<\/p>\n
Greg was on the bed behind me, twitching and snoring like a dreaming dog. I was trapped with him. My mother had come back from her trip early and was sleeping downstairs. He couldn\u2019t leave. If she saw him, it would be over. I would be back on the street.<\/p>\n
So I sat there, perched like a broken-winged bird, watching the clock tick. 3:33 AM. 3:34 AM. 3:35 AM.<\/p>\n
8:48 AM. My mother finally left. I\u2019d heard her getting ready for over an hour, taking her time. I went to the top of the stairs and watched her pull out of the driveway and fly down our suburban street towards Route 3 and her Midtown law office. She\u2019d be gone until late.<\/p>\n
I walked back into my bedroom slowly. I could hear his labored breathing. His leg stuck out from beneath the covers.<\/p>\n
\u201cWake up.\u201d I slapped his foot.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d he grumbled out, rolling over and looking up at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy mom went to the store; she\u2019ll be back soon and she\u2019ll come up here.\u201d The lies filled my mouth as naturally as saliva. \u201cIf she catches you, I\u2019m going to get kicked out again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, then you can just come live with me.\u201d He sat up, leaning back on his elbows and grinning.<\/p>\n
I thought about what it would feel like to knock every tooth out of his ugly little mouth with a hammer. \u201cI wish,\u201d I smiled. \u201cBut for right now, you gotta go.\u201d<\/p>\n
He kept talking as he got dressed — but I didn\u2019t listen. We walked downstairs and got to the front door before he turned around.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere, for you,\u201d he pulled something out of his bag.<\/p>\n
I looked down at it. \u201cI don\u2019t like crack.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s coke.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s crack.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes squinted and he grabbed my arm with force. \u201cWell if you don\u2019t fucking want it, you don\u2019t have to be a bitch about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry.\u201d I smiled quickly. \u201cI\u2019m just kidding.\u201d I pressed my hand into his chest gently. \u201cThank you. Very sweet of you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He let me go, grinning. \u201cYou\u2019re welcome, babe.\u201d He kissed me and left.<\/p>\n
I watched him walk away. He had a painfully inflexible stride, like his whole body was made of stone.<\/p>\n
Things looked odd, everything was off. My mind couldn\u2019t process the familiar sights of my mom\u2019s house. Fear cropped up beneath everything. My body started shaking, and I felt tears pooling in my eyes. I dug my nails into my palm. I felt my jagged pointer finger draw a little blood.<\/p>\n
I dumped the cookie of crack onto the dresser in the attic. Fuck him, and fuck his drugs. I\u2019m done. I sat on the bed, my hands rubbing the bruises on my neck. Fuck him. I was starting to shake. I knew I should sleep. But there it was. Staring at me from the dresser. It would be pointless to waste it.<\/p>\n
I was lost then, and shortly after my mother caught on. A tumultuous scene left me with only one option. As I walked to Greg\u2019s, I tried desperately to banish the events of that night from my mind; there was a much more pressing matter at hand.<\/p>\n
I could feel sobriety\u2019s cold hands beginning to close themselves around my throat.<\/p>\n
I stood on the pavement, clutching a duffle bag to my chest that held every possession I had left to my name, and built enough courage to go ring the bell. The house itself was beautiful; another proud castle sitting smugly in Montclair\u2019s estate section. I remember driving by it as a kid; the owners back then had a stable in the yard with a horse. My brothers and I would marvel at it, wondering exactly how and why they decided on such an extravagant pet. The thought brought tears to the corners of my eyes\u2014a story about someone else. Completely irrelevant to me.<\/p>\n
I forced myself to walk up and ring the bell. Thankfully, Greg answered, whisking me upstairs before I had to talk to anyone else.<\/p>\n
The current owners had converted the third story to a small apartment; two rooms conjoined by a narrow hallway. It felt entirely separate from the grandeur below; Rapunzel\u2019s uninspired hovel atop a beautiful tower. Despite this, Greg had expected me to be impressed when I first saw the house. I feigned bewilderment at the fortress he did not own, feeding his ego enough to keep him satisfied.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you have anything?\u201d I asked immediately, as we walked into his room.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have to go get more,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s seriously the first thing you\u2019re going to say to me?\u201d He growled back at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s just . . . My mom kicked me out.\u201d I sat at his desk, picking through wrung out cotton balls. \u201cI just don\u2019t want to think about it, okay. Why can\u2019t you understand that?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me angrily. \u201cYou can\u2019t just hang out with me without being completely off your ass?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! That\u2019s not it.\u201d Oh fuck. \u201cIt\u2019s just . . .\u201d I spluttered, \u201cbeen a really terrible day. I just want to be able to relax with you without having to be upset.\u201d I turned back to see his face contorted in anger. I stood up, throwing my arms around his neck and leaning my face into his shoulder. \u201cIt\u2019s not about you. Please.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFine.\u201d He pushed me back. \u201cI\u2019ll be back soon,\u201d he barked as he stomped away, hurling open the door with enough force to make the floor shiver. Bark. Yell. Hit. Admittedly, these levels could have a bit of erratic energy to them; but, at that point I could read them easily enough. Two rage levels away from me having to care.<\/p>\n
His heavy boots stumbled away down the stairs as his hand aggressively slapped the banister. I listened intently as the bam\/slap, bam\/slap, bam\/slap got fainter and farther away. The front door slammed shut.<\/p>\n
Safe now. For a few hours, probably. He would come back with enough rock to last us a day or two. His mood swings got worse when he was high, but dealing with his erratic anger was better than facing my current situation clear headed. It wasn\u2019t what I wanted, not really. Shooting crack is like escaping a serial killer: the rush is incredible, but it leaves the lingering feeling that the guy is eventually going to catch up.<\/p>\n
The opposite door creaked. My eyes jerked up to see a ghost standing in the frame. His skin was powdered cocaine, his eyes a messy stain, but his smile opened easily and animated his skeletal face with a spark of life.<\/p>\n
Oliver held up a pack of American Spirit Blacks. \u201cSmoke?\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled. A junkie doesn\u2019t offer you a free cigarette for no reason. \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n
He began walking down the stairs, and I followed him. He smuggled me outside past the border isolating the makeshift trap house upstairs from the sober world beneath. We crept through some manicured bushes to find ourselves on top of an old stone wall.<\/p>\n
He lit two cigarettes, took one from his mouth, and handed it to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo. You live here, now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYep.\u201d I guess he\u2019d seen my beat-up duffle on Greg\u2019s floor. I had been there only a few hours, but a hopeful half-truth beat telling him I was living nowhere.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you two dating?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbsolutely not.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed mildly. \u201cAlright.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him, wondering if he felt any loyalty to Greg. \u201cDo me a favor and don\u2019t tell him that, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. I usually do my best to avoid taunting cracked-out lunatics.\u201d<\/p>\n
Good. I leaned back, taking a long drag off my cigarette.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what are you doing here?\u201d Oliver asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess you could say I\u2019m in between places.\u201d<\/p>\n
His face sobered. \u201cOh.\u201d He took a drag of his cigarette and awkwardly evicted the smoke from his lungs. \u201cHow\u2019d that happen?\u201d<\/p>\n
I could have told him that my mother ordered cops to escort me off her property and screamed curses at them for refusing to arrest me. That I would have called a thousand people before showing up at Greg\u2019s door if my phone\u2019s service hadn\u2019t been disconnected. That, honestly, none of them would have answered. That not even a homeless shelter would take me because of the little cup they make you fill during your entrance interview. I could have said a lot, but instead I responded with the common denominator of it all: \u201cHeroin.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, sweet. Me too.\u201d He took another jerky drag of his American Spirit. \u201cI mean, not sweet, exactly. But cool. It\u2019s like we\u2019ve shipwrecked on the same shitty little island.\u201d His laugh became uneasy.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere must be shittier islands to get wrecked on.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhich ones?\u201d the ease returned to his smirk.<\/p>\n
\u201cOnes with lions and crocodiles.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPretty sure we have some of those.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled, taking another deep drag and savoring the smoke in my lungs. \u201cAre you two friends?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMe and Greg? Hard to say really.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow come?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just . . . I mean . . . how long are you staying?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shifted back and forth, taking a drag and letting the smoke squat in his lungs a while. \u201cJust be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m always careful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, it\u2019s not like these are unfamiliar waters for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can still drown in them. And don\u2019t forget about the crocodiles.\u201d He smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cAw, that\u2019s so cute. You\u2019re worried about me.\u201d I gave his arm a soft push.<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked away from me, up the empty street as if Greg might round the corner at any moment. I looked back to the house towering above us. Every part was perfectly constructed; the flawlessly manicured lawn, the overflowing window boxes, the perfectly maintained wood. The lights were all off, and it felt as if the house were asleep with the rest of the world. The only indication that this monument was not as pure as every other perfect little suburban home on the street were the lights shining boldly from the attic windows.<\/p>\n
My American Spirit had burned more than half way down before I started again.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think he wants you and me to be friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re not going to be friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you clearly like me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed. \u201cWhat makes you think that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOllie . . . You gave me a cigarette.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe I\u2019m just a generous guy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not.\u201d I smiled in a way I shouldn\u2019t have.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t do that.\u201d \u201cWhat am I doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
He shook his head. \u201cNot. Fucking. Careful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the worst he could do to me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I won\u2019t be alive to find out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou worry too much. He\u2019s not going to be back for another hour at least.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re fucking crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe.\u201d I gave him a crocodile smile; he was close enough now. \u201cHey. You should hook me up, while we wait.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me harder. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho cares?\u201d<\/p>\n
He rubbed his fingers up and down the butt of his cigarette, staring down at it as if it could counsel him on how to handle me. He took a long drag before flicking it into the street. \u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stood up as I clipped the last few drags and slipped my cigarette into a pocket. We crept back the same way we\u2019d come — feeling now more like home invaders than smugglers — and found our way into his small room at the top of the stairs. Greg\u2019s door still hung lazily open as I walked through Oliver\u2019s.<\/p>\n
Twenty minutes later I was laying on Oliver\u2019s floor, staring blankly into the ceiling. He was leaning against the bed and rubbing the crook of his arm through his sweatshirt. Slamming dope is like sitting on the bottom of the ocean. Some part of you knows that pretty soon you\u2019ll run out of air, but, for now, floating feels fantastic.<\/p>\n
His phone buzzed.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t let him get high,\u201d he read. \u201cWell, great.\u201d He dropped it back on the floor and readjusted himself against the bed, his eyes fluttering back to close like a final curtain.<\/p>\n
I looked at his empty face before pushing myself unsteadily to my hands and knees. I crawled across the hallway as if I was wading through warm milk, pulling myself up to sit heavily on Greg\u2019s bed. With glazed eyes, I smiled across the tiny hallway at Oliver slumped silently on the floor.<\/p>\n
Maybe this island could be pretty sweet after all.<\/p>\n
Then I heard it. Getting louder and closer.<\/p>\n
Bam\/slap, bam\/slap, bam\/slap.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n