Breaking Faith

by E. Graziani

  Brian stuffs his hands into his pockets and pulls out two twenties and some loose change. “Take it. And here.” He scoops up a rolling paper from the coffee table and scratches some numbers and a street name on it. “That’s Henry’s address—for more smack. Now go. I’m serious: He’s on his way here. Don’t tell him you’re the one who’s been sucking up all my brown sugar.”

  I nod listlessly. “I have to pee, then I’ll go.” With my backpack in hand, I shuffle to the bathroom and look in the mirror as I pull down my pants. Blank, waxy complexion, dark circles under my eyes, sunken cheeks, about ten pounds thinner, and greasy hair.

  When I walk back out, he’s holding up a roll of foil and a lighter. “You’re gonna need these, too.”

  ...

  With continued use, I need increasing amounts of smack just to feel “normal.” I did meet up with Henry, who knew that I was the one who had hooked up with Brian. He joked that I was the latest of Brian’s pet projects, laughed that his brother picked up stray girls off the street like others pick up stray cats and dogs. “I guess he just can’t help himself—sixty bucks. I’ll let you have five for four.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble with my eyes downcast. I turn away from his oily face and walk out of the rear door of the bar where we meet, into an alley.

  I met him nearly a month ago at his house, which was about three blocks from Brian’s place. I buy here now—they trust me.

  It’s late December. I walk and I see lights and Christmas trees in storefronts and inside living rooms of the houses I pass to buy my next hit. Panhandling is a breeze right now, because people are feeling all warm and fuzzy and sentimental because it’s the holidays. I try to ration my money in case I can’t make enough tomorrow. I’ve been slow a few times in chasing up as I need more and more to feel like a human. I get irritable and edgy, restless. My muscles throb and my bones ache. I’m cold and my legs get jittery.

  I wonder how many times Brian has done this—inadvertently drummed up customers for his brother—I feel like I was duped, tricked, and misled into believing Brian had given me smack to ease my pain, when all the while he was recruiting new customers for his brother. He can’t fool me with this you did it to yourself act. Henry was probably happy I was using, not pissed like Brian said he was.

  Chapter 26

  I was alone. Completely, totally, entirely alone. That place people wish they never journey to in their lives was where I was at.

  It was March in Toronto, the sky, steel gray and cold—the coldest I could remember. I don’t know why, but my mind kept drifting back to that crocus in Gran Dot’s front yard. In a week or two, the crocus would sprout in the little patch of earth. I wanted to see it bloom, but Greenleigh was far away. I had no money, no friends, and no way to get there.

  I had mixed feelings about Mom. I never wondered if her love for her kids was genuine, of that I was certain, but I was resentful that she wasn’t there for me when I needed her. Connie had Josephine to love her and care for her, and I had no one. I suppose that the inequality of my sister’s and my situation brought me to question why I was taking up space on this planet when most days, all I wanted to do was end the Darkness.

  And now that was fading, too.

  I wanted to do it so badly. I wanted to end the pain and push away the Darkness and demons that had been chasing me ever since I could remember. I wanted to feel nothing. Finish the cycle of disappointment. Float. Be free.

  My struggle had ended, and I was content to finally come to realize it. That night, instead of sleeping in a store alcove or hiding my smoking stuff and heading for a shelter, I would stay on the street. Instead of shivering on a busy side street off of Yonge, I would find a quiet alley, sit down on a piece of newspaper, and fall asleep. I would rest. Then all the hurt would be gone. I could picture all my dirty, tattered clothes being replaced by flowing, white gossamer robes. I would smell fragrant gardens instead of exhaust and garbage, and I would feel peaceful and loved instead of hateful and neglected. No more couch surfing or stealing or begging for money to buy my next fix.

  It was still dusk. Too early to hide in the alley. As I reasoned and planned my escape from this world, I stepped into an alcove. It was the entrance to the Bank of Montreal, the place where people go to the instant teller to get their money. I used to ask people for money there, but I figured it made them really uncomfortable, seeing as how it was right beside the bank machine and all, so I didn’t anymore. I slid down the side of the glass wall inside the bank alcove, away from the gusty cold air, and waited. My lumpy knapsack, filled with everything I owned in the world, dug into my back as I sat there motionless, in pain but not caring.

  I was so tired. Tired of figuring out where my next handful of change was coming from; what I would have to do to get enough money for my next hit; who I would have to steal from. I was tired of living only for the next fix, of structuring my life around the next hit, of watching other users on the street die or heal, and of me being stalled in the same place. I was emaciated and feeling filthy, inside and out. My clothes were dirty and tattered and way too big. I’d lost my way and my purpose. My soul was broken—I’d lost Faith. Lost hope. Lost my belief in my own destiny.

  With those thoughts in mind, I tucked my legs in and wrapped my arms around them, to make sure no one tripped over me. It was best to wait till it got darker because I knew that if I went in the back alley too early, the light would give me away and I would be discovered by someone taking out the garbage from one of the businesses or restaurants on the street.

  I sniffed up my runny nose and waited. People looked at me, some with disdain, some with pity, some with indifference. But none looked at me like I was human, if they looked at all. I occasionally got some change thrown my way.

  “Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish…” That adage came to mind and I thought about learning to fish, about the calmness of being on a lake somewhere up north in the summer, and fishing.

  Thinking made me sleepy. I closed my eyes and let my forehead rest on my knees. I had the nods. But if I fell asleep here, someone would call the cops, so I had to stay awake. Since I had decided, I didn’t want to take the chance of messing this up, too, and be taken to a shelter. I opened my eyes and moved my head to one side and looked at the people walking by, at the stoplight on the corner—red, amber, green, red, amber, green…repeat. Was Gran looking for me? Did anyone still wonder where I was, or had they given up searching for me? Had Gran even called the police and reported my last call?

  My eyes were heavy and the light was now starting to fade. It would be dark in the back alley soon. I would find a place behind a dumpster and just fall asleep. The cold would do the rest. I would just sleep and never wake up. It would be painless and sweet.

  But first, I needed to close my eyes just for a minute, to give them a rest and enjoy my last high. My eyelids fell heavily and everything went away. I was almost in a light sleep when a series of squeals and giggles startled me.

  “Those dumb-ass girls,” I mutter. They’re chattery and loud. Passersby have no regard for the homeless. “Shut up,” I mumble, and I turn my head to face away as I huff out an impatient breath. I want peace in my last moments of aloneness, here by the instant teller machine. As I sit in a grimy rumple on the floor of this doorway, I crave quiet and stillness in the midst of the disarray that has been my life.

  Thank Christ! The chatter and laughter stop. But then it’s replaced by a gasp and an almost inaudible “Oh my God.”

  It’s a whisper. Only the sound of the breath over the tongue, the way the mouth shapes the vowels, and how the lips work to form the consonants—but I recognize it. The lilt of the whisper is unmistakable.

  It’s Constance.

  I look up and make immediate eye contact. It is her, and she’s flanked by two other girls whose boots cost more than I had collected in change all year.

 
She stands over me, taller and more womanly than I remember her. Her hair is longer, and lighter. I note that her braces are off as she opens her mouth and shapes it into a stunned smile.

  “Faith! It is you!” Her hands fly to her mouth. Then, she impulsively reaches out. “Oh my God! You’re alive! Where have you been?” I don’t wait for her to reach me—I spring up in such a way that I surprise even myself.

  “This is Faith?” says one of the girls with her.

  “Your sister?” asks the other. My eyes dart from Constance to her friends and back to Constance. She still has her arms out waiting for me to fall into an embrace. I’m not sure if I should indulge her.

  “Yeah, it’s her sister, bitch,” I say with a sneer. The two recoil. I guess they were expecting me to fall at Connie’s feet or something like that. Constance continues to smile and unflinchingly holds out her arms to me.

  “Faith…please. Come on.” She takes a step toward me. I stick out my arm and shove her hands away.

  “Don’t you dare touch me,” I hiss as I march past her and down the street to O’Keefe Lane, bumping violently into more than a few pedestrians as I rush by.

  “Stop—Faith, wait!” Connie shouts after me. I hear her boots clicking on the pavement close behind me as I round the corner to get to the alleyway. My spot is just off O’Keefe behind Yonge Street—if I can only make it there, I can find a place to hide. I want her to go away—now that I have made the decision. It’s taken me so long to work up the courage to finally do it, I don’t want anyone taking my resolve away.

  “Faith, why are you running away from me? Come on…stop. Hug me…talk to me.”

  “Go away!” I motion for her to be gone. “Leave me alone!”

  “I will not,” she says emphatically. Her friends follow us to the alley and stay behind her, a safe distance from me. “Let’s talk—about whatever you want. Come on, Faith, let’s just talk.”

  “Go back to Irony Heights! And leave me alone—you always have anyway!” I spit the words out as I walk away, trying not to trip over my feet, but a bout of coughing slows me down.

  “Really, Faith? That wasn’t my choice! I had to go.”

  I halt in mid step and turn to face her. “Oh, I know—‘I couldn’t help it that I’m a spoiled, rich brat and you’re living on the street!’” My face turns into a horrible mask as I mock her. She presses her lips together and flinches this time, but doesn’t back off. “By the way, you’re interrupting my evening plans, I hope you know this.”

  “Faith.” She ignores the hateful tone in my voice. Her hand slowly extends out to me. “Let me take you home. We’ve all been frantic trying to find you. Destiny is lost without you—she misses you so much.” Tears are building in her eyes as she speaks, then they begin to flow down her cheeks. “We put up posters—called the police.”

  “Oh, well that makes it all better, Connie.” I feel my throat tighten. No! Do not cry! You will not! “Maybe I didn’t want to be found! Maybe I just wanted to come here and forget where I came from.”

  “But why? Because of Gran?” She moves closer. “Because of Mom? Did you come here because of Mom?”

  “Yeah, I did—and I also came for me—to get away. To find something I didn’t have at home.”

  Connie’s eyes search mine, hungry for answers. “Please—God, Faith! I can’t believe I found you alive and okay…you don’t know what we’ve been imagining.” Her friends in the back are crying now, too. As if they give a shit about what’s happening in front of them.

  “I can’t talk now.” I turn and start toward the other end of the alley.

  “Wait! Faith, please wait.” I stop but do not turn to face her. “You don’t have to explain now; just come home with me.”

  Connie sidles around me to face me and swallows back her tears. “We can talk more at my place. Gran and Des will be so happy. Let me call them.” Her hand touches mine, and I try to recoil but I can’t. I feel a deep hunger for consolation, yet the pain and resentment I feel inside won’t allow me to forgive her that easily. I draw my hand away and brush my matted hair out of my eyes, tucking it under my frayed and filthy toque.

  “You really have no idea, do you, Constance! How can someone so self-aware be so utterly and completely clueless? You must really be submerged in your own selfishness right up to your asshole to not be able to see when someone close to you is drowning in misery and desperation.” I cough again and wave her away. “It’s too late for talking! You made your decision about me in your life at your nineteenth birthday party—princess!” The last word comes out in a raspy hiss.

  “My nineteenth birthday? What are you talking about? You were there. We always kept in touch, saw each other all the time…we…”

  My face fills with rage. “Kept in touch! You’re my damned sister, Connie. And you’re the oldest—you were supposed to fight for us, for me and Des, not abandon us!”

  “I never abandoned—”

  “Yes!” I shout in her face. “Yes. You did. And I wouldn’t expect you to remember what happened at your nineteenth birthday party, because, of course, cause and effect don’t even graze you; you remain unscathed. Why should you remember, right?”

  “Stop talking in riddles and just say what’s up your ass,” she blurts, still in tears.

  “Oh my God, stop, Connie!” says one of her friends. “She obviously needs help.”

  I look at her with what I figure is a horribly threatening glare, because she backs off right away and resumes her place behind Connie.

  “Fair enough! No more riddles.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “All truth now, nothing held back.” Connie angles her head toward me, listening. “After you moved in with Josephine, Des and I could barely get the time of day out of you, and our visits happened less and less often, largely due to the fact that we had head lice and precious Princess Constance could not be near children with head lice. No, of course not. Nor is it about how we embarrassed you when we came over, and the last few times, Josephine had to drive us home early because you had a gymnastics competition or a fucking riding lesson.” My pitch and sarcasm are rising with every syllable.

  “No, that’s just a fraction of the degrading ignorance on your behalf that I had to swallow as your sister. Oh, wait…I’m sorry…half sister. We can’t forget the half, because you could not bear one hundred percent of my DNA—that would mean we were more the same than you want to admit. My sista from another father but the same fucked-up mutha.” I chime the last sentence with a rap-style delivery, hands in her face and all, feeling empowered beyond belief.

  “You’re rambling, Faith. Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry. Come with me to my apartment. I go to school here—I live here now. Please, come. Just for tonight.”

  “No. And I don’t care where you live and go to school! Like I said, self absorbed is your middle name.” I pause and breathe, feeling every muscle and bone aching.

  “You have to know that I’m not going to leave you. I’ll stay here with you if I have to, but I’m not letting you out of my sight now that I’ve found you. Just let me call Des and tell her you’re okay.”

  “Whatever, I don’t give a shit—but only Des. And don’t try anything, or I’ll just leave.” Connie nods in agreement and starts tapping furiously on her cell phone. “And tell these bitches to go away.” I shoot a twisted face at her friends, then turn and walk to a place behind some boxes just beyond the dumpster while Connie assures her friends emphatically that she is okay and that she will call them. In turn, they agree, on the condition that she checks back with them at the coffee shop around the corner, as they won’t leave unless she does.

  Wrapping my coat around me, I sit down on some cardboard, leaning against a wooden fence, and wait. I close my eyes again. All this activity has taken a huge amount of energy from my cold body and I need sleep. However, sleep has to wait, because Connie is at my side in mer
e seconds. She slides down next to me and wraps her arms around me. I welcome the warmth. We sit, silent for a long time, and watch the cobalt blue sky turn an inky charcoal. Eventually the moon rises, but still, she says nothing.

  Every once in a while she texts as I watch, communicating with Des and telling her to wait and that I am okay and so is she. Then I realize how cold I am and that Connie is shivering, yet still, she says nothing.

  Just start from where it hurts, Faith, and let the words do the work. Let them come out like a sliver from an old and festering wound.

  “So, I’ll just start from the beginning, I guess.”

  She nods, shivering. “Okay, whatever you want.” Connie turns to face me and our eyes meet for just a second, and then she turns back to focus on the sky again, as though making eye contact with me might frighten me off.

  “You know that for a long time you’ve been different—I mean, before I left Greenleigh.” My gaze focuses on the scrawny bare limbs of a tree planted in a hole in the sidewalk down the street. “What I said before, about you changing after you moved to Josephine’s? After awhile, like, I’m talking a few months after you went to your new school, you weren’t the same. I don’t mean superficial things like clothes or makeup, I mean mainly about the way you talked about Mom and Gran.” I wipe my nose on my tattered gloves. “And even then, it doesn’t really matter all that much to me what you said about Gran, but Mom—I mean, you never really came straight out and talked shit about her, but I know when your words are intended to cut someone down. And cut they did, over and over again, whenever we came to see you—and Josephine didn’t help much, calling Gran all the time and yelling at her about the head lice. Shit. She would scrub my skin raw and pull at my hair until the nits were gone, but still, they came back again and again, I swear to God. I know that’s kind of petty right now, but I’ve just always wanted to tell you.”