by Delia Steele
“I don’t even know anymore, Clay. It started out so small. Pills here, smoke there. I fit in with my friends… more than I fit in here. I’ve never been the girly girl they wanted. I couldn’t do anything good enough to please them. So, when I fit in somewhere I wanted to be a part of that. I was a part of that. But, as the drugs got worse, the friends went away. Then, it was just me and the drugs. The drugs didn’t judge me; they were there for me. Now, I do enough that I don’t care if I fit in anywhere. When I smoke, it takes everything away. The pain, the thoughts, the cares, the worries. Ya’ know what I mean?” I pat his leg.
“No, I don’t know. Because while you’re worry-free and high, I’m sitting here watching out your window so I can drag you in. I’m here worried sick about you.” He still isn’t looking at me, but I see the silent tears falling on his knees, and each one shatters me. I love this kid like crazy, and I am single-handedly hurting him.
“Clay, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be OK.” I know it’s a lie, and so does he.
“I have to, Marz. I worry about you to the point of being sick. I’ve started hating our parents because they don’t worry enough. They should make you get help. You should want to get help. Here I sit, worried sick, and no one cares.” He is wiping the tears now, and sobs are racking his entire body. Unknowingly, I, too, am now crying.
“I want help,” I say, barely above a whisper, hoping he hears me. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.” He reaches out and wraps me in the tightest hug I’ve ever had. He embraces me with all the love he has to give, and I feel it.
“They love you, too; they just don’t’ know how to deal with it. It’s all ‘out of sight, out of mind’ with those two.” I know he’s right, but it hurts just the same. I rebelled, and they cut me loose. If they couldn’t be worried enough to fight for me, why should I? All this time I thought I was alone, I had my brother and never knew it.
“Let’s go figure out how we get you help, sis. Let’s fix you so we can fix us.” He squeezes my hand and gets up. When he returns, he has his laptop and our phones. “First thing we have to do is figure out what to do for someone on… what ?” he asks, not sure of the drugs I’m addicted to.
“Everything, Clay. I do everything. Pills, pot, beer, crack, wine, coke. You name it, and I’ve done it.” His lips press tightly together, and tears glaze his eyes, but they don’t fall. He nods his acknowledgement and goes to typing on his laptop.
I never make it to meet Derrick. I know he won’t come to my house like he said, but I should’ve texted him. Not that it matters. I don’t have his money.
Clay and I spend the rest of the day making charts and contacts of local doctors so I can get help. We list out rehabs with pros and cons and decide which ones we want to check into. We never see our parents again. They headed to the country club while we were out front talking. It’s bridge day. They had to go play game with their friends.
I get ill and need a fix, but Clay fights with me until I give in and go to bed, hoping sleep will carry me away versus the drug I crave.
It doesn’t work. I sleep horribly.
+++
Date of Death
“OK, I called the clinics and got the prices and information,” he says, laying the book down beside me. “I also know you took that white pill in your bathroom drawer. It’s not what you thought it was. Hope you’re happy knowing you swallowed a heartburn pill. I knew it was there, and I know you’re weak. So, I swapped it. And before you even ask, I flushed it; so, no, you can’t have it back.” The little shit flushed the only drug I had left! No wonder it isn’t working and I’m ready to cut somebody. My nerves are on fire, and my temper is beyond short.
“What the hell, Clay?!” He smiles at me, and that just pisses me off.
“OK, after you look over these, we will set up everything you need online. I have dad’s credit card, and he won’t care. Even if he does, I don’t,” he says, still smiling. I think knowing I want help makes him happy. Right now, I don’t care about help, though. I want something to take the edge off.
“I need something, Clay. I’m about to go fucking berserk.” Unexpectedly, he hands me a two-tone green pill.
“What’s this?” I ask him.
“It’s for nerves. I had to get them last year. I told mom it was school. I wasn’t sleeping, always worried about you not coming home.” How did I never notice his worry? How did he have pills and I didn’t know?
“Because you’re a druggie and you would’ve stolen them,” He says with a knowing smirk. He must have understood by the look on my face. I don’t think I asked that question aloud…
I take the pill to the sink and slip the ends off letting the powder inside fall out onto the counter. I grab my license and line it up. Two seconds later, I have the entire thing sucked up my nose. I turn to see him watching me. “It gets in your system faster. Trust me, I need it.” He doesn’t say anything; he just goes back to clicking on his laptop. I slowly feel the ease working its way in. It’s not strong. but I’ll survive.
“What’cha think about me grabbing pizza tonight? Then, we can play a game or watch another movie, maybe?” I ask him. It’s Friday night. He could have plans. Then again, I know he doesn’t. He stays up our parents’ asses too much for friends.
“That’s fine with me. It’s been a while since I kicked your butt at Monopoly.” He laughs, knowing he has never once beat me at any board game. Even slightly braindead, I rule the board games in this house.
“This is nice.” I turn towards his voice. He’s positioned against the granite island in our gourmet kitchen. He looks simple, standing there in his ratty, old blue jeans and solid t-shirt. To the naked eye, they are just old clothes, but I know Clay, and I’d bet money he paid top dollar for the outfit. My mother keeps him in the nicest, name brand items, no matter the quality. It’s all about image with these people. You are what you spend, and all that.
“Yeah, I forgot you weren’t a total spaz.” His smile is rewarding in ways I had forgotten.
“Why’d you stop hanging out with me? I know you’re older and think you’re cooler, but we aren’t that different in age. Not for the gap you’ve placed between us.” He’s right. We could pass for twins, as far as age goes. Not looks, though. He got the good genes.
I’d rather not answer his question, but I figure it’s best to be honest since he is helping me help myself. “I dunno, honestly. Maybe it was the drugs, or the fact I felt like you were too good for me. I know you didn’t think that, but I think, maybe, I thought it. I wanted the best for you, and I’m not stupid—I’m not good for anyone, especially you. You deserve the best big sister, and that isn’t me.” I look down at the orange in my hand and finish peeling it.
“You’re the only one I have. That means you’re the best by default.” I know he is joking, trying to lighten the mood.
I have a feeling today’s going to be a long day.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” I look around, noticing for the first time that the bitch brigade is missing in action. Yet again.
Clay shrugs and scans over the information on the computer screen. “They went to breakfast earlier, and then they were heading to check on some property in Monroe Falls. Dad seems to think he can get it at a great price and flip it. I don’t know, though. That place is small. I don’t see people wanting to live there really. Who just moves to a small place like that? Nothing’s there.”
I chew on a slice of orange and ponder what he’s saying. Maybe Mom and Dad are planning to move us there. Small means fewer chances for me to find a new dealer. “Think they want to move there? Get us—I mean, me—away from the environment here?”
He stops clicking and looks up. I see concern at first, then sadness. “No, they think you should want to help yourself. I think Dad just saw an opportunity, and is considering it. They don’t think that way, Marz. You know that.” He looks back down. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. I still don’t get how they wouldn
’t want to help me. I’m supposed to be their little girl. For the first time in years, my heart is breaking. I’ve broken their love for me.
“I need to go take a nap. My head is killing me.” I turn and leave without waiting for a response.
+++
When I wake later, the house is quiet. The first thing I notice is that the sun is setting. It’s barely noticeable through my curtains, but I can tell. I sit up and see a note on my night table.
Hey, Marz.
I’ll be back within the hour. I had to go meet Mom and Dad at the country club to discuss something and didn’t want to wake you. If you get up before I get back, go grab our pizza, and I’ll meet you back at home. I want Cajun chicken on mine. Extra spicy.
P.S.- Please, be strong. For me. For yourself. Get the pizza and nothing else. I promise it’s going to be OK. I’m here for you. I will help you.
Love you,
Clay, your super-awesome, spaztastic baby brother (who happens to be a hottie, or so I’ve heard)
Tonight, I think I’m going to tell Clay the reason I need to get clean. I wish I could say it’s for him, or even me, but it’s not. The reason is even more serious, and I can’t afford to not do this right.
+++
I wish I had known I’d never see my brother again. I wish I had a do-over. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way. We don’t get do-over’s. We only get one life to mold into what we want it to be.
+++
I knew Derrick would come for me. I thought I’d be able to call him back and explain. I needed to tell him my secret, but he didn’t give me the chance. Once I ran into him outside the Pizza Post and he embarrassed me, I ran. I knew he was pissed off, and I knew I needed to talk to him, but all I could think about was Clay. His classmates could be inside, and this would give them more ammo to use against him. I didn’t think twice about shoving Derrick and walking to my truck, almost dropping the pizzas in the process.
“I’ll call you later, Derrick. I’m aware I owe you money, but I also have something else of yours. We need to…” I look around to see the people watching the commotion, and I see the lady behind the counter on the phone. I hope she’s not calling the cops. “We need to talk, but not here.” I motion with a flick of my eyes, and he catches on.
“FINE!” He storms off and leaves me to climb in my truck alone. I know he’s angry, but we can’t be stupid in public.
Once inside the truck, I set the pizzas down in the passenger seat and let out a deep breath. I’m going to have to figure this out before Derrick kicks my ass. He wants his money, but I can’t ask my parents for it. I’m at a loss. I need a way to talk to him calmly and rationally. There’s so much he needs to know.
I pull out and head towards my house. Within a few short minutes, I see Derrick’s beat-up shit mobile behind me. I figure I need to get this over with before things escalate further, so I take the first right and pull down behind an old warehouse. I move to get out, but Derrick’s already at my door, so I roll down the window.
“Derrick, I need to tell you something.” He stares at me—right through me—and then looks around and over his shoulder. Who’s he looking for?
“Look here, Marcy. I like you. You a crazy bitch, and you hella fun, but sometimes it ain’t up to me and I…” I don’t hear anything else he says because now I am staring down the barrel of a mean-looking pistol. I feel the tears in my eyes and then the trail they leave down my cheeks.
“Derrick, please! Follow me to my house. I can get the money right now. You don’t have to do this,” I beg, but I know it’s too late. I can see in his eyes that the decision’s already made. Self-preservation has me stumbling over my words, trying to get him to see reason. “Don’t… I have… I’m going to… You’re going…” I can’t make my mouth say what my brain knows it should. I stutter some more, “Don’t! I’m…” I’m turned towards the driver’s side door with both hands over the window ledge, begging him to not do this. “It’s yours!” I cry…
When you’re about to die, your life doesn’t flash before your eyes like they say. Or, at least mine didn’t. As I sat in the truck and cried to the man about to kill me, I knew he couldn’t really kill me. I’d already given up a long time ago. I was already dead.
The ringing sang through my head, right along with the bullet. I felt my head hit the side of my door hard. Derrick was gone. I could see him through unblinking eyes as he walked away. I couldn’t talk, and I couldn’t move. I knew I only had seconds. He didn’t do something right. I shouldn’t be able to feel it. I should already be gone. The bullet isn’t what’s killing me—it’s the pain in my heart. Which doesn’t make sense. He didn’t shoot me in the heart…
As I lie there, gasping for air, grasping for life, I think of my brother. Clay will take this the worst. He was going to love me for the both of us until I was strong enough to love myself again. He was helping me. But now… I’ll never get to tell him thank you. He’s going to find out I was pregnant, and it’s going to hurt him because I hadn’t told him. I was going to tonight. I was going to tell him about the baby, about how much I loved him, how much I loved our parents… and I was going to tell him thank you. But now…
+++
Clay-
I know when we pull up Marcy is gone after the pizza. I’m so glad I got my parents to agree to help her. It was a long shot, but they agreed. If she is willing, they will back her. They believe in making choices and sticking by them, and Marcy has made hers, so they’ve made theirs. I don’t agree with the way either of them has handled all of this. We are a family. We should always help each other.
I immediately know something is off when I walk in the house. It feels cold. I can tell Marcy has been gone for a long time. I had meant to be back sooner, but my parents weren’t so easy to persuade.
I find the note I left her, and I can tell she read it. She knew I would be back to help her. She knows, now, that I’m always going to be here to help her.
She should be back soon.
This is going to be a great night. Pizza, games, and my family. All together again. This night is the turning point. Things can only get better from here.
If only Marcy would hurry and get home. Maybe there’s a lot of traffic. Or maybe there was a long line at the pizza place. I trust her. She wouldn’t break her word to me. She wants to get better.
She should be back soon.
Once we’ve been home for over half an hour, I start to worry. I don’t want to doubt her. My parents have done that enough for all of us. Judging by the look on their faces, they’re doing it now.
When the home phone rings, I jump up and race to it, an ominous feeling creeping into my bones. Maybe Marcy’s had a flat tire or some sort of car trouble.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Is this the King residence?” the caller asks. He sounds very official or authoritative. It makes that ominous feeling kick up another ten notches.
“Yes, it is,” I respond.
“I need to speak to the parents of Marcy King.”
My system freezes, and I think my heart stops beating.
“Why? What’s happened to Marcy? Tell me what’s happened! Where is she?”
“Son, I need to talk to her parents. I can’t disclose information to you.”
“Like hell you can’t! She’s my sister! Where is she? Is she OK? You gotta tell me!”
My father wrenches the phone out of my hands. “This is Henry King. Who is this?”
I stand there on pins and needles wishing I could force the guy to talk to me. My parents don’t care. Not the way I do. Marcy needs me, and I need her. So much. And this is something bad; I know it is. The cold house, the disconnected feeling I have…
As soon as I hear the whispered, “No,” leave my father’s lips, followed by a sob, I know.
Marcy’s gone.
+++
We head to the hospital—the morgue—to identify Marcy’s body. My mother is in hysterics, crying while rambling about i
t possibly being a mistake, that maybe it’s not Marcy waiting for us on a slab. But I know it is. Can’t she feel that missing connection? I feel like I’ve lost an appendage. Like someone cut the tether that connected Marcy to me, to our family. She’s gone. I couldn’t stop it. I failed her. We all failed her.
Nothing in this world could have prepared me for seeing my sister’s dead body with a gunshot wound in her head. I can’t even describe the pain. She wasn’t just cut loose from me; that bullet killed a part of me, too, as it took her life.
My mother is wailing uncontrollably, my father crying right along with her as he tries to support her. I could help him keep her from collapsing, but I don’t. I feel disconnected from them, too. I just stare at my beautiful, dead sister and cry my own silent tears.
The police officers who found her body and the mortician are there with us, waiting for my mother to calm down so they can give us the details. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer.
“Tell me what happened,” I say to the officers. I don’t care if my parents listen or not. I need to know what happened to my sister.
“Apparently, she had been out for a dinner run. The pizza boxes in her truck were still warm when we arrived at the scene. We don’t know what the circumstances were that caused her to pull over, but we found her dead at the scene. The truck was still running, but it had been put in Park, and the window was rolled down. We’re assuming that she rolled down the window to speak to her killer, whom it’s possible she knew, but it’s all speculation at this point. There were no witnesses to the crime, just a call reporting shots fired in the area. We’ll be launching a full investigation into what happened. We’ll do our best to bring her killer to justice.”
As I try to process this information—that Marcy was on her way home with pizza for our night of reunion when she was killed—the mortician clears his throat.
