Gasoline. And, until a few hours ago,
baby food. “How much is left?”
I don’t know. Not much. But there’s
still a little glass. We can sell it…
Lockbox. I spring from bed, rush
to its hiding place, line up the numbers
on the lock. One hundred sixteen dollars.
Trey is still talking. We just have to stay
out of it until we make our money back.
Stay out of what? Oh, the stash. Right.
We’re so very good at that. I sit back
in the chair beneath the window, stare
at the same stars in the same night sky.
Inside, everything is different. Again.
I Still Love Trey
But I can’t trust him,
and so the love feels
different.
I still love Hunter,
but know he’s better
off away from me,
and so the love is
distant.
I still love Brad, in
some warped way,
even though I was
discarded,
used then tossed
aside, like a once-
favorite toy,
outgrown.
Funny, but I still love
Chase. Seeing him,
married and
moved on,
stuffed me with pain.
It throbs, stabs.
But that isn’t so bad.
At least I know I’m
still alive.
Alive and Throbbing
I’ve formulated a plan.
First I put in a call to Cesar, who tells
me to stop by anytime.
Code words for There’s plenty around.
Next we have to sell what
little is left in the lockbox. I put Trey
on that. Anyone but Angela
is fair game. He’d better leave that ho
alone or start packing.
I stash a couple of pipes
full, just in case everything goes to shit.
I mean more to shit. I’ve
avoided doing what I’m going to do,
because if we screw this up,
we’ll have Mexican Mafia on our ass.
Not a good thing. No, not
at all. So I guess the message is:
Do not screw this up!
Trey returns with a couple
hundred bucks and we head for Fernley.
León lets us out of the car,
a good omen. Cesar greets us with his
usual not-quite-smile.
That doesn’t change as I tell him we
want to up our regular.
Holding this much meth halfway
scares the crap out of me.
I offer Cesar three bills,
which leaves us with sixteen whole
dollars until we manage.
to off a great deal of glass. “I know
we’re really short, but
we had to change apartments. Can
you front us the rest?
We’ll get you the money by next
week. We’ve got buys
lined up.” Major lie.
Better to call it a bluff. Makes it
sound more like a game.
Cesar shrugs. You been a pretty
good customer. No reason
to think you won’t make good. But
fuck wit’ me, you ain’
gonna like what happens. You know?
Oh yeah, we know.
The Plan Has Flaws
Like, the rent is due and we’re
out of cash. I give the manager
a sob story about the baby getting
sick. Since the baby isn’t here,
she buys it, gives us a few days
to catch up, with a little interest.
Translation: twenty-five for her.
Like, we really need to sell some
ice right now, and everyone seems
to be a little short on cash or set
for the foreseeable future. Trey
actually goes downtown to peddle
small quantities to tourists and card
dealers—an inspired way to play.
Like, because we’re not selling it
very quickly, we’re tempted to go
ahead and smoke it. First the profit
goes up in a cloud of exhaled ice.
Next goes the investment capital,
or it would be investment capital,
but it wasn’t our capital to invest.
Like, by the time we’re supposed
to pay Cesar what we owe him, we’re
even further behind than when I
concocted that ridiculous plan.
We don’t have close to what he’s
expecting, and wouldn’t, even if
we sold everything that’s left.
Anyway, we can’t sell everything
that’s left, or we won’t have any
personal, or any way to get more.
Which leaves us pretty well
screwed. Like 100 percent
screwed, unless I can, with lightning
speed, concoct a workable Plan B.
Plan B
Revolves around that we need
money. Lots of it and fast.
Three possible ways to
come up with it.
Beg.
Not really my style. I mean,
I suppose I could call Mom,
tell her I can’t even afford food.
But would she believe me,
and would she care even if she did?
Borrow.
I could maybe call Leigh, ask for
a loan until payday, lie and tell
her there really is a payday
coming up soon. But she’s not
exactly rolling in money herself.
Or steal.
I’ve never considered this option
before. Course, I never had to.
Would I even be good at it?
Who would I steal from?
And afterward, would I feel
no remorse?
One Thing’s for Sure
If I’m going to steal, Trey has to be
in on it. This is his fault to begin with.
“So, any ideas how we might come
up with some cash, uh, illegally?”
You mean like counterfeiting?
Huh. That thought never crossed
my mind. We couldn’t do that, could
we? “No. I meant more like…hmm,
borrowing. With no intent to repay.”
You aren’t serious, are you?
“Far as I can see, we don’t have
much of a choice. We’re almost dry,
and we’ve got to make good with Cesar
to get more…and stay in one piece.”
Well, I’m not about to snatch purses.
Sheesh. Never thought of that, either.
“What if I could get hold of some checks.
Think we could get away with cashing
them?” I have an idea where to get some.
Probably. At least with a fake ID.
Fake ID. Good idea. It could, in fact,
come in handy in a number of ways.
But I have no idea how to get one.
“How could I get one of those?”
I do happen to know this guy….
A guy who makes them for college
students. A guy who once helped
Trey himself out. A guy who isn’t
the least bit difficult to get hold of.
That must be some kind of sign.
The Guy Lives
In a little brick house, with a white
picket fence and flowers in the yard,
a few blocks from the university.
He greets Trey with a nod, says
<
br /> to me, Hi. I’m Frank. Come in.
Frank doesn’t look like a crook.
He looks like a computer nerd,
which he most definitely is.
His turn to check me out. So,
you want to get into the clubs?
“Uh, yeah. Can you help me out?
Guess I don’t quite look twenty-
one.” Perfect. Just perfect.
No problem. Come on. Let’s
take your picture.
Digital this. Special program
that, my new ID is almost ready
to go. Just one thing missing.
What name did you want here?
Most people use someone else’s.
Well, duh. Of course I want to
use someone else’s, the someone
whose name will be on the checks.
“Put Marie Springer.”
Now All I Have to Do
Is figure out how to get the checks.
Best if no one is home. I give Mom
a call. A bit of small talk, then I ask,
“When is Jake’s next baseball game?
Trey and I thought we might stop by.”
I’m turning into an experienced liar.
I listen for a tone of suspicion, but can
find not a trace when Mom informs me,
Friday at three. He’s starting pitcher.
“Very cool. Are you bringing Hunter?”
Like she would leave him with a baby-
sitter. If she’s going, he’s going too.
Her voice totally cools. Of course.
We’re going out to dinner afterward.
You’re welcome to come with us.
Everything clicks completely into
place. Unreal. Maybe we’ll take
you up on that. See you Friday.
Who Knew Burglary
Could be such a piece of cake?
A major dose of the monster
provides plenty of courage.
Trey parks his car well away
from the house, and we hoof
it from there. I could use my
key, but we want this to
look like the real deal, so we go around
back, trying windows as we go.
We’re in luck with the laundry room.
It’s a small window, but I shimmy
through, then unlock the sliding
glass door, just like real burglars
might do. Wait. We’re real burglars,
and getting caught would mean jail.
Getting caught doing any of this
would mean major jail time.
Why worry about it now? Mom
keeps her checks in her desk.
I locate the box, dig down for
the bottom batch. Let’s go!
insists Trey. But I want to make
this look real, so I go into Mom’s
bedroom, empty her jewelry box
and, for good measure, grab
the digital camera, too. Out the
door, no one the wiser. For now.
We even stop by the game. Fifth
inning, Jake has been replaced.
And we’re too wired for dinner.
Mom Can’t Have a Clue
About what we just did,
where we just came from.
But she definitely knows we’re high.
She gives Hunter to Scott, pulls me down
the steps, behind the bleachers.
Trey stays behind.
Mom puts her hands on my
cheeks, squeezes as she looks
into my eyes. I can imagine how they look.
God, Kristina. Look at you. If you keep
this up, you’re going to die.
Are you trying to die?
I can’t look that bad, can
I? [You can. Do. But play
the game. Deny.] “What do you mean?”
Concern becomes anger. You know what
I mean. Jesus. How stupid
do you think I am? I know
fucked up when I see it, and
you’re fucked up every time
I see you. You’ve got to stop. Or die.
“Don’t you get it, Mom? I really don’t
give a shit if I die. What,
exactly, is there to live for?”
Holy crap. Did I just say
that? And did I mean it?
Damn, maybe I did. Maybe I really did.
Mom’s eyes tear up. There’s not a lot
more to say, is there?
I’m your mother, and
I’ll always love you. But
I can’t watch this any
more. Clean up. Or don’t call again.
I Locate the Ladies’ Room
Luckily, it’s empty, no
one to see the vacant-
eyed girl, staring
in the mirror.
Staring at a stranger
who doesn’t care
if she dies. Maybe
wants to die.
Who would care
if I died?
My face is hollow-
cheeked, spiced with sores—
the places where I stab
at bugs. Tiny bugs,
almost invisible,
but irritating.
Usually they come out
at night, when I’m lying
there, begging for sleep.
I’ve been meaning
to tell the manager
that the apartment needs to be
sprayed. Sprayed. Steam
cleaned. Deodorized.
My hair looks odd too.
It used to be darker.
Shinier. Prettier.
Can hair lose color
when you’re only eighteen?
What if I go all the way
gray? Will Trey still
love me? Will anyone?
That is, if I fool
them all and don’t die.
Trey Is Waiting
Outside. One look tells him
more than he wants to know.
He opens his arms, reels me in.
What’s the matter? Mom, again?
I can’t even address that.
“Would you care if I died?”
He pushes me back, eyes
netting mine like a difficult
catch. What the fuck are you talking
about? Who said you were going
to die? Never mind. Don’t
tell me. Your loving mother.
“Forget about my mother.
Do I look like I’m going
to die? I feel good, but I look rough.
Don’t I? Tell me the truth, okay?”
That’s what I say. But he
knows what I need to hear.
Kristina, I don’t know what
your mom had to say to you,
but you are beautiful. Incredible. If
you died, it would break me in two.
You taught me what love is.
How could I live without you?
He kisses me, and it’s better
than our very first kiss because
I know it means more than his just
wanting to get into my pants. It’s
affirmation. After all these
months, all the good and bad,
he really does love me.
As much—or more—as
I love him. That makes everything
worth it—the lying. The stealing.
The leaving others in my
dust. The inseparable guilt.
Guilty
Ka-ching! Guilty? You betcha. Fact
is, I’m going to get guiltier, soon
as I can figure out how to cash a few
checks. Checks,
with my mom’s
name on them.
Cash ’em, with
a fake ID, with
Mom’s name
&nbs
p; forged on it.
Paid for with
owed-for ice. So what now? Do I
cash one big check, hope the bank
doesn’t ask just why do you need
so much cash right this
minute? Or do I cash one
here, cash one there, till
they add up just right. Oh, here you go,
Cesar dearest, and oh, could you front
us please, one more time, thank you! U I L T Y!
Trey Counsels
Me to write several smaller checks,
cash them at different locations.
In similar fashion, we hock
the jewelry at three pawnshops,
in three towns. All ask for a name.
None requires an ID. Go figure.
I do feel kind of bad about offing
a couple of Grandma’s rings. One
is Mom’s favorite. But hey, if
she liked it that much, she shouldn’t
have kept it where some stupid burglar
could find it. Steal it. Pawn it.
Take the money and pay off her debt
to La Eme, ask for another front.
Perhaps not the best move, but I’m
no longer worried about making those.
I’m just trying to stay high and survive,
whatever that takes. I have no plans
for the future. Any future. As Cesar
might say, Qué será, será. What will
be, will be. No one lives forever, do
they? For some, living longer, slower,
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