Crank (8 page)

'Course I've never seen that before.

She pointed to the tattoo.

What could I do but ask her opinion?

In my opinion, you've got one nasty

infection. Did you sterilize the needle?

Thinking back, I wasn't so sure.

But I said, "Of course he did."

He

did, huh? Your hard-bodied,

dark-haired dream boy

did this?

So then I had to tell her everything.

Except I left out about the monster.

Well, I hope that's the only infection

he gave you, in love or no.

So then I got my back up. Played

defense to her quarterback sneak.

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No need to get your back up.

I was just kidding, and of course

girls can carry STDs too.

So then Bree felt much better, while

Kristina felt really bad.

I

know you're sorry. No worries.

Let's chalk it up to jet lag.

198

B

rain Lag

described it better, synapses quieting, gray

matter shutting down, except the pain center part, Leigh's elementary

nursing--alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, and a dab of Neosporin--had only managed to make the aching mess hurt even more, although she probably killed off a germ or two.

* *

At least, lost in the center of my bed, I didn't have to wear

jeans or jammies or even panties.

Naked, in that cool tangle of cotton

sheets, I felt myself slip far, far away, deep beneath an indigo ocean. Down, down into a silent, lightless land, and there, in the darkness

I found my Adam.

199

Funny thing, your brain, how it always functions on one

level or another. How, even stuck in some sort of subconscious limbo, it works

your lungs, your muscle twitches, your heart; in fact, in symphony with your heart, allowing it to feel love. Pain. Jealousy. Guilt. I wonder if it's the same for people, lost in comas. Is there really such a thing

* * as brain death?

200

S

ilence

shook me awake.

I groped into consciousness

room dark, blinds closed, shadows

undulating in air-conditioned

waves.

Midday,

I thought, house

emptied of people, of pets, of life,

Nobody home.

Just me for company, no one

demanding

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conversation or explanations.

I was alone, and I liked it that

way.

202

On

the Nightstand

I found a prescription bottle and three notes.

* *

The first was from Leigh:

Had some antibiotics I forgot to finish. You won't get a whole treatment, but they haven't expired. Not the way you're supposed to do it, but couldn't hurt!

* *

The second was from Mom:

Your father called to make sure you made it home okay. You are okay, aren't you? I to

ld him everything was fine. It is

fine, isn't it?

* *

The third was from Jake:

Some guy named Adam called. At least I think his name was Adam. He also said Buddy? First he asked for Bree, then changed it to Kristina. Who's Bree?

* *

Good question.

203

I

Went Straight for the Phone

dialed Adam's number, forgetting the area code was different.

Got some

creep's cell

phone by mistake, and asked for the man of my dreams.

* *

Don't think I know him, but if

you talk real dirty,

I can fake it.

* *

Bree giggled. Kristina wanted to puke, thanked him anyway, tried again.

Head dizzy, hands shaky, 505 area code

inserted correctly, I got his mom.

* *

Buddy's at the hospital. Lince

opened her eyes today.

I'll tell him you called.

204

Kristina felt relief. Bree felt rage and a burning desire for a couple of lines. I

thought about the one time I actually sat down and talked to Adam's mom.

* *

Tough thing for two boys

when their daddy

turns his back on 'em.

* *

Turned his back, packed a bag and hit the highway. Left his family, broke, in a lousy two-bedroom walk-up.

Never said "bye," let alone "sorry."

* *

Sorry speed freak. Least I got

to wear my face minus bruises

and swollen eyes.

205

Finally without tears, until her oldest son died, shootin'

speedballs--

just enough

meth to stay wide awake for the heroin wild ride over the brink.

* *

Michael took after his dad.

Never too much, never enough

of goin' right out of his head.

* *

What did that make Adam?

Watching his dad choose the monster, seeing his brother lie down for the demon, how could he want to party too?

* *

Buddy's all I've got left. I

pray

to the good Lord he makes

better decisions.

206

And, knowing all these things, perhaps more intimately than I ought

to, what did

that make me?

I thought about praying too.

207

C

hanged

my

mind.

No

doubt

the

good

If You do still care, Lord, please keep me safe.

had

weightier

things

to

worry

about

than

the

half-

hearted

apology

of

a

crashing

crankster.

208

The

Phone, Still in My Hand, Rang

I jumped, like a bee had just

given me a nasty hello.

I returned the favor

* * with a totally foul, "Yessss?"

(Then thought, jeez, what if it's Adam?)

* *

Hey, Kristina. It's Sarah.

How are you? How was your

trip? Tell me all about it!

How was your dad? Sweet?

Did you meet any cute boys?

* *

Sarah--my best friend since

4th grade. Crazy smart, pretty in an Irish sort of way,

* * with embarrassing freckles and wicked red hair she was forever trying to tame.

209

Was it hot down there?

It's been miserable here!

Did your dad have a pool?

Did you get a tan?

What did you do for fun?

* *

What could I tell her?

How much did I dare?

That is, if she ever gave

* *

me a chance to talk.

How much did she really want to know?

* *

Did you do any shopping?

I

already got school clothes.

What did you do for the 4

th

of July? We went

up to Virginia City.

* *

What day was today? The 10th!

Dad never said a word about fireworks.

210

The 4th of July had slipped on past, with me held

fast in the grip of the monster.

* *

We're going camping.

Want to come? My mom

said it's okay. I hate to spend

a whole week, alone

with my parents and little sis

ter.

* *

I told her I'd ask and call later.

My brain needed a rest--not to mention my left ear.

* *

Kristina could listen to Sarah talk for hours.

Bree was ready to scream.

211

At

Least I Had the House to Myself

I downed an ampicillin, splashed peroxide on my

wounded

thigh, which actually

looked a little better, the heart

more pink than violet, the pain more a soft

pulsing

reminding me with a steady beat of an emptiness so complete I had

no clue how to fill it, loneliness so heavy I had

no idea how to lift it, need so intense I had only

one way to relieve it: a bitter drink

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of its very source-- the deep well of the monster.

213

I

Considered

the Reno crank scene, or what I knew of it.

Legit entertainment--

music, magic, comedy clubs.

Legit and semilegit--

gaming, sports betting, light night carousing.

Legal, semi-immoral--

adult revues (aka "titty shows")

gay clubs, strip clubs, swap clubs, beyond-the-city-limits prostitution.

Such activities,

24-7, practically invited the monster's

participation.

Remote desert

dwellings, travel

trailers and

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sad, little

shacks, went up in flames regularly, victims of ether-fed fire.

Oh, yes, there was crank in Reno, waiting for me, calling

out to Bree.

All that was left was

To find it.

215

S

uddenly, However

all those days with little or no sustenance hit me in one awful instant.

* *

Lucky me! Mom's kitchen was a whole lot better stocked than Dad's.

(Not to mention a whole lot cleaner--

no mega-cockroaches allowed!)

* *

Summer fruit.

Garden veggies.

Leftover roast beef.

Homemade bread.

Hand-churned ice cream.

* *

I'd almost forgotten how great a cook

Mom was, at least when she wasn't

too busy writing or going through one of her "I'm not your damn servant!" phases.

* *

Double lucky me.

It seemed she was going through one of her

Suzy Homemaker stages.

216

Fresh salsa.

Homemade chips.

Leftover chili.

Cherry pie.

* *

felt like I'd died and gone to God's grocery stop in the sky!

217

My

Luck Ran Out

'Cause after I

finished pigging out, I

really wanted a cigarette.

Nicotine's a strange addiction. I

didn't even realize I was hooked until I

couldn't have one. No

one at my house

smoked, at least not so you'd notice. Not

my mom. Smoking

causes wrinkles. Not

Scott, who had a family history of emphysema. Not

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Leigh, who said

they made

your hair smell like an ash

tray (only true

if you don't

smoke). Surely not

Jake, the ministud athlete. Nope.

I

was most definitely

out of luck.

For the moment

anyway.

219

It

Got Worse

because just about then, my mom came home.

Good. You're up. You looked dead

to the world, so we let you sleep.

Leigh shadowed her through the door.

"Feeling better? We went shopping.

I needed a new swimsuit in the worst way."

Mom put an armful of bags on the counter, ignoring my crumbs.

I

got you one too. Your old one

is pretty ratty.

Leigh reached into a Macy's bag, extracted it for approval.

"Cute, huh? She wanted to get you a tank, I

insisted on a bikini. You

do

still like pink?"

220

Mom looked at the hot pink

crochet, as if for the first time, shook her head and clucked,

Better try it on. Can't sh

ow too much

skin at Scott's company

picnic.

Leigh glanced down at my T-shirt hem, barely covering our

sisterly secret.

"Nope, wouldn't do. Wouldn't

do at all."

221

All

Thoughts of Bad Habits

vanished within a deluge of normalcy.

Scott's company picnic was an annual

* *

family affair, fifty computer specialists, plus kids, wives, significant others, et al, eating, drinking, and being otherwise merry

* * on the water slides, wave and wading pools at a decidedly fun place called Wild Waters.

Beyond all things wet, there were go-carts,

* *

minigolf, an "invest your entire allowance