Tricks (36 page)

know. But hey, those junkies are the walking dead, anyway.

597

Junkies and Whores

Whitney and Alex. No life

force left behind the lenses.

The walking dead. Spot-on.

*

My cab arrives. Not a driver

I know.
Where to?
he demands, tapping the steering wheel like

*

he's got somewhere better to be. When I hesitate, he drops the flag.
Where you want to go?

*

I'm not in the mood for snippy

cabbies. "Just drive down Las

Avenue. I'll tell you when to turn."

*

It's my dime. I'll spend it how

I want to. I have him cruise in circles, in an area known for

*

its strip clubs and accompanying

activities. "Slow down. I might

want you to stop." Feels good to be

*

the one giving orders for a change.

I see several working girls. A few

guys. One or two in the "not sure"

598

category. There. That's her.

Right there in the plain light of day, hustling. "Stop here!"

*

He pulls to the curb, and I hand

him two twenties for a thirty-two-dollar

fare. He looks at me.
Change?

*

"Goddamn straight." No tips for smart-assed cabbies. Off he drives in a huff. Good.

*

Alex doesn't notice me right

away. Too busy working a guy in ugly purple Bermuda shorts.

*

I tap her shoulder. "What's up, girlfriend? You're not thinking about doing this guy, are you?"

*

Alex jumps.
Ginger! What
the hell?
She looks at Bermuda, who is seriously checking me out.

*

He licks his lips.
Well, hello.

You're not really her "girlfriend," are you? Meaning,
are you two,

599

like, lezbos? "Actually, I am her girlfriend. Why, you want to watch?" You effing pervert.

*

I can't believe how pissed

I am, or how submissive

Alex is acting. I expected more

*

of a reaction. Bermuda reacts for both of them.
Hell yeah!

How much to do the two of you?

*

Don't say anything, Ginger!

Alex warns. Who the hell

died and made her boss?

*

If she can hustle guys, so can

I. This one won't get off cheap.

"Three hundred for all you can eat."

*

Right on.
Bermuda reaches into his back pocket. But it isn't money he shows.
Vegas vice.
He flashes

*

a badge.
You're under arrest for solicitation.
Then, an afterthought.

How old are you, anyway?

600

A Poem by Cody Bennett
Afterthoughts

Why can't an afterthought

be forethought?

Where does

hindsight

take you if you're

focusing behind you?

What important is gained

when the lesson

defies recollection?

When Alice stepped through the looking glass, did she see herself

backwards, or did the whole rabbit hole

experience

simply make her close her eyes?

601

Cody Don't Want to Open My Eyes

If I do, it will mean I admit I'm still

alive. Right now, I think, I could

choose to let go, say a silent good-bye, and join Jack on the Other Side.

Do I want to do that? Don't think so.

But what if it's better? Until I decide,

*

I lie here, churning in an anesthetic

sea, inhaling antiseptic air. I'm on my stomach, and want to turn over, but something won't let me. And when

whatever painkiller it is they've got

me on starts to wear off, my back catches

*

fire. While I wait for more, praying

they hurry, a tide of voices rushes in.

Whoosh:...
he should have

regained consciousness by now...

Whoosh:...
suspect was the girl's

boyfriend... haven't found him yet....

*

Whoosh:...
know what the boy
was doing there or his relationship...

Whoosh:...
leave me, Cody. Don't

you dare make me lose you, too.

Whoosh:...
Colts, fourteen; Chiefs, ten.

Figures. Goddamn loser Chiefs.

602

Eventually the Tide Recedes

One voice remains. Even if she wasn't

talking, a steady, downstream flow,

I'd know it was Mom by the hills of her hands. They stroke my face, gentle my hair from my forehead.

Carry me back to when I was little.

*

I don't know what you've gotten

yourself into, Cody boy....
just like when I was little...
but you

can work your way out of it...

just like when...
I don't know

if I can help you, but I'll try...

*

Work my way out. But it's such a long way out. I don't know if

I'm strong enough. Not even with your help, Mama. Easier to just say

good-bye. Your hands feel good, though. I love your hands....

*

There's a weird noise. A loud hum.

No! Cody!
Footsteps. Running.
Cody, you come back here right now!

More hands. Motion. I am on my back.

Shit! That hurts. Different hands.

Pressure. Something covers my nose.

603

Air. Sweet. Why is it sweet?

In and out of my lungs. Breathing for me. The hum changes to a steady

blip... blip... blip...
Hey, just like in the TV shows.
Blip... blip...

I know what that means. I'm still here.

*

Mama? Don't cry, Mama. Rub my hair

again. I'll stay for a while. Promise.

Goddamn! My back's on fire again.

But I can't say so. Can't open my eyes.

Can't promise I'll stay. That would

be lying. And I'm so, so tired of lies.

*

Voices. Decisions. Voices. I'm okay for now. One voice I haven't heard.

Ronnie, I understand. Hope you know

I'm sorry. You... are... are...

Mama's voice again.
His pillow is wet.

Doctor, is he crying? Doesn't that mean...

*

Yes, Mama. For now. Don't know

how long I'll stay. If I come back,

I'll try my best to change. Mostly change.

Feels good when you rub my head,

Mama.
Blip... blip...
Odds are good

I'll come back to you, Mama....

604

A Poem by Eden Streit
If I Come Back

If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life's uncertain rhythms

tore us so far apart? If

I return

today, will your arms

gather me in, or will

I

be wrenched away, snatched by a riptide I

have

no power to resist?

If I find my way

to

you, one man standing in a crowd, will I even

know who you are?

605

Eden Off the Streets

Safely sheltered by the kind people here at Walk Straight, thanks to Father Gregory.

*

What is it with me and good Samaritans?

I never believed so many really existed,

*

never guessed that any of them would ever

reach out and yank me away from hell.

*

That's where I was. Hell isn't some fiery

pit "down there." It's right here on Earth,

*

in every dirty city, every yawning town.

Every glittery resort and every naked stretch

*

of desert where someone's life somersaults

out of control. Satan--Evil--doesn't have

*

horns or poke you with a pitchfork. His power

doesn't come from full moon sacrifices, and he

*

doesn't go out looking for new recruits. He

doesn't have to. All he has to do is wait.

606

Walk Straight

Is an amazing place, a rescue for teen

prostitutes who want to turn their lives

*

around. All they have to do is ask. I didn't

know to ask, but Father Gregory did.

*

It's run by an exceptional woman,
he told me,
an ex-prostitute herself.

*

When she got out, she wanted to help

other young people get off the streets.

*

You'll have a place to live, an education.

They'll help you decide how to shape

*

your future. If you have a pimp, they'll

encourage you to testify against him,

*

and they'll go to court with you so you

don't have to be afraid to put him away.

*

When I got here, they cleaned me up, fed me, had a doctor run some tests.

*

I'm not pregnant, didn't catch some

horrible disease. I was a little anemic,

*

but that will change with good nutrition.

I didn't eat nearly so well at Tears of Zion.

607

My Caseworker

Is named Sarah. She's really nice, but she does ask a lot of questions, some

*

of which I'm not prepared to answer.

Sarah:
Where is your home, Ruthie?

*

Okay, so I haven't been completely

honest with them. I'm afraid if I give

*

them my real name, they'll find some

kind of all points bulletin out for me.

*

So I used my middle name--Ruth. Sarah

added the "ie" to make it "feel friendlier."

*

I didn't exactly lie when I answered,

"Las Vegas has been my home for a while."

*

Sarah:
Okay, then. Can you tell me

how you ended up in "the business"?

*

More mostly truth. "I never wanted to.

I just didn't know any other way to survive."

*

Sarah:
I
understand. And what about
your parents? Will you tell me about them?

*

"They're dead." That was not a lie.

My parents
are
dead. To me.

608

Boise, Idaho

Is a bittersweet memory, and Tears of Zion is a wake-up-shivering nightmare. My parents

*

are zombies, death-walking through both.

I would die before I'd go back, and I'll have

*

to tell Sarah all of that very soon. Because I did

find a way to get hold of Andrew. His mom is still

*

a professor at Boise State. And, duh, professors

have e-mail addresses. We have computer access

*

here at Walk Straight. I e-mailed her two days

ago. She got back to me yesterday.

*

Eden! Thank God you're okay. We've been so worried! Andrew has searched and

*

searched for you. He pestered your parents so much, I thought they'd have him arrested

*

again....
She gives a long story about the first time they had him arrested, and how

*

they and some of Papa's congregation

harassed Andrew until he had to have

*

his phone number changed.
He'll be so relieved. How can he reach you?

609

I Insisted on E-mail

A phone call would mean somebody

knows and cares I'm here. I'm not

*

ready to confess that yet, not ready to think about talking to Pastor Streit

*

and his not-nearly-as-sweet-as-she-seems

right-hand woman. She will never be Mama

*

again. I don't know how much I will ever

be able to tell Andrew about the past few

*

months. I'm changed, and he'll know

that. But does he have to know why?

*

If he finds out I'm here, I guess he'll figure

out why. I go to the resource room,

*

open my Gmail. Oh my God. It's here.

Eden,
he writes.
I
can't believe it's you.

*

Every prayer answered. When can

I see you? When are you coming home?

*

To the point. All Andrew, in cyberspace.

I type a to-the-point reply: "Not sure

*

when I'll come home. Lots to talk about.

Just know, now and always, I love you."

610

A Poem by Seth Parnell
Home

Simple word. Four letters, two consonants, two vowels, one of them silent.

Home.

You wish you could walk through a familiar

door, shout out the word, in a simple two-word

sentence: "I'm home!"

But that door

Has been closed to you, slammed shut in your face, and

no

amount of pleading

will open it again. Two

consonants, two vowels.

One word without meaning

when you don't have a home.

611

Seth Always Believed

There would be a way back

home eventually. Figured

sooner or later, Dad would