Glass - 02

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Glass - 02 Page 8

by Ellen Hopkins


  gives me a harder inspection

  than Kevin himself did. And,

  though she mutters an abbreviated

  hi (can’t get much shorter than

  that, I know, but it came out

  kind of like “h”), the almost

  obscene roll of her eyes says

  most eloquently, Oh, great.

  Here we go again.

  Like I Care

  I have my out.

  I have my high.

  I have more stash

  waiting.

  I have a job.

  Almost have an income.

  It is almost time

  for an outstanding

  eighteenth birthday.

  I have earned my wings,

  can’t wait for my

  test flight to freedom.

  My head buzzes,

  my body rushes,

  electric, anxious.

  I want a taste

  of flight, a taste

  of adulthood, another

  small taste of ice

  before afternoon dwindles.

  The last thing on my

  mind is Hunter, waiting

  for his mommy.

  I don’t want to think

  about Mom and Scott,

  planning birthday

  and baptism parties.

  I don’t want to think

  about Leigh, who will

  arrive soon and want

  to spend time with me.

  I don’t want to think

  that the monster

  might have so soon

  taken me hostage.

  No, I don’t want to think

  such a thing

  is remotely possible.

  It isn’t. Is it?

  So Why

  Do I take a little detour,

  drive up the gravel road

  toward the quarry, dust

  sifting over the LTD,

  find a spot under a tree,

  and, despite being pretty

  damned buzzed already,

  take another short stroll

  with the grabby monster?

  Something is different

  this time round, some

  little thing that keeps on

  nagging at me. The

  crystal is better, true,

  so I know addiction

  is even likelier than

  before. That bothers

  me some, yes, but like

  I said, I’ve managed to

  keep my use under control.

  Suddenly, as I inhale

  a hot, fragranced hit,

  it comes to me—the

  thing that’s bugging

  me. Before, I got high

  as a way to socialize, to

  fit in with the crowd, feel

  less inhibited around guys.

  This time, though, I’m

  spending more and more

  of my time, getting more

  and more buzzed, alone.

  I Tuck That Away

  Into a not-so-accessible

  recess of my psyche.

  Everything is about to change.

  I’ll be out around people more.

  Mingling in crowds more.

  Interacting with men more.

  And I’m not talking Kevin

  Stewart or Grady or Slot Man.

  But first I have to get through

  the challenges of this weekend.

  Starting with going home and

  pretending I’m a perfect mom,

  a decent daughter, and a loving

  sister. Leigh will arrive soon,

  cheerleader in tow. We’ll all

  have a wonderful dinner. (Will

  anyone notice me, pushing

  meat and veggies around on my plate

  until everyone leaves the table?)

  I won’t sleep tonight. No way.

  So tomorrow I’d better turn my

  back on the monster. I’ll need to

  sleep before Sunday. Can’t go

  to church and stand up in front

  of everyone bleary-eyed and

  trembling, let alone take a chance

  on passing out completely. Oh, yeah.

  That would be one for the Good Newsletter!

  I Pull into Our Driveway

  Park off to one side, where my dusty

  LTD won’t be in Mom’s or Scott’s way.

  I sit a few minutes, absorbing rock

  and roll rhythms, trying to slow

  the race of my pulse, the hammering

  of my heart. Truth be told, I’m wasted.

  Finally I gather the nerve to go on

  inside, and when I do, Mom hands

  me a couple of large envelopes.

  Birthday loot, I’m guessing, she says.

  I open the first—fifty dollars from

  Aunt Lou, who lives in Gainesville.

  The second holds a hundred from

  Scott’s dad, my very cool Grandpa

  Bill. The card reads: Don’t spend

  it all in one place. Okay, you can!

  I’d hate to tell him it’s already spent,

  and I sure couldn’t tell him what on.

  Which reminds me of my promise

  to myself to return the hundred to

  Hunter’s piggy bank. I will do that,

  won’t I? Yes, of course I will. Someday

  very soon. Well…I do have to cash

  the checks. That could take a few days.

  And this, says Mom, is from Scott

  and me. It would have been more, but

  you never returned the hundred from

  the other night. You know, the money

  you didn’t spend on the hotel. I’m not

  sure I want to know what you did spend

  it on, but anyway, happy birthday….

  What does that mean? Do they

  suspect the real intent behind

  my visit to Robyn? They haven’t

  acted strangely at all, but maybe

  I have. Have I? I don’t think so.

  Either way, she gives me a card

  with daisies and puppies on the front

  and two hundred dollars inside.

  I can’t look her in the eye—not

  with pupils the size of dimes—and

  I’m afraid if I hug her she’ll catch

  a solid scent of ingested crystal.

  So I stand at a distance and say,

  “Thanks, Mom. I promise to spend

  it wisely. Maybe I’ll even put it

  in my savings account. Maybe it can

  even stay there, now that I’ve got a job.”

  So you got the job at 7-Eleven?

  She waits for my affirmative nod,

  then adds, I hope this doesn’t mean

  you won’t finish up your GED. You

  need that to get anywhere, Kristina….

  Tears interrupt. You could have gone…

  I know she cares about me, wants

  what’s best for me. But we already

  went through this once today. Anger

  carbonates inside me, bubbles hot

  and red, and if I let Bree have her way

  right now, she’ll say something I shouldn’t.

  Luckily

  The telephone rings, interrupting

  a very tense situation. Mom shakes

  her head and gives me a final look,

  steeped with worry and something

  kind of like curiosity. She knows

  something, or at least intuits it.

  She answers the phone, still

  shaking her head a little.

  Leigh? You’re here already?

  I’ll grab my purse and see you

  in a half hour. She turns to me.

  They took an early flight. I have

  to go get them. Want to ride along?

  She wants me to, that much is

  clear, but
that would mean more

  one-sided conversation. “I think

  I’ll stay here and play with Hunter.

  He’ll probably need another nap

  soon, anyway. Car naps don’t count.”

  The baby in question gurgles and

  smiles, snug in his infant seat.

  Okay, then. We won’t be long.

  She goes to the foot of the stairs.

  Jake! Come on! Leigh’s waiting

  for us at the airport.

  Mom and Jake Leave

  I gentle the big quilt

  from its place of honor

  on the living room couch,

  shake it onto the floor

  beneath the big picture

  windows, marveling

  for about the thousandth

  time at the patience Mom

  must have had to patch

  the pieces all together.

  Then I go get Hunter,

  lay him in the center

  of the colorful fabric

  potpourri, lie down

  next to him, and marvel

  for about the millionth

  time at how stunningly

  handsome he is. Pride

  inflates inside me, before

  segueing to massive guilt.

  I feel spectacular. I feel

  shitty. I feel on top of

  the world. I feel like I’m

  on my way to hell. The

  ball’s in my court. What

  do I do? Serve? Volley?

  Concede? I want to be a

  good mom. I don’t want

  to be a mom at all. But

  what choice do I have?

  Hunter coos and drools

  sweet-smelling baby spit,

  and I stroke his soft,

  soft cheeks. “Mommy loves

  you, Hunter.” I really do,

  and he loves me, too,

  with a purity that makes

  my eyes sting. What have

  I done? And more: What

  will I continue to do?

  Eventually

  Watching dust motes play

  in the afternoon light,

  Hunter drifts off. I know

  Mom et al will be home soon,

  which gives me a small window

  of opportunity to hook up with

  the monster one last time.

  I step out onto the patio, where,

  shielded from the westerly

  breeze, I can easily take a toke

  and let the evidence escape

  into the lengthening shadows.

  Denying any earlier sense

  of guilt, I ask the monster to

  up to the plate, hit an inside-the-skull

  home run. It doesn’t disappoint me.

  Then I go to shower, douse myself

  with deodorant and mouthwash.

  Finally I hear the approaching party.

  I zoom to meet them, at light speed.

  Leigh Has Put On a Few Pounds

  And it suits her almost

  as much as shedding several

  suits me. (You’d be surprised

  how much weight you can

  lose in two weeks when you

  barely eat enough to keep

  a very small rodent alive.)

  Anyway, it’s awesome to see her

  again. She hasn’t visited since

  before Hunter’s birth. I know

  she was mad at me for everything

  that happened, and maybe she

  had a right to be. Or maybe not.

  I mean, she isn’t exactly

  the perfect daughter herself.

  Here she comes, waltzing

  down the hall on her lover’s

  arm—a stunning lesbian pair,

  acting like they belong here.

  [Belong here, together. Not

  much room for us anymore!]

  Bree talking, again. Shut up!

  I tell her, and run to give Leigh

  a mega mojo hug. [Good trick,

  with Heather hanging on to her

  like a monkey to a tree branch.]

  Shut the hell up, I silently shout

  to the bitch who lives in my brain.

  Out loud I say, “God, I’ve

  missed you. You look great.

  Must be…” [the extra five

  pounds or maybe the one

  hundred twenty pounds

  cemented to your right arm]

  “…did you change your hair?”

  Don’t be silly. My hair has

  looked exactly like this my

  entire life. Although it is a

  little bleached from being

  out in the sun this summer.

  Heather tries to tell me

  it’s bad for my skin, but I’m

  not always so good at following

  orders. Oh! I almost forgot

  to introduce you. Kristina, Heather.

  [Following orders? Can you

  believe that?] I stow Bree and

  give Heather a wary once-over.

  “Good to finally meet you,” I

  venture. “Leigh has told me so

  little about you….” That

  was mean, okay? [Not really.

  Want to see “mean”?] No!

  Heather maintains her grip

  on my sister’s arm. Really?

  Well, she’s told me just

  about everything about you.

  Much more than I’d ever

  choose to know, in fact.

  What does that mean? Okay,

  maybe I’ll just have to let

  Bree out of her bottle after

  all. If anyone can debate

  the Cheerleader from Hell,

  it’s Bree. [Yeah, let me out.]

  Can’t. This is supposed to be

  a celebration, not an insurrection.

  Truth Is

  I don’t know Heather

  at all, but I despise her

  already. It’s not just that

  she’s freaking beautiful

  or that she obviously

  despises me, too.

  [You’re jealous.] Yeah,

  yeah, that’s part of it. But

  what I hate most about her

  is the way she seems to be

  in control of my no-longer-

  totally-independent sister.

  Oh, Heather, do you mind

  if I tiptoe in to see the baby?

  My curiosity is killing me!

  You don’t have to come

  unless you want to. Kristina

  will show him off later.

  Puke. Puke. Puke.

  Smile that pretty girl-

  on-girl smile for your

  cheerleader. But don’t

  ask her permission to

  leave the frigging room!

  I mean, I guess in a same

  sex relationship, someone

  needs to play the guy,

  and if I had to choose roles

  for Leigh and Heather,

  Heather would be the guy.

  But hey, in any relationship,

  does the guy really need

  to be in charge?

  Instinct

  Tells me to fall

  deep into a well

  of silence.

  Keep your meth-

  fired mouth shut,

  it commands.

  [Oh, just try that

  with the monster

  screaming, Let’s party!]

  So I dare, “Must

  you really ask

  for permission?

  “Didn’t you give

  that up when

  you left home?

  “Is Heather your girlfriend,

  or your

  friggin’ mommy?”

  Yeah, the verbal slap

  is mean. Really mean.

  So why does it feel

  so damn good?


  Okay, I’m guessing

  you know exactly

  why. But the look

  on the room’s collective

  face slaps me back.

  Kristina! You

  apologize this instant,

  screeches Mom.

  Kristina! How

  can you be so

  rude? cries Leigh.

  Heather doesn’t say a word.

  All she does is smile

  a leprechaun smile.

  Leprechauns

  In case you don’t know,

  are cute little

  demons

  with cherubic faces

  and devil-born

  souls,

  and when they smile,

  you’d better

  run quick.

  Well, Bree and I

  decide no way will

  the conniver make us

  run.

  “Sorry,” I say, but

  when everyone except

  Heather turns

  toward

  Hunter’s sudden

  outburst in the living

  room, I slip

  the bitch

  the finger. Guess

  what. She slips it back.

  So now we both know

  exactly where we

  stand.

  I make a mental

  note to keep her

  the frick out of my

  bedroom, hold

  my ground,

  don’t worry about

  taking the high road.

  Leigh’s future

  happiness is at stake.

  Then It Dawns on Me

  If high school cheerleaders

  indulge in “instant pep,” college

 

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