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I locate the box, dig down for
the bottom batch. Let’s go!
insists Trey. But I want to make
this look real, so I go into Mom’s
bedroom, empty her jewelry box
and, for good measure, grab
the digital camera, too. Out the
door, no one the wiser. For now.
We even stop by the game. Fifth
inning, Jake has been replaced.
And we’re too wired for dinner.
Mom Can’t Have a Clue
About what we just did,
where we just came from.
But she definitely knows we’re high.
She gives Hunter to Scott, pulls me down
the steps, behind the bleachers.
Trey stays behind.
Mom puts her hands on my
cheeks, squeezes as she looks
into my eyes. I can imagine how they look.
God, Kristina. Look at you. If you keep
this up, you’re going to die.
Are you trying to die?
I can’t look that bad, can
I? [You can. Do. But play
the game. Deny.] “What do you mean?”
Concern becomes anger. You know what
I mean. Jesus. How stupid
do you think I am? I know
