a while. I stared off into the dark, thinking about Chase.

* *

No dates? Home straight after school? How could I live without seeing Chase?

Alone in my bed, I could taste

him, embrace him, feel his skin, warm against my own.

* *

There, as the house fell silent,

I could hear him tell me,

I

love you, Kristina.

Live without him? They couldn't

make me.

Wouldn't

make me.

I would go to him that night.

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I grabbed my "hideables."

Out the window. Down the wall like a spider, on night prowl.

No way to call him to come and get me. How would I ever

get myself into Reno?

* *

One way came to mind.

I swallowed my fear and stuck out my thumb.

452

A

nyone Could Have Come Along

A rapist.

A serial killer.

Brendan.

* *

Lucky me.

I drew a cop.

* *

The black and white

approached slowly, crept past.

Brake lights flashed.

* *

Thank God I

thought to reach into my pocket and toss the contents into the weeds

* * as he pulled to the shoulder, red and blue revolving.

* *

I wasn't high, but I felt buzzed.

453

I wasn't holding, but I broke out in fear sweat.

* *

Goosebumps popped out like disturbed wasps.

How much would he notice?

* *

How much more would he guess?

(And how much did guesses count?)

454

He

Got Out of His Car

Evening, young lady.

His flashlight found my face, concentrating on my eyes.

* *

Kind of late to be out alone.

My mouth felt paralyzed.

All I could do was nod.

* *

Going somewhere important?

I drew a deep breath. Exhaled

slowly. "Just to a friend's."

* *

Do you realize it's after curfew?

I wanted to say something

smart. What I said was, "It is?"

* *

Do your parents know you're out?

Parents? Couldn't involve them!

"Th... they're out of town."

* *

I

see. Then I can't take you home.

Yes! He couldn't take me home.

Relief segued into apprehension.

* *

Looks like I'll have to take you in.

In? Where was "in"?

He couldn't mean jail?

* *

Tsk. Wittenberg isn't a good place.

455

Juvenile hall? I was dead!

Mom would kill me.

* *

...

for a nice girl like you.

He escorted me to his car, put me into the backseat.