So, I said nothing about that. In fact, I said so very little about myself all night, afraid Billy’s mom might see between the lines and discover every dirty truth I tried to hide. Then, when it was time for me to leave, I thanked her repeatedly for dinner. She wrapped the rest of the meatloaf up and sent me home with it, insisting that I could stop by whenever I wanted, and then I wished for something else. Something I hadn’t wished for since I had been eight years old and in the middle of my one and only birthday party.
I wish she were my mom instead.
***
“Where the hell have you been?” Mom demanded angrily the second I walked through the door. She said it like she’d been waiting for me, like she gave a crap where I’d been.
But I knew better than to think wonderful things like that about my mother.
She didn’t care where I’d been.
She cared about nothing but herself and those stupid fucking pills.
I dropped my keys on the cluttered table. “Out.”
“I asked you where.”
My lips remained sealed as I opened the fridge and put the foil-covered meatloaf inside. Mom would probably eat it later, but that was okay. She needed it more than I did.
“Excuse me.” She got up abruptly from the couch and stomped into the kitchen, swaying a little as she moved. “I asked you where the hell you’ve been. And don’t you dare say school because you know who I ran into today?”
I grunted a reply as I pulled out the milk and then grabbed a glass from the drying rack—the same one I’d washed that morning; my mother couldn’t be bothered to wash dishes or put them away.
“Mrs. Henderson. Remember her? She told me she heard your teachers talking in the faculty room. They said they haven’t seen you at school in weeks. So, you tell me where you’ve been right now or—”
I slammed the glass down on the counter hard enough to make an audible sound, but not enough to break it. “Or what, Mom? What the hell are you gonna do to me?”
“Or you’ll be in deep shit—that’s what.”
Oh God, I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe she gave a fuck about me and would actually do something motherly. Ground me. Load my schedule with more chores than I could handle for the next week. Something! But I knew better, and still, I answered honestly … just in case.
“I’ve been working at the grocery store,” I told her, pouring the milk.
“And?”
I looked up from the glass to meet her accusing glare, my eyes narrowed with irritation. “And what?”
“What the hell else have you been up to? Because I know damn well you’re not spending all your time at the fucking grocery store, and if you’re not at school, you must be doing something else.”
She was right about that. But I wouldn’t tell her what exactly I was doing. Her wrath wasn’t worth it, and I needed the money.
We needed the money.
“I just hang out with the guys.”
“Bullshit,” she spat, snatching the milk carton from my hand and stuffing it back into the fridge. “I bet you’re out there, knocking some of those slutty girls up. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, Mom, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Little did she know, I was still a virgin. When the hell was I going to find the time to have sex when I was too busy making enough money to make sure I could keep the lights on between her thousands of lost and found jobs?
“Well, I know for a fact that you’re popping pills.”
Now, that got my attention.
“What?” I snapped, neglecting the glass of milk on the counter. “What are you talking about?”
She hurried for her purse, hidden among the piles of mail and oddities on the table. She pulled out the orange bottle I was all too familiar with and shook its contents in my face.
“Look familiar?” she accused snidely, and of course it did. I’d only been watching her shake that thing around since I had been old enough to use the potty by myself. “You’ve been taking them, haven’t you? Don’t think I don’t notice them missing, Soldier. I’m a fuck-up—I know it; I admit it. But don’t you fucking think for a second that I’m stupid because I’m not, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the fucking tree.”
I shook my head slowly. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh”—she snickered, tossing the bottle back into her bag—“I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a damn junkie, just like your old mom.”
“I am nothing like you, Mom.” It made my skin crawl, just thinking she could even accuse me of being anything like her. “And you know why?”
She squared her shoulders and looked up at me, like her skinny, bird-like five-foot-two frame had any chance of intimidating me at six foot five and a half. “Why?”
“Because I”—I jabbed a finger at my chest, making sure to hit the grocery store logo on my T-shirt—“keep the freakin’ lights on, Mom. And, hey, have you ever wondered why Mr. Purcell doesn’t ask for the rent when you forget?”
I didn’t give her the chance to reply. I snatched my glass of milk off the counter and stormed away toward my room, where I slammed the door behind me and flopped onto my unmade bed. Then, I read a chapter of the book I had been reading and listened as Mom microwaved something—probably the meatloaf Billy’s mom had made—and went to her own room. I waited fifteen minutes, ensuring she wasn’t coming out anytime soon, and then I tiptoed out to the kitchen, went into her bag, and restocked my inventory.
The weekend was coming, and we needed the cash.
***
Age Eighteen
“Hey, Soldier, you got something for me?”
“Maybe.” I slipped my arm from around the shoulders of Tammi, a girl I was getting used to calling mine. At least for the moment. “Do you have something for me?”
The Pit was crowded, but that was typical for a Saturday night in late spring. I led the kid who I knew to be a senior away from watchful eyes and let my hand drop to my side. He slipped a folded bill between my fingers. I looked down to see that it was a twenty and proceeded to produce two little pink pills from my pocket.
“You know the deal,” I said to him, keeping my voice low with a cool warning. “You don’t come back to me for at least a couple of weeks. And I’d better not catch you asking anybody else to buy for you. I have eyes all over this place. You understand me?”
It was a rule I stupidly believed would do some good. They could pop a pill, maybe share it with a friend, and have a good time, but that was it for a while. I figured if these kids weren’t coming to me constantly for a fix, they were less likely to become dependent on the shit—or so I told myself.
I guessed, deep down, I knew they were just going to someone else. I mean, there was always Levi Stratton—who had in recent years become something of a rival—and that creepy asshole he always hung out with, Seth. Neither of them had gone elsewhere since I’d started swiping Mom’s pills and selling them to my peers, so I knew business had to be worth it for them still. But … I dunno. I supposed I liked to think it at least wouldn’t be my fault if they got hooked, never stopping to realize that I was also holding their hand on the dark, filthy road to addiction and dependency.