Crank - 01 (6 page)

no doubt bowling

off his own buzz,

so I asked Adam in.

We stayed up all

night, smoking,

talking, I struggle

to remember

exactly what

about.

Boys             
Chicks

School          
Detention

Art               
Sports

Reno            
Albuquerque

Mom            
Mom

Dad              
Long-gone Dad

Stepdads      
Boyfriends

Gay sister     
O.D.’d brother

Buddy          
Bree

Adam           
Kristina

    Love      
Love

Dawn Broke

A rose-colored rain

over distant hills.

We kissed for about

the thousandth time,

No promises,

no demands,

Just solid rebuilding

of shattered trust.

Then I said it.

He said it too.

I love you.

And everything

that went before

meant nothing.

About That Time

Dad stumbled in,

looking like the monster

had boogied on off.

You still up?

Up, and flying high.

Was I supposed to go

to sleep?

Better get some sleep.

I walked Adam

to the door, promised

to see him later.

You two didn’t do anything

I wouldn’t do. Did you?

No way, Daddy dearest.

And where were you

when I needed you?

’Cause a girl could get

into real trouble.

Clueless

Dad went to bed.

I laid on the couch,

closed my eyes, let

the night slip into

replay

Exhilarating,

rocketing into my

mind, reaching

unimagined

highs.

Depressing,

knowing when

I left, Adam would

stay. Would he

downplay

spectacular

times together,

forget the best,

remember the

lows?

As if I had

never entered his

life, never existed,

would he

toss

all promise of

tomorrow,

tumble headlong

into old

routines?

As if

he had never

told me he loved me?

I Was Supposed to Sleep?

Thoughts bulleted

in my brain, ricocheting,

creative side to practical side,

lustful half to hateful half.

Sleep? Yeah, right.

I got up, located cleanser

and sponge, scrubbed

the bathroom,

washed the dishes,

waxed the kitchen floor.

Wrote a four-page

letter to my sister,

told her I was in love.

With a boy.

I think I asked

for her forgiveness.

Wrote a poem, an epic, tinged

with dark humor,

decided to give it to my mom

because this was all her fault.

Somehow.

Went to the bathroom,

considered my growling stomach,

but the thought of food made me want to heave.

Settled for a beer. That went down fine,

so I had another.

And another.

After the Fourth

No more writing paper,

nothing left to clean,

I turned on the TV,

thanked God for the

Jerry Springer marathon,

six great hours, filled

with pitiful people,

whose lives were way

worse than my own.

Hard to believe

the world is such

a screwed-up place.

I needed food, sleep,

but the monster denied

every bit of it.

Playing wasted couch

potato was all that I

could ask for.

And more.

Fading speed buzz,

escalating alcohol,

it was all I could

do to stay upright.

So I didn’t.

Used Up

Burned out, adrift on a sea

of uncertain synapses,

a place where

your eyes

refuse to focus

and your brain

refuses to function.

Somewhere between

the transvestite

who slept with his

(her?)

mother’s boyfriend

and the perky

blond

(transvestite?)

evening

weathergirl.

Everything

shut

down,

cerebral

ghost

town.

I

fell

into

sleep.

Deep,

dream-free

sleep.

Woke to Pounding

on the door,

insistent vibration,

building noise.

Bree? You there?

Late-day sun

filtered through

cracks in

the blinds.

It’s me. Open up.

Late-day? How

long had

I slept? Only

hours?

I need to talk to you.

Twenty hours,

as it turned

out. I tried to

open my eyes.

Please, Bree?

Adam’s tone

forced me into

the moment.

“Hang on.”

Something happened.

My mouth tasted

like dead speed,

dying beer, and

foreboding.

There was an accident

Coming

Jumped up, dashed

for mouthwash,

forgetting the

uncertainty

of legs, unused for

twenty hours, but

spurred to confront the

fear

in his voice, and

something more,

something too like

guilt.

Oh God, who was in

the mirror? Not Bree,

not Kristina, but some

evil

incarnation glaring

back at me, a horrid

red-eyed crone,

materialized

as if from darkest

dementia, nightmares

to come, hibernating

inside of me.

I Filled the Sink

with cold water,

dunked my whole head

under,

counted to ten,

came up,

repeated the process.

Came up again and

she had retreated,

still close,

I suspected,

but far enough

to let me

go to the door.

His Demon Showed in His Eyes

He stumbled in, tumbled

against me, clutching

like a scared little boy,

in need of his mama’s grace.

She’s hurt real bad.

Who?

Lince.

What?

Fell (or jumped) off the balcony.

When?

Yesterday.

Where?

Right outside.

I didn’t

dare ask

why.

Instead,

I let him

cry.

He Told Me Why Anyway

She came home from the bowling alley,

went looking for me.

Found me.

Here, with you.

Heard us inside,

talking, laughing.

Looked in the window,

watched us kissing,

watched my hands,

running all up an’ down you.

When your dad came home,

she waited for me to come outside.

Said she wanted to talk.

But she wanted more than that.

She wanted to erase you

from my heart.

Never could, Bree.

Never could.

And that’s what

I told her.

The monster rose up hard then,

hard in her eyes,

She looked like an animal,

crazy mad,

diseased.

Spit in every word,

she swore

she’d get back

at you,

at me.

Next thing I knew,

she was on the sidewalk below,

still,

except for the blood running

red from her head.

They say it was an accident,

she tripped,

or leaned over too far.

Crankin’, they said,

and she was.

Oh, yes, she was.

That’s what I wanna believe.

Maybe someday I can.

But right now I think something different.

I never saw it coming.

Never thought she would.

I would have stopped her.

Could I have stopped her?

My Brain Somersaulted

My heart picked up speed,

my stomach threatened

to 86 guilt,

drowning in bile.

Oh, God. I’m sorry.

Hold me.

I wrapped him tight,

hair dripping cool

around the stiffness

of his shoulders.

Not your fault.

Whose, then?

The answer, hanging

over my head like

a stubborn black cloud,

seemed obvious.

Mine.

Don’t say that

I pictured Guinivere,

golden-eyed wildcat,

crumpled against the

sad, cracked cement.

Whose then?

Plenty of blame to go around.

Too much truth in that.

And I never heard a thing,

dead to the world

for twenty hours.

We Sat on the Floor

Tangled up in each other,

a knot of emotions

desperate for release.

And the more we kissed,

the more we talked,

the more confused we became.

He loved me. He loved her.

He loved her, first.

He loved me now.

I loved him. I hated her.

I hated him for loving her.

I loved him for loving her still.

He wanted me. He needed me.

He needed more to go to her, let her

know he loved her still.

I wanted him. I needed him.

I wanted him to forget her, needed

more to let him tell her he loved her.

When he asked me to go

along, some masochistic

piece of me agreed.

Fifteen Blocks on Foot and a Bus Ride Later

We walked through big revolving doors,

into the Land of Antiseptic.

My empty stomach rocked

at the alcohol/bleach perfume,

yet somewhere in that revolting scent

a lovely memory floated,

ghostlike.

The receptionist told us Lince was in ICU

and asked if we were relatives.

I’d seen enough soap operas to know

to nod an affirmative answer.

Adam played along.

I’m her brother and this is …

I held my breath

…
my fiancé.

The lady didn’t even blink behind her thick

gray lenses. She directed us to

the elevators. We got off

on the 7
^th
floor. A nurse said

we’d missed visiting hours,

but since we were relatives

she’d let us poke in

through the door.

Intensive care is not a private place,

big windows allowed unobstructed

hallway-to-room views.

It was a sea of white.

Uniforms. Sheets. Curtains.

Floors and walls.

Why did that feel comforting?

Lince Floated

in that white water world,

Guinivere upon the River Styx,

tubes intruding wrists and nose,

liquid-filled lifelines.

Adam let go of my hand

and I stopped in mute agreement.

This was his show.

I found the waiting room.

A dozen needs attacked me there.

I needed

food,

fluid,

soap,

shampoo.

I needed

Adam,

his heart,

his promises

his tomorrows.

I needed

to go home

’cause somewhere

deep down

I needed

my mommy.

And all that made me really

really need

a line.

Evening, When We Left

The breeze,

too hot

to cool

the blooming

flower of summer

night,

seemed to

ignite star

candles in a sky,

darkened as much

by mood as

time.

We found

the bus stop

in silence,

though I knew

he had something

to say.

Walked home

beneath

the celestial

cathedral. No kiss

at my door, only his

good-bye.

Not enough,

but how could

I beg for more? Did he

mean forever, or just for

now?

Dad Asked Where I’d Been

How’s she doin’?

I opened my mouth

to tell him, realized

I didn’t know. Adam

had given nothing away.

Heard it was touch-and-go for a while.

Still looked touch-and-go

to me, machines pumping

existence into her

through plastic tubes.