Scars from a Memoir (20 page)

“Meet him?” I whispered. The shark was still eyeing me. I couldn't drag my gaze away. “He's scarier than this guy?”

“He's twice the size.”

I laughed, not just because these animated fish were scaring the hell out of me but also because Mark had seen this movie before. There was something really cute about that.

*   *   *

After the movie was over, I was still shaking a little from the crunching of the whale shark's teeth as he devoured an entire school of tiger-striped fish. Mark took me to his favorite exhibit. Unlike the other tanks we'd passed with bright coral, rocks, and fish twice the size of me, this one was simple. But the more I admired the tank, the more I realized there was nothing simple at all about these fish. They looked like parachutes; they were completely clear, and their bellies were shaped like four-leaf clovers and lit up the dark water.

I pressed my face against the glass; the parachutes expanded and tightened as they bounced higher and fell lower in the water. There had to be hundreds of them, but they all moved so slowly and in unison. Mark read me the card on the wall: “They don't have any bones, brains, or hearts, and they've been around since before dinosaurs.”

“They're that old?”

“They're survivors, Nicole, like you.”

When I was a junkie, I could have been described the same way as these fish: I hadn't used my brain, and I was heartless. And because of everything I'd gone through, I felt as old as these jellyfish. Today wasn't just about getting my mind off Tiffany. Mark had shown me what I'd been missing. There was plenty of fun to be had out there without sticking a needle in my arm; beauty existed beyond the visions I'd had in my nods. There were smiles and laughter that weren't from the warmth and orgasm-like ripples that ran through my body.

He was only a few feet away, but even that was too far. I rushed over to him and threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

“It's true; you survived something that was stronger than you.”

“No, thank you for bringing me here.”

He pulled away just slightly to look into my eyes.

There was so much comfort with Mark. His arms held me as though nothing could break through. His lips, full and soft, were just above eye-level, and they were inviting me in. Something was pulling me toward him, and I couldn't fight it. I didn't want to. But when I got within inches of his mouth, his hands went to my face and he held me in place.

“Do you feel better?”

His question startled me, bringing me back from wherever I had gone. He wasn't smiling. His expression was intense, and from the way his pupils shifted between my eyes and lips, it appeared that he was fighting something too.

“I didn't think about Tiffany once,” I said.

“You haven't met Myrtle yet.”

“Who?”

“The turtle.”

We both laughed, but his fingers stayed firmly on my face.

“Maybe you should introduce me to her?”

He slowly bridged the gap between us, and I felt my throat tighten. And just when I thought I was going to taste his lips, he pressed them against my cheek. My eyes closed. As he moved away, his hand grabbed mine, and I followed him back through the aquarium, my smile matching the one that he'd been wearing most of the day.

-23-

MY TRIP WITH MARK TO THE AQUARIUM had made me forget what had happened with Tiffany, but I was reminded as soon as I got home. She had ransacked my closet and dresser for the clothes I'd borrowed and had taken all of them. My room now looked like hers. Clothes weren't important, but was she serious about not considering me a friend? I didn't think she'd really push me out of her life for good. It was surely temporary; she'd been diagnosed with a malignant tumor, and her emotions were wrecked from the abortion. She was just taking her pain out on me.

Wasn't she?

When I met her for curfew the following night, she didn't say anything. She handed me a cup and stood in the bathroom while I peed, a smirk plastered across her face. The next night was the same. My roommates weren't getting tested; she made that clear when she told them all to have sweet dreams. She wasn't close to the other girls like she had been with me, which meant the pee test was a punishment for trying to help her. It also meant she didn't consider me a friend anymore, and if she hadn't threatened to kick me out, I would have confronted her. I didn't deserve to be treated this way, not after all the help and support I'd offered her. But I stayed silent. At my NA meetings, which she'd stopped attending, I didn't mention our fight or her recent news, and I didn't say anything to Diem. I even lied to Allison, my old counselor at the rehab center, during my monthly call-in when she asked how things were going. This was Tiffany's news to tell, not mine.

My roommates didn't notice the tension between Tiffany and me. Probably because except for the hours when I was trying to
sleep, I was never home. Al had me on day shifts, and after work I went to Asher's. Nadal and Tyme had broken up; he went to the bar almost every night, so we usually had the apartment to ourselves. Asher hadn't mentioned his parents since our argument, and I didn't bring them up. Some things I was better off not knowing, including the conversations they had about me. He helped me get ready for my move, making lists of everything I needed and going shopping with me. The bags of stuff I bought quickly filled my side of the room, then Diem's.

Tiffany had organized a going-away dinner for Kathy and Ashley, but as Diem and I got closer to move-out day, it appeared she wasn't going to do the same for us. Diem decided to coordinate it instead. Unfortunately, Mona worked night shifts and couldn't find anyone to cover for her. Allie, our newest roommate, had a GED class, and Tiffany said she already had plans. I knew that was a lie; she just didn't want to go out with me.

On our last night, Diem and I met at a diner not too far from our apartment and sat in a corner booth. The restaurant was mostly empty, so we didn't have to speak quietly or shout over the noise. Diem was driving down to Florida in the morning with two friends. She'd never been to Tampa before, but she was excited to live somewhere sunny. She said Boston weather made her depressed.

When I was a junkie, I'd hated the winter. Some days it was too cold to panhandle, making me short on cash. And even just a few inches of snow caused the trains to run slower. Then there was the time when Boston was hit with an ice blizzard, forcing the city to shut down. Sunshine and I had to detox in her hotel room.

But I didn't feel that way about winter anymore. Before the snow hardened or got covered in sand, it looked beautiful. Clean flakes filled the air and sparkled when the light touched them.

“Will you keep in touch with Tiffany?” Diem asked.

During the beginning of the meal, I'd done a good job of avoiding any roommate talk, but I had asked all the questions. I should have known it would go there eventually—and been prepared with an answer for when it did.

“We all have to move on, you know?”

“She keeps getting weirder.”

I could probably tell Diem everything I knew about Tiffany, and the news wouldn't get back to her or anyone at the rehab center. But something told me to keep my mouth shut.

I took a bite of my sandwich and nodded. “So what does your place in Tampa look like?”

“You want to see pictures?”

While I finished the rest of my Reuben and a bowl of French onion soup, I looked at the photos on her phone. I made little comments about the palm trees outside her building and how big the kitchen was, but I wasn't really paying attention. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get Tiffany out of my head. After tomorrow, two new girls would take our beds. Tiffany would continue to get sicker, and I'd probably never see her again. The only way I'd know she died would be from reading the rehab's newsletter or checking the obituaries. It shouldn't have to be that way.

Diem and I paid our bills, and once we got outside, she asked if I wanted to watch a movie at the apartment. I did, but I didn't want to take the chance of running into Tiffany. I couldn't think of a good enough lie, so I told her I had plans that I couldn't break.

“I understand,” she said, but her face told otherwise. “Will you be back before curfew?”

“Probably not.”

“I'm leaving at four in the morning. I don't want to wake you, so I guess this is good-bye.”

I wrapped my arms around her. “Travel safe, OK? And call me when you get there.”

Diem was only three years younger than I was, but because she looked like a teenager, I felt old enough to be her mother. She had been a great roommate, and I hoped we would keep in touch. She was good for my sobriety; she worked the Steps and attended every meeting. That could change once she moved to Florida, though, and I hoped she remained strong. More addicts—even those who had recovered—died from drug overdoses than from anything else. That was the sad truth about addiction.

*   *   *

Asher rented a truck and picked me up in the morning. My building had no elevator, and men weren't allowed in sober living, so he met me on the second floor and I handed off my bags. Four trips later, with the last few bags in hand, I looked around to make sure I hadn't left anything behind. The door to Mona and Allie's room was shut, and I didn't bother to knock. I wasn't close to either of them.

I thought about whether I should say something to Tiffany before I left. As soon as I moved out, I would no longer be attached to the rehab center, and my monthly call-ins with my counselor would end. I'd have no connection to Tiffany, no more opportunities to work things out. But with her being so sick, I didn't want to cause more conflict, so I left a note on her bed. It was a just a few sentences, thanking her for all her help and telling her she was in my thoughts. Once I placed it on her bed, I shut the front door behind me. And I didn't look back.

Asher and I emptied the truck at my new apartment and carried the bags to the third floor. The door was open, and the landlord was waiting in the kitchen. I'd been here once before with Kathy when I signed the lease, but the place had been filled with the tenants’ stuff then. Now that they had moved out, the room appeared much larger. The second-floor bedroom, overlooking the living room and kitchen, reminded me of a tree house, with beams of wood across the ceiling. The rest of the apartment looked antique, with vintage appliances and an outdated tub. It was perfect. Time had aged this loft just as heroin had done to me.

I handed the landlord a check for the first month's rent, and he placed the keys on the counter. The door squeaked when he shut it behind him. This was my place now. A room that wasn't closed in by bars, checked by nurses throughout the night, or full of rules and a curfew.

“You did good. This place is perfect for you,” Asher said, moving into the kitchen after he'd explored the bedroom. He smiled. “I know you're limber, but I hope you're strong.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Carrying Michael's furniture up those stairs is going to be a bitch.”

I kissed his cheek. “I think you, Nadal, and Jesse will do just fine.”

He laughed and took my hand, leading me back down to the truck. We drove only a few blocks before we reached the storage facility; Asher parked in front of the unit, unhooking the padlock and lifting the door. Michael's belongings were packed from floor to ceiling. I stopped in front of the first piece of furniture, pulling the sheet to reveal a corner of his living room couch. I ran my fingers over the armrest before taking a seat, pressing my face against the back cushion. It was faint, but his smell still lingered. Michael had always sat in this spot. This was where we'd cuddled and he'd placed his arm around me the morning before I'd gone to rehab. The memories didn't stop there, though. The guest room headboard, where I'd slept with my mom, was carried into the truck. Michael's desk, where I drank a half bottle of vodka and threw up in my mom's arms, was right next to me.

“Do you feel him?” Jesse stood a few feet behind me.

“I smell him, too,” I replied.

Jesse sat down. Our knees touched. “I came here a lot after we sold his apartment. Being around all his things made me feel close to him.”

A tear dropped from my eye; Jesse caught it before it hit my chin. “Today isn't about being sad, Cole,” he said. “It's about moving on.”

“He should be here.”

“I know.” His lids closed, and he swallowed hard, as though there were a knot in his throat. “He should be, and I would do anything to bring him back.”

Whenever Michael had hugged me, something about the way he breathed and squeezed my body gave me comfort. Jesse's embrace did the same. Nothing could take away the loss of my brother, but Jesse's love made it hurt a little less.

*   *   *

I stood in the middle of the living room, glancing around the apartment. With Jesse and Nadal's help, all the furniture was moved in. Michael's artwork hung on the walls, the bed was made with new sheets, and pots and pans were in the cabinets. The only thing I hadn't unpacked was my clothes. I was too tired to find a home for them just yet.

I turned off the TV; silence filled the air. This was the first time it had been quiet all day. Nadal had blasted music from Michael's stereo, and someone's cell phone was constantly ringing. Asher had gone to pick up Chinese, but even with him gone, I didn't feel alone. Michael was here. Maybe it was just his stuff filling my apartment or knowing how close I was to his old place. But I could feel him.

Sobriety was going to be a fight. I'd have to attend meetings for the rest of my life and continue to work the program. Heroin's voice would always be there, but with Michael's presence and his old life surrounding me, maybe relapse would be less tempting.

The front door opened. Keys jingled in Asher's hand as he carried the bags of food over to the counter. It all looked so right: him walking into my home with dinner and his own set of keys. I hadn't forgotten how I'd wanted Mark to kiss me at the aquarium; I just tried to block it out of my memory. I was devastated by the way Tiffany had treated me, and Mark just felt right. He was familiar and comforting—and incredibly sexy. But nothing like that would ever happen again. Asher was perfect for me.