Glass - 02 (8 page)

I dial Leigh’s number,

praying she isn’t home.

No luck there. We exchange

pleasantries, chat

a few minutes. Finally,

I break the news.

Leigh takes it well.

No fucking way! Kristina,

I want to be there,

you know I do, and I really

want you to meet Heather.

It’s taken both of us this long

to make that meeting happen.

But how can we possibly come

now? I wouldn’t know what

to say to Dad, or how to react

when I saw him. Why hasn’t

he ever once called me, Kristina?

How can he care so little?

I don’t want to tell her drugs—

and maybe sex—mean more

to him than anything, though

I know in my heart that’s

the truth. I don’t want to tell

her that’s the way of the monster.

“I don’t know, Leigh. But you

have to come, okay?”

I haven’t seen her in months,

and want her here for my birthday,

not to mention the baptism.

Suddenly I know what to say.

Pastor Keith will simply

have to deal with it, one way

or another. Anyway, I’m not

so sure God will have a hard

time with my choice.

“I want you and Heather

to be Hunter’s godparents.

Please, Leigh. Please come.”

Since Leigh reluctantly agreed

to serve as Hunter’s godmother.

(Godfather? Thank goodness I don’t

know all the little details. They

might make me change my mind.)

But I’m happy (and sort of surprised)

to say I’ve managed to keep my use

pretty much under control.

I’ve only indulged maybe twice

a day, and yesterday I completely

ignored the monster’s whining.

Mostly because my body finally

demanded the sleep of the dead.

I claimed a flu bug was taking me

down, and Mom believed every word.

With my red eyes, sweats, and chills, no

doubt I looked the part. I slept thirteen

hours, got up and ate dinner, then crashed

back out until this morning. Of course,

the first thing I did when I got up was

sneak around back for a quick toke.

I have to admit I totally misjudged a few

things, like the crystal’s effect on my mothering

capabilities. I thought it would make it

easier to segue into my daytime routine

after late-night hours cajoling Hunter

to please, please go back to sleep.

Instead, the glass tends to make me

(with apologies for the coming pun)

a tad cranky. Imagine trying to placate

a fussy baby when his crying sends

major body rushes up and down your spine,

crashing into your skull and vibrating

inside your brain. Imagine trying to hold

him against breasts hard as boulders

from all the milk left to ferment inside

and finally—blessedly—dry up completely,

leaving your boobs a whole cup size

smaller than before you got pregnant.

Imagine, when the idea of food

makes you want to retch, trying

to deal with mostly-digested

baby formula, big green glops,

smeared on a butt (even if it is a pretty

cute baby butt), all yours to clean.

Imagine trying to play This Little Piggy

when what you really want is to hook up

with a guy for a great night of smoking

and “touch me right there, please.”

Yeah, yeah, I know that—and exactly

that—is what got me into this predicament

to begin with. So no lectures. But hey,

if there’s a cute, available guy out there,

please, someone, please point him

in my direction.

My car is purring like a kitten

and wants to come home.

“So what’s the total?”

Fifteen hundred eighty

big ones. Will that be

cash, check, or charge?

Like who’s got fifteen

hundred in cash lying

around? “Um, check I guess.”

Mom will not be pleased,

even though she promised

she’d take care of it for me.

She’s not.
That’s a lot

of money, Kristina. How

are you going to repay us?

She won’t be pleased

about my answer, either.

God, just please, no

lectures! “I put in an

application at the Sev.

I should hear soon.”

She shakes her head

and I know that means:

What will people think?

“It’s not the worst thing,

Mom. At least it’s close.

I asked for swing shift,

but sometimes they start

you on graveyard.”

Grade E’s loser shift.

She tsks her tongue.
Who’d

have thought you’d end

up working there?

To a real conversation and,

fired up on twenty hours’ sleep

and a good strong whiff of quite

excellent glass, I feel like talking.

Does she really want to listen?

“I’ve got lots of time to put

my life back in order, Mom. I

want to, really I do. But I need

your help, and not just financially.

I want to make a good life for

Hunter, a good life for myself.

I want to stay close to my

family, but I also need the chance

to leave the nest. To do that,

I need an income. I need a job.”

Her jawline turns to stone.

What about college, Kristina?

A job is all well and fine. But

to continue the lifestyle you’re

used to, you need a career.

I want to scream. College?

Career? Lifestyle? No! I

need freedom—the freedom

to make my own choices.

The freedom to get high.

But I know screaming

is completely useless.

[Counterproductive.]

“You’re absolutely right,

Mom, and I will go to

college, enter a career I

love. But for now, going

to work at the 7-Eleven

seems like my best option.

Please support my decision.”

She goes to get her purse [check-

book] and I run to my room for

a quick hit off my well-loved

lightbulb. I stick my head all the way

out the window, thinking about—

you guessed it—Trey, the artisan

hundred-watt soft white refinisher.

I’m still thinking about the tilt

of his shoulders, the sexy lilt in

his voice, while we drive to the

garage and Mom pays the grease

monkey. She hands me my car keys.

Looks like Hunter is in La-La Land.

I’ll take him home. See you in a bit.

She’s cutting me loose? Now I’m

thinking she’s thinking she’d better

give me some room. She’s right.

I’ve been cooped up for far too

long. Time to spread my wings

and let the wind carry me somewhere

new. To someone new?

The LTD chortles and the radio

plays Def Leppard,
Pour some

sugar on me…I sing along, feeling

liberated despite everything. Okay,

I’m totally spun. And I plan to get

spunner, having brought along

my Trey souvenir and its glitter.

Glitter. Sugar. Ice. Glass. God!

I’m right where I want to be,

at least for now. I drive down

to the park on the river. Last time

I was here, Chase and I spent some time

getting buzzed and fooling around.

I wonder if he’s all right. I miss him.

He hasn’t sent me a letter in a while.

Of course, I didn’t answer the last

one. It was just too painful to think

about his new life in California.

I bet
he’s
got someone new.

Not that I want to know.

I’m not quite that masochistic.

There’s a chill in the air when

I open the window. I watch

the cool breeze toy with the willows

along the riverbank. Take several

slow hits. Climb to a fine elevation,

listening to my favorite radio station’s

new mix of classic rock and metal.

Everything changes eventually.

I know that’s true, but it’s hard

to wait sometimes. Sometimes

you just have to make things

happen. I’m making things happen

now. Whether they prove good or

bad simply remains to be seen.

I stop by the Sev to actually drop off

my application. (Okay, so I’ve only

really managed to fill it out. I’ve been

kind of busy the last week or so.)

Lucky me. The “big boss man”

is here, checking up on the day

crew. He looks me all up and down.

What can I do for you, young lady?

Okay, so he’s kind of creepy. But I

know how to plaster on a smile.

“Just dropping off this application.

I live right up the hill behind here.”

Always good for our employees to live

close by. No “traffic” excuses that way.

Those really piss me off.
Here comes

the drool. But I can play that game too.

“I can imagine. But no worries

here. The only excuses I ever give

have to do with my period.” OMG!

Bree has taken full-blown control.

Kevin is no match for her. He stops.

Stutters. Accepts the application

and suggests,
Let’s go into the back

office and discuss possibilities.

Bree and I trail him into

a big storage room, filled

with cartons and stuff. On

one table sits an old computer.

Sit right there, Kristina Snow.

I see you’re going to be eighteen

on Saturday?
He studies me like

a tough-to-crack textbook.

“That’s right. So I really need

to make some money to move

out on my own….” I debate telling

him about Hunter. Decide not to.

No employment history, I see. So, no

cash register experience?
He doesn’t

flinch at my blank stare.
Well, with

scanners it’s easy. You can make change?

Bree comes oozing out my pores.

“I can make just about anything,

Mr. Stewart. Change is a piece of pie.”

Now I remember why I loved her.

He leans toward me, close

enough so I can see the hairs in his

nose.
Cream pie’s my favorite.

What shift did you have in mind?

Is he offering me—Bree—days?

One way to find out. “Well, I’d like

days, but I know you have to pay

your dues, so whatever works….”

Now the drool fairly drips.
We’ll

see what we can do about those dues,

but you happen to be in luck. One of

our day-shift people quit today.

Unreal. The cretin
is
offering days.

And something else, too. I’ll have

to consider that carefully. He’s really,

truly nowhere close to my type!

He scoots his chair even closer to

mine, measures my [non] reaction.

When can you start? I’ll be happy

to come in and train you personally.

Oh, yeah. I just bet he will.

But what will he train me
in
?

I tell him about the upcoming

celebrations. “How’s Monday?”

The shift starts at seven
. He stands,

gestures for me to precede him back

to the front of the store. I can only

guess what he’s looking at from behind.