Crazy Horse's Girlfriend (9781940430447) (25 page)

The next morning, I went in to shower before anyone could get in the bathroom. I needed the comfort of the water on my face, anything to erase the image of Dad crying in his underwear, gun in his hand. I moved Mary's nightshirt, which we'd hand washed in the bathtub the night before, onto the edge of the sink and turned on the water. It sputtered to life, the white, moldy-looking shower curtain breezing in towards me. I moved as far away from it as I could and picked up the tiny white hotel soap. The place smelled funky, the combination of old cigarette smoke and carpet shampoo rising up from the faded blue and black carpet.

When I was done, I came out and could see that Mom and the twins were up, the twins cuddled up against Mom in her bed, watching TV. After a few minutes, Mom got up and showered, and when she was finished, asked me if I would bathe the twins. Even though we should have given Mary a bath the night before, we'd been so tired that all Mom could manage was a good swipe with a ratty hotel washcloth. So I nodded, and gave them a bath. Carrie didn't even fuss and in fact, the two of them played as if nothing had happened, as if we were on vacation, though both of them talked about their Barbies, wanting to know when they would be reunited with them.

“Soon,” I told them. It broke my heart to see how easily they could push their confusion down, how quick they were to let it all go and play in the bathtub like their dad wasn't a drunk who had held them at gunpoint the night before. They splashed in the murky water for around twenty minutes, while I soaped their hair and bodies and then I pulled them out, toweled them off and put them back in their pajamas. Mary's was still slightly damp, so I ran the crappy hotel hair dryer over her as she giggled.

When we got out of the bathroom, Mom was standing by the window, looking out. Without turning around she said, “Let's go.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Home.”

I was silent for a minute. “What?”

“Don't question me Margaritte!” she said, turning around, her eyes narrowed. I shook my head and walked over to her. “It'll be fine. I don't want to hear anything from you.”

I sighed and looked out the window.

“Alright, Margaritte?” Mom asked.

I was silent.

“Margaritte, you answer me!”

“Fine!”

“I don't need your approval.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don't roll your eyes at me! Don't you treat me that way. I get enough of it from your father.”

I turned to her and looked into her eyes. “Then why don't you leave him?”

“How dare you! How dare you!” Before I could see what was happening, she slapped me in the face with the back of her hand. Hard. I walked backwards and sat down on the hotel bed, stunned. I raised my hand to my mouth. My lip was bleeding again. She was silent for a short time while I cried and then she started laughing. “Oh my God Margaritte, you're so overemotional,” she said.

We both went silent then. I didn't even know what to say. We gathered the twins and walked out of the hotel, silent, tired, stinking of shitty hotel soap. In the car, as we took the exit into Idaho Springs, I looked out the window at the town waking up, the glow of the sun on the mountains. We passed the Sugar Plum and I realized that I hadn't been to work in weeks, and hadn't even thought about it. I was guessing I was fired.

“Mommy, are you OK?” Mary asked. I looked over at her. She was crying and trying not to, wiping at her tears with the back of her long, tapered, brown arm.

“Mommy is OK, as long as she has you,” she said to them. I looked down at my old, stained sneaks.

“I'm sorry Margaritte.”

“It's OK, Mom,” I said.

“Margaritte. You're my heart.”

I felt like dying then. I rolled the window down and wished for a cigarette, badly.

“Let's get cookies,” Mary said. “That always makes me stop crying, Mommy.”

Mom laughed. “Oh, Mary,” she said. “Let's go to the Derby for breakfast. How about that?”

“Um, well, I don't think they have cookies there,” Mary said and Mom laughed again. I handed her a dusty Dairy Queen napkin that had been stuck into the side pocket of the passenger seat door, and she blew her nose while I held the wheel.

“Thanks, Margaritte,” she said.

I looked back at Mary and Carrie, secure in their car seats, and saw Carrie was asleep and Mary was looking out the window, her tiny little hands folded in her lap. Carrie was drooling, so I pulled another ancient napkin out of the side pocket and reached back and gently wiped at her mouth. They both looked so cute, but messy. I had used Mom's comb, the old beat-up blue one from Walmart she kept in her purse to pick at her perms to comb through their hair in the hotel after their baths. Their hair was already starting to thicken though, and it had been hard to get the comb through. Not to mention that they were still in their pajamas.

We pulled into the Derby parking lot and got out, tired, hungry and in love with one another, ready for eggs and bacon and a few more minutes away from Dad. We ate, Mom and me drinking coffee and not talking about Dad but about my last week of school, which was this next week. And though Mom was worried about my grades, and she wasn't the only one, she didn't push too hard. Mainly we focused on the twins, getting them to eat something decent, wiping their mouths, making sure they didn't fight or cry over the absence of their Barbies. Half-way through breakfast, Carrie began to sing the theme song for
Sesame Street
and Mary joined in and they were quiet about it, not yelling, just singing together happily, and me and Mom clapped our hands when they were done. I looked at them and thought about how cute and silly they were, thought of them in front of the TV, their mouths hanging open in wonder, the glow of it on their small, yellow-brown faces.

“Are we going home now?” Carrie asked.

“Yeah,” Mom said.

“Is Dad going to still be mad?”

Mom sighed, heavily. “I'm betting Dad will be asleep.”

“I hate it when he's mad,” Carrie said. “He made Mary pee.”

“I didn't!” Mary said, her little pink-purple lower lip trembling.

“You did! I saw you pee—”

“Enough,” Mom said, folding her paper napkin onto her plate. “That doesn't matter.” She gestured to the waitress and asked for the bill. I was silent. It did matter.

“What matters is that I love you,” Mom said. “And… Dad loves you too. In his way.”

Carrie took this in, picking up her fork and dancing it around for a while. She set it down. “Sometimes Dad is funny.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, looking at her own fork as if it might get up and dance on its own.

Sometimes Dad
was
funny. After a few drinks. That was the thing; half the time we couldn't wait for him to drink, the scotch or the beer beside him on the table, by the TV. After the first few he stopped being angry, tight, wound up like a tangled spring. That's when he was free. But the next few hours after that were a gamble. If we were lucky he'd set himself down in front of the TV to yell at it or shut himself in his office, all of us waiting, expectant, tense. When were not lucky, he did stuff like hold us at gunpoint.

The waitress came over with the bill, pulling a thick black pen with the local bank logo on it out from the top of her ear and setting it down with the bill. Mom looked at it, squinting.

“Hey, I can help,” I said. “If you need me to.”

Mom looked up at me. “I don't think I want your money,” she said. I was silent. I guess she was right. I had denied it a million times, but she knew what I really did for money.

We sipped at the rest of our weak, lukewarm coffee and the waitress came back and got the bill from Mom.

“I worry about you, Margaritte,” Mom said, turning to me. I could see the grey buried in her perm.

“I worry about me too,” I said.

“You will never understand until you have a child,” she said, and I flinched. “You will never understand until you feel your heart being torn at like there is an animal in your chest every time you think your child is doing something that could kill them. You die a little.”

I began to cry.

“Please turn your life around before it's too late,” she said, putting her rough, brown hand on my shoulder. “Before you can't.”

I nodded and wiped at my tears. “Alright Mom.”

“Are you OK, Margaritte?” Mary asked.

I looked at her and got up and hugged her. Her tiny, soft hands came up and around my neck. I felt better.

“We should have gotten cookies,” she said.

“Can't we get some on the way back, Mommy?” Carrie asked.

“Aren't you full?” Mom asked.

“No,” they said in unison.

“OK, we'll get cookies, but you can only have one, and I mean only one, after lunch.”

The waitress came back and set the bill down and Mom looked at it, signed, and got up. We walked into the midmorning sun and down the stairs of the Derby, each of us with a twin in hand. The smell of pine trees was everywhere.

“You want to drive?” Mom asked.

“Sure,” I said, helping Mom get the twins into their car seats and then settling in behind the wheel. I always had to pull the seat back, considering I was near a half a foot taller than her. She called me her baby giraffe. She handed me the keys and we drove the short distance to the grocery store, where I went in for the cookies and some milk. The parking lot was bustling with families, children sitting in the front of shopping carts, moms pushing them, plucking things from the endless, shining rows of shelves. I saw this all the time but today it felt just so fucking weird. Like I was bathed in light, like I was underwater. Or had done a drug I'd never done before. I found the chocolate chip cookies the twins liked, the crunchy kind in the blue package and then walked to the cooler for the milk, feeling strange and tired; I really hadn't slept well the night before.

I walked back through the aisles and up to the register and stood in line for a few minutes, looking at the magazines, the celebrities being busted for bad behavior, the newspapers talking about alien babies. The cashier was a chick I'd gone to school with but we didn't really acknowledge each other. What was the point? Her hair was permed and frosted into a nest that looked like it hadn't been washed in a while, and her eyes had big, black bags underneath. I'd sold to her a couple of times, but she'd either gone to someone else or gone onto bigger shit. I was thinking it was probably the second one. She looked like she was halfway to being a waitress at the Derby.

“Have a nice day,” she said, looking down at my receipt and handing it to me, “Mrs. Riggs.” I'd used Mom's card.

“Thanks.” I took it and my sack from the bagger, a dude who'd been in a major car accident years ago which had resulted in brain damage and one hell of a pirate-ass looking scar on his head, which he kept shaved. He seemed happy though, bagging away and handing people their shit. I walked out and into the parking lot and found Mom's car. She had rolled the windows down and I could hear the twins singing again, and I was glad. It was freaking torture when they fought. Mom was singing along, all three of them belting out the theme song to
Sesame Street
.

I got in and we took off and I sang along with them to push away the darkness, to push away the fact that we were all going to have face Dad. That he was going to want us to pretend nothing had happened, and that we would do that because Mom wanted that, until they argued again.

I pulled into the drive and parked and helped Mom get the twins out of the car, both of them still singing. Mom hushed them. “Daddy's probably sleeping. Let's be quiet, OK?”

They stopped, and Carrie asked about their Barbies. Mom said she was sure they were right inside. As we were walking to the house, Mom stopped for a second and looked at me.

“I meant what I said.”

“I know you did.”

“Without the twins and you, my life would have no meaning.”

“I love you Mom,” I said and she told me she loved me too. We hugged and led the twins back into the house, the sound of Dad's snoring echoing throughout.

I went downstairs and plopped down on my bed, and lay there for a while, trying to sleep. I couldn't. I read for a few minutes and then put the book down. I slid my hands down over my stomach and stared at the ceiling for a long time, then picked up the phone and called Megan and told her about my appointment and asked her to go with me. She said yes.

 

C

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1

2

 

That week, the last week of school, the phone began to ring in the middle of the night. Sometimes I would catch it, sometimes Mom would. I would hear it ring, and then nothing. After the third call, I could hear Dad screaming upstairs and Mom calming him down. When I caught it, it was just breathing on the other end and then the line would go dead. Of course I hoped it was Mike. My anger with him had turned into pain, and then right back to anger, and then right back again into pain. I kept thinking about what we had been together and then my goddamn head would go right to what he had said that night in the hospital, and then to what he used to whisper to me when we had been together in his bed. I felt a sharp pain turning in my stomach, over and over, especially after the calls. And then flashes of pure hatred. For him. For Julia. I felt so alone. School was a blur. I did deals, took final exams and came home every day, exhausted. I thought about what I was going to do. I talked to Jake on the phone. His trial was coming up. They were going to decide whether he was to be tried as an adult, and then depending on that decision, they would decide what would happen to him from there. I was filled with dread about that, about everything. I wished that he could be in the basement with me like usual, shooting the shit and smoking up.

Saturday, I told Mom that I was going to go up to Julia's. That she needed my help taking her pre-SATs. That she needed someone to quiz her. Mom didn't fight me. I drove over to Megan's house and picked her up. On the way to the clinic, my stomach turned and turned until I felt like I was going to pass out, like I was full of an ocean that I was drowning in from the inside out. Megan's baby slept, and she told me that she had kicked Will out for good. That at the end of the month she would go back home and try to figure out her life.

“Where is Will?”

“I don't give a shit. I changed the goddamn locks. Probably'll end up back on the rez or homeless.”

I knew better than to argue with her, knew that she would only get mad at me, and that she had her reasons for feeling that way. Though I did wonder what would happen to him, if he'd shack up with one of the dudes he'd treated like shit, if he'd go home, if he
would
end up homeless. Another waste.

The drive to Denver was good, no rain, and Megan read the directions off for me and though I feared getting there to a bunch of people with signs throwing dead babies at my face, when we pulled in, it was eerily peaceful. We parked and I got out, tripping as I did, my heart hammering so hard in my head I thought my ears were gonna bust.

“Are you OK?” Megan asked me, putting one plump hand on my arm.

I leaned against the car and felt faint, sick, weak.

“Margaritte?”

“I don't feel so good. I need to sit down.”

The next thing I knew there were faces above me and I blinked, trying to focus. I didn't want to be awake, with nurses pointing lights into my eyes and asking me questions. I felt like I'd been somewhere very, very far away. But I was still in the parking lot.

I sat up slowly, the gravel under my ass grinding into me. I felt weak. I put my shaking hand to my forehead. It was covered in sweat.

“What happened?”

“Girl, you looked pale and then you just fucking buckled. I barely caught you and then you started to you know, shake, and your eyes rolled back in your head and that's when I ran into the clinic for help.”

“I feel so tired,” I said. “But I think I'll be OK.”

“Do you think you can walk?” A nurse asked. “I think you just fainted and had a minor seizure, but I'd like to get you into the clinic so the doctor can check you out.”

“Yeah,” I said, and they helped me up and into the clinic, my legs shaking, and into a back room. I lay on an examination table, and a nurse came in and gave me water. A few minutes later a doctor came in. He asked me if I'd been under any major stress. I laughed and told him that yes, you could say that.

I hadn't been out long and the seizure had only lasted around a minute, so the doctor told me that I was OK, but that I might consider having my procedure another day. I looked at him and asked if I could see my friend. He said yes and left. A few minutes later Megan came in and sat down next to me.

“How you doing?” she asked. She looked anxious.

“I
—
I'm not going to do this.”

“What? The abortion?”

“Right. I'm not going to do this.”

Megan was silent, nodding to herself. “You know I support you either way, but I'm glad. I was raised to think this is wrong.”

“Well, I don't think it's wrong, but I can't. I'm just not going to do this.”

Megan nodded again and took my hand. I began to tear up, just a little. I felt relief. Loads of fear too, but for some reason, I felt good. Better than I had in a long time. Megan held my hand quietly, until I was done. And then she handed me a box of tissues. I took one and she set it back on the table.

“Speaking of babies, where's yours?” I asked.

Megan laughed. “Well, when you fainted and then had a damn seizure, I pulled her out of the car and ran into the clinic and when I explained what was going down, one of the nurses came and took her out of my hands and said not to worry, that she would take care of her. I just went and checked on her. She's sleeping like a little angel. Even though she's a little devil with me.”

I laughed.

“I think I'm OK,” I said. “Let's get out of here.”

“OK,” Megan said and she helped me up, the white paper crinkling as I went. We walked out the door and into the waiting room, which was filled with women, some of them with expressions of determination on their faces, some of them young and terrified, some of them older, some of them alone and others with men sitting next to them. One woman was filing her nails, looking bored.

I told the lady at the desk that I'd call back, that I was going to take the doctor's advice and reschedule. I just didn't want to get into why I wasn't going to do it at all.
I
wasn't even sure why. She smiled and said that was fine, and we made our way into the parking lot, Megan of course stopping first to pick her baby up. One of the nurses was holding her on her lap and another one was cooing at her, while the baby laughed and drooled. I thought to myself how totally fucking weird this charming little scene was, considering where we were.

We got into the car and drove back home and talked about Will a little bit more, about Megan's plans for the future. She asked me what I was going to do, what my plan was, and I told her I wasn't sure, that I didn't know. She understood. Pulling into her parking lot, I thanked her for coming with me, and she said to call anytime. I said I would.

On the way home, I tried not think.

At the house, Dad was sleeping it off and Mom was grading at the table. The twins were in front of the TV. I went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and got myself stuff for a bologna sandwich.

I finished putting the sandwich together and turned around. Mom looked up at me. “You look pale,” she said, her stack of papers piled high on the kitchen table.

I leaned against the counter and ate my sandwich. “Yeah. I'm tired.”

Mom nodded. “I guess maybe you really were doing work.”

“Yeah. I guess I was,” I said, smiling.

Mom smiled back at me, an expression of true tenderness on her face, and I almost began crying, telling her what was really going on with me. But I decided that I needed sleep first. I went and plopped down on the couch behind the twins, and soon I was falling asleep to the sound of children's television, the twins' lovely, child smell of apple juice and crayons floating all around me.

I woke up to the phone ringing and Mom answering.

“It's Julia,” she said, walking into the living room.

“Oh. Uh. OK. I'll take it downstairs,” I said. I wanted Mom to tell her I wasn't there, or tell her that I didn't feel like talking to Julia, but she didn't know that Julia and I hadn't talked in a long time. I didn't want to provoke any feelings of suspicion, as studying at Julia's house had become my excuse for leaving the house. Also, I was curious. Very.

I walked downstairs and sat on my bed. I picked up the handle of the old, red rotary phone and told my mom that she could hang up. I was silent.

“Are you there?” she asked, finally.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, um, good.”

“What's up?” I asked, though I felt like yelling into the phone, ranting into it, telling her to never call me again.

“Can we… can we go to Java Mountain Roasters and talk?'

I was silent again.

“Please, Margaritte? I have so much to say, and I know you probably don't want to talk to me ever again, and I could just tell you over the phone, but I don't think that's right. I think we should talk face to face. Don't you?”

I sighed, heavily. “Well, I'm really tired. But OK, yeah. Sure.”

“I'm so glad Margaritte, I really am. I know I have no right to ask you, but I knew I had to try. Even if you just want to clock me one and leave,” she said, laughing nervously.

“Well, I won't hit you. Probably.”

“That's good,” she said, laughing nervously.

“Well, I'm gonna go do a deal. Meet you in an hour.”

“Yes. Please.”

“OK. See you soon,” I said and she told me goodbye in a faint, whispery voice and we hung up. I walked up the stairs. Mom was making dinner. I told her that me and Julia needed to go over some stuff we'd forgotten, and that I'd be back in two hours.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“Could you just save me a plate? Seriously, Julia's desperate.”

“She's a smart girl,” Mom said, shifting in her seat. We had an old, fifties style dining set we'd found at a thrift store in Denver, and it was cool-looking but the seats were kind of small.

“Yeah, she is.”

“So are you Margaritte. You're a different girl. But you're smart.”

“Thanks Mom,” I said, wanting again to let it all pour out of me. To tell her. But I had to meet Julia. I figured I would tell Mom tomorrow. I couldn't imagine what Julia was going to say to me.

I walked over to her, leaned down and hugged her. She hugged me back and I felt the guilt move through my veins, and it felt like glass. I didn't feel very smart.

“See you later,” I said. I went downstairs to get my backpack and keys and then back up, and out the door.

Driving into town, I could see the exit for I-70 on my right. I thought briefly about the exit and what it would be like to get on it, to keep going. To stop somewhere nobody knew me and start over. But that was what people did in the movies.

Julia was leaning against the side of the red brick of Java Mountain Roasters, smoking, looking like a model on some kind of shoot for Seventeen, her long, thin legs ending in tiny white jean shorts and a lacy top she'd probably found at the local thrift.

She smiled nervously and I smiled back, a short, quick line.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” she said back.

“Mind if I finish this?” she asked, gesturing to her cigarette.

“No problem.”

“Want one?” she asked.

“Uh… ”

“Oh. Oh, God. Sorry. I… forgot. But I thought… well, never mind.”

She took one long, last drag and pointed towards the coffee house with her lips and we walked in. I remembered that this was where Julia had met Mike, and I felt my stomach twist. I felt a sharp, painful yearning for a smoke and repressed it. We stood in line for coffee and when we got our mugs, we found somewhere near the back to sit down. It wasn't busy this time of day and we were almost alone. The only other person in the place, besides the guy that worked there, was an old fucker that practically lived in this joint.

“So, your classes went good?” I asked.

Julia wiped at her brow nervously. “Yeah. I think I'll have a 4.0 again this semester. I'll be in AP, you know, advanced classes, next year. And that should help me get into college and hopefully get myself a fat scholarship, which is cool.”

“That's good.”

“How about you?”

I laughed. “I'll be glad if I pass. That's how it goes for a pregnant drug dealer. Grades come last I guess.” Julia looked uneasy. She frowned and looked over at the wall. I thought about the first place I'd gotten high. I was thirteen and a friend had asked me if I wanted to hang with her in the parking lot across from the school during lunch. I had closed my eyes and said yes.

“Things suck. But at least school is over. For the year anyways,” I said.

“Yeah,” Julia said.

I wondered what she wanted with me. If she wanted to apologize, or ask where Mike was. She had been a major fucking douchebag the last time we'd talked.

“You're more than just a pregnant drug dealer, you know. You could take the SATs with me and get out of here. You could stop dealing. You could… ”