Crank - 01 Page 12
He looked up
and his eyes told mine,
I love you, Kristina.
Eyes couldn’t lie.
Could they?
With sudden clarity,
I knew,
“I love you, too.”
Don’t say it
unless you mean it.
Did I mean it?
Brendan was no more
than a nightmare.
But, Giselle or no Giselle,
what about Adam?
You could snap
my heart in two.
I thought of the letter
in my room, the one
that had poured from me
only hours before.
If I mailed it …
It’s bending now.
I shifted
and the throb in my thighs
reminded me of the “new” me.
“But what about …”
Come on.
I’m not exactly chaste.
Chaste Chase?
A monster-fed
giggle tried to slip out.
I relegated
it to a tooth-baring grin.
You’re so beautiful
when you smile.
He kissed me then,
so sweetly, I truly
felt beautiful, despite
the ugliness
that would always remain.
No one can take you
from you, Kristina.
Tears slipped
from my eyes.
Chase absorbed
every one,
sponging up regret.
I promise never,
never to hurt you.
I wanted him to prove it.
Needed him to prove it.
“Make love to me.”
I could feel he wanted to.
I want to.
You know I do.
But not today.
Relief, Disappointment
A flash flood of love and a surge
of need so deep it went way beyond the monster.
“Please, Chase? I have to know
what it’s like when two people
really want to.”
And you will. I will take you to
heights you can’t imagine. But not
until you’ve healed.
I didn’t understand. Go ahead.
Call me dense. “It’s only a few
bruises, Chase.”
I meant not until you’re free
from dreams of yesterday.
When we make love, the only
people there should be you and me.
He was right. Adam lingered on
my nightstand. Brendan would
haunt me, a shadow, for days.
When you’ve vanquished your ghosts,
I’ll be here. Besides, sweetheart,
anticipation is half the fun.
I could only hope the other half
might one day be as wonderful.
With Chase, it seemed possible.
Meanwhile, I’d better go before
your parents get back. Want to
go outside for a smoke?
Soft drifts of nicotine filled my
lungs, soothing one hunger.
Chase held me close.
Funny thing, Kristina. Before you,
I believed love was making love.
Waiting only makes me
love you more.
Powerful Words
Strong
enough to latch on
to me, bear the weight and
lift
me, induce buoyancy,
float me in a brilliant, blue sky
above
the reach of personal demons.
So peaceful, in the canopy, beyond
distress
and self-incrimination. I wanted
to stay there forever.
Impossible
of course. Chase drove away
and almost immediately,
fantasy
dissolved, like sugar stirred
into saltwater, as the real
world
clamped down around me,
slammed me back down to Earth.
Tried to Beat Mom Inside
but she was right on my heels
as I went through the door.
Who is that boy who just left?
Busted. I had to tell her something,
so I said, “A friend.”
What kind of friend?
“My best friend,” I wanted to say.
“My only friend.” I just stared.
I asked you a question.
Okay. I’d tell her what she didn’t
want to hear. “Chase is my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend? He’s hardly your type.
Anger bubbled. I gritted my teeth.
“I don’t have a type, Mother.”
Well, at least someone good-looking.
Like Chase wasn’t, she meant.
And, “You mean like Brendan.”
Exactly. What happened to Brendan?
I was prepared. “We didn’t really
hit it off.” Understated, huh?
But he was so nice, so polite.
I tried to bite my tongue. Didn’t work.
“He wasn’t so nice, Mom.”
What do you mean?
“He was …” I paused, “all over me.”
She looked at me without sympathy.
Why didn’t you tell me before?
I took dead aim. “I didn’t think
you’d care. Apparently, I was right.”
Leveled
Have you ever actually felt one up
on your mom? What an
exhilarating feeling.
She stuttered, coughed, couldn’t say
a word because somewhere inside
she knew she was wrong.
So I pushed even harder. “You always told
me not to judge a book by its cover.
Practice what you preach, Mom.”
Two clichés don’t exactly make for deep
conversation, but I didn’t expect
that (or want it) anyway.
I started for my inner sanctum. Paused.
“I mean look at you and me. On
the surface, we both seem so normal!”
Her face contorted, emphasizing every wrinkle.
“Take a peek inside our family album.
Like what’s in there?”
Do you think that was mean? I guess, but
it felt so great, it made me grin.
Sort of sick, or what?
Light-Headed
Giddy from my absolute bluster
(not to mention lack of food
and a big dose of nicotine),
I skipped up the hall,
singing
a Queen
song about paying
dues and doing time, no
crime committed. Oh, that
Freddie Mercury. What a waste!
That guy was really something—a rebel and worse.
In a day when it was supposed
to be okay to experiment
that way. No condoms,
just good gay fun. We
know better now.
As I thought
about that, I had
to wonder: What will we
know better about tomorrow?
Who cares? Hindsight is useless.
Even looking back now, things seem a bit muddled.
Northern Nevada Autumns
are filled with weeds.
Toxic, high-allergen garden killers.
Tumbleweed.
Rabbitbrush.
Russian white top.
Guess how I spent that Sunday.
Wound up on Claritin
enhanced crank, it wasn’t
so bad.
Yank. Think.
Tug. Consider.
I would put Adam’s letter in the mail.
Water. Soak in.
Watch Mom and Scott
drive away.
Bribe Jake to help.
I would never tell another soul about Brendan.
Direct Jake to dump
the wheelbarrow.
Yank. Think.
Tug. Consider.
I would make love with Chase very soon.
Start to come down.
Disappear for a toot.
Notice my stash was two
snorts away from gone.
I would make a cash withdrawal the next day.
Help Jake finish up.
Send him to 7-Eleven
for Cokes and chips.
I would call Chase while he was gone.
No Answer
No sweat.
Okay, maybe
a little sweat.
If I couldn’t
get crank
from Chase
who could
I get it from?
I thought.
And thought.
And finally,
one person
came to mind.
I got on my bike,
pedaled over to
Trent’s, hoping
Robyn was home
and in the mood
to share some
information. Vital
information
to a person
desperate for
a new connection.
Timing Is Everything
Mine was impeccable that day.
Robyn answered the door,
quite noticeably strung.
Oh, hi. Trent’s not home.
He went into town with Mom.
“Cool. I wanted to see you.
Can I come in?”
I eased through the door.
I don’t know… um…
the house is a mess…
It was neat as a pin.
But it did smell like crank.
I suspected Trent wouldn’t
be home anytime soon.
What’s up, Kristina?
Can’t it wait till tomorrow?
“Relax. I’m not a narc.” I
reached into my pocket for the
semimutilated bindle. Robyn’s
pupils went all the way black.
I thought you’d lost some weight.
It’s better than the Atkins diet, huh?
“It’s a helluva lot more fun!”
We laughed and I offered to share
the last of my stash. “Have a mirror?”
Don’t tell me you’re still snorting.
Have you ever tried smoking it?
She was the first to even suggest it.
Robyn the Reno High cheerleader
proceeded to show me a whole new
way to get down with the monster.
We Went into Her Room
Locked the door. Sat on the bed.
Robyn produced a V of crusty foil,
tapped in the last crumbs of powder.
This little bit will go right to your
brain and won’t clog your sinuses.
Won’t stay there, draining, little by
little. Oh, no. You blow straight through
the roof in one giant puff of smoke.
It’s an awesome rush. And you won’t
stay awake for days.
She handed me the stub of a Slurpee
straw and showed me how to hold it
just above one end of the V.
When it starts to smoke, suck fast.
Hold it in as long as you can.
Robyn held a match just below the
yellow powder. It browned, bubbled,
smoked. A waft traveled up the V.
Here it comes. Don’t let it get away.
Oh, God, that smells good!
It tasted nasty. But it took me higher
than ever before. The monster
pirouetted in my brain.
My turn. Don’t hold the match too
close to the foil. Crank can burn.
In seconds, Robyn was flying. Instant
bonding. She didn’t even blink when
I asked if she could score.
You’ve got the money, I can get the crank.
For a small finder’s fee, of course.
I expected no less. We planned to
meet up the next day. I went home,
feeling better than I had in a long, long time.
She Forgot to Mention
a couple of
rather important things:
Like how, if you exercised
1(riding my bike, for instance),
your lungs fought to hold air.
I huffed and puffed
all the way home.
Like how, when you came down
(I had to eventually),
your head screamed with pain
and your body broke out
in panicky sweat.
Like how your little brother’s teasing
(irritating at the best of times),
would set you way off,
make you jump
off the deep end.
Like how parental concern
(inquiring minds wanted to know),
might suffocate you,
might confuse you,
might make you yell,
“Just leave me the fuck alone!”
This Time
it was Scott who asked for
the heart-to-heart. It was a
rather one-sided conversation.
May I come In, Kristina?
Can we talk?
He hated confrontation. I
could play the game two ways.
In-your-face. Or contrite.
What’s going on? Your mom and I
are worried about you.
I chose contrition. And feigned
ignorance. “What do you mean?”
He came right to the point.
It’s like you’ve become a whole
different person lately.
Not all of me. Just the Bree part.
Not all the time.
Just with the monster.
Did something happen
at your dad’s?
Like he wanted to hear about Dad.
Like he really wanted to know
he and Mom were 100% right on.
Don’t take this wrong, okay?
You aren’t doing drugs, are you?
What was I supposed to do—
admit it? I shook my head in
hearty denial.
I know adolescence is a time
for experimentation…
Oh, yes, he knew. And my mom did
too. Dad told me all about how they
used to get high together.
but I hope you’ll think twice before
you do. You’ve got a lot to lose.
I bit my lip, filled my eyes with
innocence, let it encourage tears.
“I know, Scott. I promise to think twice.”
He Talked at Me Awhile Longer
I smiled, nodded, apologized
for my foul temper and angry
words, protested when it
seemed I ought to and
somehow managed
to avoid
GUFN.
When he left, I patted myself on the
back for a game well played,
snitched open the door
and tiptoed down the
hall to eavesdrop
on the kitchen
conversation.
Mom and Scott believed
they’d bitten the bullet.
Little did they know
I hadn’t yet fired
off the full
round.
The Next Few Days
I Gave Up the Bus
in favor of rides with Robyn,
with a detour or two along
the way to indulge
in some Homework Helper.
(Like it really helped!)
A couple of afternoons she
had cheerleading practice.
(How could she do back flips
and cartwheels
without killing herself?)
Those days, Chase came by
to take me home and stop
by the park for a good long
make-out session.
I invited him to share my stash.
He took a snort or two,
but declined
the tinfoil routine.
I let him get away
with it the first time.
On his second refusal,
I asked why not.
He shrugged.
I’ve set boundaries.
I Meant
to analyze
Chase’s limits
that very weekend,
to learn
just how far
I could stretch
him at the edges,
to judge
how wide
I might warp
his self-imposed
morality.
Don’t ask me
why I felt the
incredible need
to test
this person that
meant so very
much to me,
to fathom
his most
personal thoughts,
coolly dissect
his psyche.
I only know it was
on the table for
that Saturday until
fate intervened.
Okay, the Air Races Intervened
September is Air Race month
in Northern Nevada—four
fabulous days of warbirds,
jets, and homebuilt aircraft,
racing wingtip to wingtip,
balls out, around pylons.
It’s a must-see event, and
we’d made it a family event
every single year since Jake
was a tiny baby, snoozing
soundly in his stroller, despite
ear-splitting military flybys.
We always went on weekends
and I always begged for more,
so it would have looked pretty
damn suspicious to say I didn’t
want to go. Besides, I did want
to go. I just wanted to go high.
So when Mom reminded us at
dinner that we’d have to get
up early and dress in layers, I
cleared my throat as if to protest.
Instead I asked if I could invite
my friend Robyn to come along.
Again, I’d made the perfect