Shattered Soul (3 page)

“You drive like that all the time?” I asked,
jokingly.

“No, only when I’m in the mood to have a little fun,”
Ali smirked, shifting into park.

I chuckled, my hand already gripping the door handle.
“Thanks for the ride.”

“Aren’t going to invite me in, huh?”

I glanced at the house and then back at her, shaking
my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” she said,
her eyes lingering on the front door.

“I’m sure my mom is,” I said, hoping I wasn’t hurting
her feelings and killing any chance I might of had with her.

“Afraid she won’t like me?” she wondered, her blue
eyes on mine again.

I stared at her. How could anyone in their right mind
not like her? Not liking her wasn’t the problem, hell, my mother
probably wouldn’t even be awake to notice her. The problem was,
Calvin could be home any minute and he’d like her. That I was sure
of.

I pictured him talking all smooth to her seeming to
be charming, and then making crude gestures behind her back. I’d
definitely end up saying something to him, and no doubt, I’d get my
ass beat for it.

“No, afraid she’ll be drunk again and laid up on the
couch like always,” I answered, part lie, part truth.

Sympathy entered her eyes. “Oh,” she said, and I felt
relieved she seemed sad for me instead of thinking I was being a
jerk.

I opened the passenger door, my eyes never leaving
her face. “See you tomorrow.”

She blinked. “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” she whispered,
and I got the impression she’d never imagined coming home from
school to something like that every day before.

The funny part was, she didn’t even know the half of
it. Coming home to find my mom in a drunken sleep and passed out on
the couch was the easy part of my life.

I got out and closed the door behind me. Ali waved
and turned her car around in the driveway slowly and started down
the street at a much slower pace than she’d been going when we’d
pulled up.

I stepped in through the front door and there was
mom, passed out in all her drunken splendor, sprawled across the
couch. One empty fifth of Captain Morgan rested on the floor in
front of her, and another one, half gone, was clutched to her
chest.

I wanted to leave her like that. To walk straight to
my room and smoke the bowl that had been waiting on me all day, but
if Calvin came home anytime soon, he’d be pissed I’d left her on
the couch again. Since he’d been up all last night, I would be sure
to get an ass beating for it this time.

I walked over to her and pried the bottle from her
hand. I maneuvered my arms underneath her and attempted to pull her
into a sitting position. She was so wasted she barely even
stirred.

I finally managed to get her to stand. I tossed her
arm around my neck and stumbled under her weight as I helped her to
her room. She flopped down across her bed, mumbling something about
me being a good boy under her breath.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered to her, closing her
bedroom door behind me.

Things hadn’t always been like this. My mom hadn’t
always been a drunk and Calvin hadn’t always been a dope-head drug
dealer, but it has always been the three of us. At least as far
back as I can remember.

Dad split when I was three and Calvin was seven. I
was too young to remember him, but from what Calvin has told me
about him, he wasn’t worth remembering, anyway. He had been a drug
dealer, too, and a pretty high up one. Or so I’ve been told. Calvin
always used to say dealin’ was in our blood, his excuse for why he
always resorted back to it whenever he didn’t feel he was making
enough money at a real job or when his real job fell through.

Mom was a waitress; she’d worked double shifts a lot
to make ends meet. When we were little she’d leave us at a
babysitters, but once Calvin turned eleven, mom didn’t see the need
for one anymore. The money she saved from paying a babysitter
became her wine money.

And that’s how it started.

She began with a small glass of wine a night. Before
long, the glasses started getting bigger and bigger, and turned
from one, to two or three a night. Until eventually wine just
didn’t do it for her anymore. Then she started bringing home brown
paper bags from the liquor store with fifths of vodka inside. It
wasn’t long after, she lost her job.

My theory, they got tired of her coming in half drunk
still from the night before.

About a month after Mom lost her job, she started
drinking rum, and since then there hasn’t been a single minute go
by out of the day when she isn’t either drunk or sleeping.

Mom losing her job was when Calvin started pushing
more drugs to compensate. So far, it’s been working.

I went to my room and closed the door behind me. I
headed for my sock drawer and pulled out my old tin box of
paraphernalia. I sat on my bed and began packing the bowl I’d been
waiting to smoke all day.

It was dark when Calvin pulled into the driveway. I
was sitting on the couch watching a DVD, our satellite had been cut
off months ago. He came in the door with Brent and Jade behind him,
as always.

“Mom sleepin’?” he demanded, flopping down in the
recliner. He had his black backpack with him, the bag he kept all
his paraphernalia and drugs in. He set it at his feet gently. They
must have been off selling.

“Yeah,” I mumbled without looking at him.

“Whatcha watchin’?” Jade asked in-between grinding
her teeth. She sat on the couch beside me.

“Pulp Fiction.”

“Oh, I love this movie,” she muttered.

I remained seated, my eyes glued to the TV, growing
more irritated by the second due to their unwanted presence. I
couldn’t hear over the three of them grinding their teeth and
bouncing their legs with pent up energy. I finally got up and went
to my room.

“Where you goin’?” Calvin asked.

I paused and turned to face him. “To bed.”

“Wanna do a bump with us instead?” he offered, his
eyes huge and solid black. A sheen of sweat glistened across his
skin.

“No,” I said, and continued walking to my room.

I didn’t care if he wondered why I’d turned it down
twice, now, I’d let him think what he wanted.

All I knew was, I was proud of myself for it.

I went to my room, took a few more hits off my bowl,
and curled up in bed to sleep.

I woke the next morning to noises coming from the
kitchen. Either Calvin and his buddies were still home, and
probably coming down by now, raiding the cabinets and fridge for
something small and appealing to eat, or else it was mom, hung over
and doing the same.

I grabbed some clothes and headed for the shower,
hoping no one would bother me. When I got out, I went straight to
the living room to sift through the ashtray for a long enough butt
to smoke.

Jade was sitting on the couch, a bag of plain
tortilla chips in her lap and a glass of ice water in her hand. She
looked like shit. Calvin and Brent must have been in the kitchen,
still searching for something appetizing to eat.

I sat in the recliner and began digging through the
ashtray on the end table.

“Morning,” I said.

“Morning,” Jade mumbled, chewing on a half-eaten
chip. “My pack’s right there on the coffee table. I know you smoke
menthols, but it’s got to taste better than that,” she
grimaced.

I dusted my fingers off on my shorts and reached for
her pack.

“Thanks.” I muttered, pulling one out. “You guys
done?”

She frowned. “Yeah. The little bit we had for
ourselves didn’t last very long.” She took a swig of water to wash
down the chip in her mouth, I could hear her stomach gargle from
where I sat.

I lit my cigarette just as Calvin walked into the
room, chewing on a piece of bread.

“I need you to get rid of some shit for me at school
today.”

“Like what?” I asked.

I knew what this meant. It meant he’d already used up
his personal, like Jade had said, but that he’d dipped into the
shit he was supposed to sell, too. I’d have to jack the prices up
on the kids at school to pay for what he’d used. I didn’t protest
though, because today was Friday, which meant everyone would be
ready to party. The kids at school didn’t care how much they had to
pay for their high, as long as they got it. Hell, for most of them
it was their parents’ money anyway.

Also, I’d be able to snag a little of whatever he
wanted me to sell for myself, and in the end everyone was
happy.

“Usual,” he said, trying hard not to gag on the piece
of bread in his mouth.

That was the worst part of coming down. Nothing
looked good, nothing sounded good, and absolutely nothing tasted
good, but you knew you needed to eat. So, you had to force
yourself, and if you’ve ever tried to force yourself to eat, then
you know how hard it is just to swallow.

“Where is it? I’ve got to go.” I took another drag
off my cigarette and then put it out; it tasted like shit,
definitely not a menthol.

Calvin bent down and dug in his backpack, searching
for the stuff he’d, no doubt, prepared for me last night. He tossed
me four sandwich bags of weed and a little zip-lock baggie filled
with blue Xanax pills shaped like footballs.

“Four quarters of some pretty decent shit, and twenty
footballs,” he confirmed. “I need at least two thirty for it.”

I nodded and unrolled one of the sandwich bags to see
for myself how decent it was. The unmistakable aroma of marijuana
wafted in my nose and I smiled.

This shit would be so easy to sell.

It was straight up good quality mids, something that
would sell like hot cakes.

“Here’s some more baggies in case you need them,”
Calvin said, tossing a handful in my lap.

“Cool,” I muttered and got up to head to my room,
ready to separate at least three of them into smaller portions; I’d
make more money that way.

I separated it as quickly as I could. I don’t think
I’d ever rolled joints that fast before, it must have been some
kind of world record. I also stashed a few nugs into my old tin box
before leaving for school in a hurry. I needed to get to the
smoking trees a little early today, that’s where I’d do the
majority of my business.

Nine people were standing under the trees when I got
there. I walked straight to a guy named Joe I’d had biology with
last year. I knew he was cool because I’d smoked with him
before.

“Can I bum one of those?” I asked, nodding to the
Marlboro menthol he held in his hand.

“Sure thing, man,” he said, digging the pack out of
his pocket and handing me one.

“Thanks,” I said, lighting it. “You know anyone
lookin’ for anything?”

He took a drag off his cigarette and glanced at me.
“I might, what you got?”

“Some high quality mids and a few footballs.”

“Hold on a sec,” he insisted, holding a finger
up.

I nodded and watched him walk over to a clump of
three people, one girl and two guys. About a minute passed as some
heavy debating must have been going on among the group. I enjoyed
my cigarette and waited patiently, sure they’d want something or
else he wouldn’t have asked them.

From the corner of my eye I saw him pocket some money
and start back in my direction.

“How much a piece for the footballs?”

“Four bucks.” I answered firmly. Joe’s face scrunched
while he contemplated my price.

I’d tacked on a dollar and he knew it, they should be
going for three a piece, but I was sure they’d still pay.

Supply and demand.

By the end of the day, once word spread around I had
them, I could charge five or six for one. People would bitch, no
doubt. But the reality was, I had what they wanted, and they’d pay
anything to get it.

“I’ll take three,” he said, handing me twelve bucks
from his pocket.

I shoved the money into my pocket and turned my back
towards the school before pulling out the zip-lock baggie and
handing him three.

“Thanks, man,” he said.

“Not a problem, let me know if you hear of anyone
else lookin’.”

“Will do,” he muttered, walking back towards his
group. He’d be back with another order before the first bell rang,
that was how it always worked.

Trip, my most loyal customer, pulled into the parking
lot revving his engine, as usual.

“What’s up, what’s up?” he asked, walking up to me a
few minutes later.

“Not much, man,” I replied. “Got any cash on you to
spend?”

His eyes grew wide. “Why? What you got?”

“Reefer, footballs, take your pick.”

“Got a quarter? I’m almost out,” he said, putting an
unlit cigarette to his lips.

“Yep.”

“Decent?”

“Of course. I’d sell it to anyone else for
sixty-five, but because it’s you, I’ll let it go for fifty-five,” I
insisted.

I knew Trip would have the money on him, just because
he drove an old beater and hung out with the stoners didn’t mean
his parents didn’t have money. And as for the price, I wasn’t
lying. I had planned on selling it for sixty-five to someone. I had
to make a profit somewhere. At fifty-five I’d only be making five
bucks, but it was better than nothing.

“Sold,” he said, getting his wallet out of his back
pocket.

With our backs towards the school, we made our
exchange smoothly and Trip walked back to his car to drop the bag
in the glove compartment.

I ended up selling five joints at five bucks each and
six more footballs at four all before first period. One hundred and
sixteen dollars total. I still needed one hundred and fourteen
more, though, to get Calvin his two thirty.

I’d have to count on word of mouth to get me the
rest.

On my way to Mrs. Gilbert’s class, I passed the water
fountain in the hall and was tempted to pop one of the footballs in
my pocket, but unlike Calvin, I had enough sense to stay out of my
own sell pile.