Finding Hope (6 page)

M
y
dad's grave is in a cemetery outside of town. No stand-up gravestone, just a small marker flush with the grass, beside his parents'. In a far corner, off the walking path, it's hard to find unless you're looking for it. Perfect place to smoke a joint or have a long chat.

Mom never took me here when I was a kid. She didn't live in the past, said it was like dredging up the bottom of a riverbed, just a bunch of gunk she'd get stuck in. And, if I asked about my dad, she'd tell me I had one, Richard, and wasn't I lucky.

I used to think I was lucky. Blessed with a wicked slapshot and a skating stride that scouts drooled over. Parents who wrote cheques so I could fly all over the country and play with the best teams. I even got to go to a tournament in the Czech Republic when I was fifteen.

But shit happens and it turned out I wasn't so lucky.

Richard turned into Dick. I got locked out of the house because addicts weren't welcome. As if tough love could fix things.

I started thinking about my dad more, wondering what my life would have been like if he'd still been around. I trolled through the cemetery looking at grave-stones until I found the one with his name on it.

Crouching down over the marker, I wondered if he was with me, watching me. He'd barely been around when he was alive, weird to think he cared about me now that he was dead.

An old man, bow-legged, walked off the path to a gravestone. He stood above it, then held his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with sobs. I watched him with envy, wishing I could do that, let go. But it was too late. Whatever emotions had been inside me had turned hard, cooked by the meth.

 

“W
here
are you going?” Cassie asked sleepily as I put on my slippers.

“I have to pee,” I whispered. She rolled over and faced the wall. The branch outside the window rapped on the glass, disputing my lie.
Shut up
.

I closed the door carefully and snuck down the hallway. If Ms. Harrison caught me out of my room at midnight, I'd get detention. If she found us drinking, it would be worse. I had to admit, tiptoeing down the hallway, that this was thrilling. My heart beat quickly with trepidation as I went past Ms. Harrison's room.

I knocked softly on Lizzie's door and heard a giggle. “Get in here,” she whispered, peeking down the hallway. I was barely inside before she'd shut the door. Emily and Vivian were sitting on the floor and gave me conspiratorial grins.

“Vivian just came up with the best idea,” Lizzie started in a hushed voice. She leaned in with a giddy smile. With rosy cheeks and wide, shining eyes, she looked like a wholesome schoolgirl. But, when she put her face close to mine, I could smell her breath. The sweet tang of alcohol, something sugary, enveloped me. It wasn't wholesomeness that had made her eyes shine, it was booze.

“Here.” Emily reached behind her and pulled out a bottle. Vodka, probably, peach flavoured to make it drinkable. She waved it under my nose. It smelled like candy.

“That's okay. I don't want any,” I said, shaking my head.

“Oh, come on!” Lizzie hissed. “Just a sip. No one's going to tell on you.” I watched each girl warily. They hadn't drunk enough to be unruly, but there was an air of recklessness that set me on edge. My stomach clenched at what would happen if they—we—got caught.

Even though all my instincts told me not to, I grabbed the bottle from Emily. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tipped it back and felt the alcohol burn down my throat. The sweet aftertaste of peach clung to my lips. “So, what's the idea?” I said changing the subject and passing the bottle to Vivian.

She looked around at us. “A drinking game: Truth or Dare.” As if she'd invented it.

“Hope has to go first, she's new,” Lizzie commanded, then giggled, resting her head on Emily's shoulder, who patted her cheek affectionately.

“That's not fair, she just got here.” Vivian shook her head. “Emily, you go first.”

I threw Vivian a grateful smile and sat down between her and Lizzie. Their room had the same furniture as mine and Cassie's. But instead of the bare-chested actors gracing the wall on Cassie's side of the bed, pictures cut out from fashion magazines had been taped up. Girls in sunglasses and huge purses boarding airplanes, the sun bathing them in a golden glow, or lying in grassy meadows wearing shimmering white dresses.

“Fine,” Emily sighed. “Dare.”

Vivian reached under the bed and pulled out two paper shopping bags. One had “Dare” written on it and the other “Truth.” She held the “Dare” bag out to Emily, grinning with anticipation. Emily stuck her hand in and pulled out a slip of paper. Unfurling it, she read, “Strip naked and walk past Ms. Harrison's door three times.”

We all squealed, Emily with wide-eyed dread. “Oh my God! I can't!” she wailed, laughing and crying at the same time.

“You have to!” Lizzie said.

I cringed for her and didn't think she'd do it, but before I knew it, her pajamas lay in a pile on the floor, and her round, white butt was at the door. It creaked when she opened it. We peered out as she tiptoed past Ms. Harrison's door, halfway down the hallway. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I watched as she walked once, twice, and then three times past the door. On the way back to the room, she dashed in, pushing us out of the way, stifling triumphant giggles.

We all collapsed onto the floor and Emily wagged the bottle in Lizzie's face. “Drink up!”

Lizzie volunteered to go next. She dug into the “Truth” bag. “What is your biggest fear?” Everyone got quiet. The warmth of the vodka had worked its way to my head. Things felt a little fuzzier. “Turning out like my mother.”

Vivian and Emily each took a swig and the bottle came to me.

“Why?” I asked.

She pursed her lips, sobering up. “She killed herself.”

I caught my breath and wished I hadn't asked. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn't know.” The others exchanged glances and the mood in the room changed. I felt like an idiot for asking. This time, I drank without complaint.

Vivian picked a dare and had to text a topless photo of herself to one of their friends at Melton Prep.

I gaped as she pulled off her shirt and pushed her breasts together, covered them with an arm, and snapped a selfie, making sure her face wasn't in the shot, giggling as she pressed Send. “That one was easy,” Emily chided her. “You do it all the time!”

We all took a drink. It was my turn. There was no way I could do one of the dares. “Truth,” I said and took a deep breath as I reached into the bag. “The secret you don't want anyone to know.”

I looked at all of them, my heart clenched at the thought of Eric.

I had to tell them. It was the game. The alcohol made my head light and warmth spread up from my throat. Lizzie's eyes bored into me.

I forced the words to leave my lips. “My brother's a meth addict.” My chin quivered, waiting for their reaction.

“Are you kidding?” Emily asked, frowning.

“Look at her face,” Vivian replied for me. “Either she's an amazing actress, or it's the truth.” She reached out and held my hand.

“Have you ever tried it?” Lizzie asked, her eyes narrowed, like she could discern the truth with a penetrating gaze.

“Hey, only one question allowed,” Emily said, playfully slapping Lizzie's arm. But the glance Emily received made it clear that Lizzie could change the rules if she wanted.

I shook my head. “No.” I'd seen what it had done to my brother.

“That stuff's deadly.” Lizzie stared at me, waiting for a reaction. Vivian squeezed my hand and then let go.

Lizzie glanced at the clock. “It's late.” She took the bottle and twisted the cap back on. The game was over. “See you tomorrow,” she said as Vivian and I slipped back into the hallway to go to our rooms.

Vivian gave me a silent wave and we went our separate ways. I fell asleep worried that I shouldn't have told them the shameful truth about Eric. I felt lighter without the dark shadow looming over my life. But, what if they told other people? Being the sister of a meth addict was the identity I'd tried to leave behind.

A secret

Held close

spills,

dripping like blood into

your waiting hands.

I
met Cheez in his basement, tossing my jacket onto the floor beside the couch. He had all the supplies ready to go. Spread out like a crystal-meth buffet. About a year ago, he'd given me my first hit, looking for someone to party with. It was a slippery slope. Pretty soon, I was hanging around outside his house, waiting for him to come home from work.

He was careful, only shooting crystal on weekends, so he could crash the next day. I'd learned his schedule. Lots of times, he bought enough for both of us. If I had cash on me, I'd pay him back, but he was cool if I couldn't quite cover it. Cheez was a good guy.

I passed Cheez a handful of change. Added up to ten dollars. I'd panhandled all day by the gas station, breathing in the fumes, so I wouldn't come empty-handed. He took it and snorted. “That all you got?”

Rolling up my sleeve, I could almost taste the speed. My teeth ached with want of it. “I can get more next time, man. How much do you want?”

“You owe me twenty from last weekend and another thirty from the week before. Shit, Eric. If you can't pay up …” He shook his head.

I rocked back and forth, the threat potent, staring at the bag of crank on the table. Like shards of ice, beautiful and sharp. “Okay, okay. I'm good for it, I fucking promise, I swear!”

“Yeah, well, that new jacket of yours must have cost a few bills.”

“That was a gift.” He was right, though. Selling it would bring in enough money to get high for a couple of weeks. “My sister.” He'd turned on some music, something heavy, the bass pounding out of his speakers. “If I had any more, I'd give it to you, you know that. What about that job you were talking about, working for the town, doing landscaping and shit? That still gonna happen?”

He threw me a disgusted look. “I told you about that months ago, at the beginning of summer. You didn't do anything about it?”

I scratched my head. Months? It felt like last week.

“It was a summer job. Summer's over. Fuck, man. You're getting too into this shit.” He flopped back onto the couch. We still hadn't taken a hit, and having it within arm's reach was torture. I leaned toward it, to let him know I was ready, but he started talking again.

“There might be some winter work, snow removal, flooding outdoor rinks. You want me to ask around for you?”

“Yeah, yeah. That'd be good. I mean, I know about ice, right?”

He grunted in agreement. He started to roll up his sleeve, resting his elbow on his knee and tying off a vein. Finally. I smiled with relief. If he'd talked a minute longer, I'd have punched him. “This is the last time. If you don't come with money next time, I'm not partying with you.” He meant it. His eyes were arrows, shooting my way.

For a second, before the meth carried me away, I thought about what would happen if I didn't bring him the cash. I couldn't imagine not getting high. It was the only thing I looked forward to. It was the reason I woke up in the morning.

Without meth, what would be the point in living?