“Hey, how much longer?”
“See that white house over there… on the right? That’s my house.” They pulled into the driveway. “Relax, we’re here, we’re here.”
Yeah, shit, you relax with these little candies in your hand, motherfucker, she thought, you fucking relax. She was turning into a fiend, a monster, someone he had not recognized in that dark bar.
She jumped out of the truck and waited for him at the door. “Come on, man, I gotta pee, please hurry.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t make so much noise. It’s late. The neighbors-”
“You wanna fucking commotion? You wanna see what a commotion really is?” she said loudly.
He got the picture, hurried and unlocked the door, switched on the light.
She slipped in. “Where’s your toilet?”
“Straight ahead, straight ahead. You’ll see the door.”
Just take the damn stuff and then I’m going to get you out of here, he thought. I promise, Jesus, get me out of this one and I’ll never do it again, never, promise.
She came out of the bathroom rather quickly. He didn’t even hear the toilet flush. “Do you have foil? Tin foil? I need some foil.”
“What for?”
“To smoke this stuff. Come on. Get the foil.”
“You smoke it? I thought you were supposed to snort that stuff?”
“Can you get the foil, please?”
He went to the kitchen. He wanted to find it, was desperate to find it, take it back to her, let her smoke her damn stuff, then get her the hell out of the house. He grabbed the box of foil and rushed back to the dining room where she was sitting at the table.
“Hey, get me a little plate, okay, like a coffee plate, you know, like for under a cup of coffee.”
He ran back to the kitchen, pulled a saucer out of the dishwasher, ran back to the dining room.
She opened her hand. The little plastic baggie was stuck to her palm. She peeled it off, struggled with the tiny seal, finally opened it, and carefully poured the two crystals onto the plate.
“Give me the foil.”
He handed her the box.
She reached for her purse, which she had set on the chair next to the one she was sitting in. Pulled out the switchblade.
He jumped back.
She giggled. “Hey, man, don’t worry. I’m just gonna break this shit up, man. What’d you think? I was gonna slice you up, man? C’mon, man. You’re silly, silly, real silly.” She stared at him, pressed the button, and the blade switched open. She broke one of the crystals in two-clink.
“Fuck the foil,” she said, and went back into her purse for her pack of cigarettes. She pushed the little piece of crystal that looked like rock salt into the tip of the cigarette. Lit up. Her eyes rolled back into her head. They were solid white for a while, almost pearlescent, almost beautiful.
“Take a hit,” she said. “Let me load it for you. Here. Look…”
“No, not really. Don’t do that. Thanks. You do it all.”
She pressed hard on the second piece to break it up into smaller bits, the blade flat on it this time, and when she did so, a few grains spilled off the plate onto the floor.
“Oh my God! What did I do? How much fell?” She pushed off the table and fell immediately to her hands and knees, touching the ground as if blind. Then she looked up at him suddenly, crazed, and asked, “Is somebody back there? Are the cops back there?”
Damnit, she’s wigging out, he thought. “No, there’s nobody back there. Promise.”
“Let’s go see.”
“Okay.” He took her to the back of the house, past the bathroom. Pulled her into both bedrooms. Showed her the closets. Pulled up the dust ruffle from around each bed. Made her look underneath. “See, no one’s in here. I promise. No one’s in here.”
“What about outside? They’re waiting outside, aren’t they, the police?”
“No,” he said loudly, almost yelling, exasperated. “Come and see for yourself.” He pulled the curtain aside, yanked up the blind. Nothing there. She saw. Just a backyard. Plain backyard. Not even a dog.
Then she looked at him, dazed, stoned, and slurred, “I thought your house was bigger, you know, being a banker and all.”
She turned away from him and started walking, slowly, headed back to the dining room, almost as if she were floating, sat down at the table, but in the chair opposite the one she’d been sitting in.
“So I can look back there,” she said, pointing to the back of the house. “Wanna make sure no one’s back there. You sure no one’s back there?”
He stared at her. Started hating her.
She smoked the rest of the crank. With every hit, her eyes rolled back into her head. Smoked it all except for two crystals still on the saucer.
He started wondering if she’d been casing the house, acting wasted, paranoid, looking for vulnerable places, entries, windows her gun-toting friend could break in through in the middle of the night, kill him. For what? he thought, my TV, my VCR, my computer, my DVD player, my poor, dead mother’s silver? He thought Johnny Boy might even be on his way over already, right now. He trembled, barely, but visibly now, visibly, at least to him-angry, truly afraid for his life. She puffed away.
“Positive,” he said. “You saw yourself. No one’s back there.”
He was now beginning to think that she was going to overdose. She’d smoked so much. It seemed too much. He’d never done it, but he knew what speed could do to a person. He’d seen the movies. Seen the special report on Nightline, “The Meth Crisis.” He imagined her heart pumping faster and faster, harder and harder, then stopping. Just like that. He closed his eyes. Should I call an ambulance? What’ll I do if she ODs? How do I explain it to the police? Jesus, help me, he thought.
“Haven’t you smoked enough of that stuff?”
She looked at him, one eye closed. “What? You pay for this shit?” Then she giggled, remembering that he had. “Just kidding, amigo, just kidding. Sit down with me.” Stoned. Wasted. Gone. Here. Come. “Sit right here, my sweet papaya. Close to me.” She patted her hand on the seat of the chair next to hers, then pulled another cigarette from her purse, pushed the last two pieces of rock into the tip.
He sat down.
She caressed the inside of his thigh, made her way up to his crotch. Smiled sweetly. Lit up.
“Oh, sweet little jewel,” she said.
“Why are you so quiet?” she asked him, coming out of her stupor, as she had done a few times during the ride to get her home, enough to let him know where to take her. Back to the same neighborhood they’d been the night before. He thought about dropping her off at a bus stop, dumping her. It would’ve been easy enough, she seemed so lifeless, wasted. But he couldn’t do it. He’d take her home even if it meant going back to that part of town. He’d take her home. Get rid of her. Anything to get rid of her.
“I’m tired, that’s all,” he answered. No interest in talking with her, angry, really angry now that the sun was out, now that it was light, now that he felt safe.
“Hey, don’t worry. I know lots of guys who can’t get it up sometimes. No big deal. Get some Viagra,” she said to him rather lucidly, giggling. This made him even angrier.
He pulled down the visor-the strong, early morning, South Texas sun blinding him. He could barely see where he was going. Even now, still a little drunk. In shock. Still nervous. Edgy. Knew he wouldn’t be all right until she was out of the truck. Away from him. His life. His home.
She nodded off again.
“Hey, wake up,” he said to her a few blocks later, shaking her rather severely, a little too hard. “You have to tell me where we’re going. Wake up. Don’t fall asleep.”
She opened her eyes slightly, dazed. “Where are we? Oh, yeah, up there. I see. Up there. Take a left on Zarzamora. Just up there. Yeah, right up there. Up there,” she repeated, pointing in no particular direction. “Yeah, one more block. Right here. Turn. Right there. Yeah, just right there on the left. Yeah, drop me off right there. That’s my momma’s house. She’s dead now. Dead. She left it to me. The house, that house, the white one with the red roof. Que pretty, right? Yeah, that one. Right here.”