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Mom says he wandered in late
to my baptism, dragging
Kristina along, both of them
wearing the stench of monster
sweat. Monster, meaning crystal
meth. They’d been up all night,
catching a monstrous buzz.
It wasn’t the first time
they’d partied together. That
was in Albuquerque, where dear
old Gramps lives, and where
Kristina met the guy who popped
her just-say-no-to-drugs cherry.
Our lives were never the same
again, Mom often says. That
was the beginning of six years
of hell. I’m not sure how we all
survived it. Thank God you were
born safe and sound. . . .
All my fingers, toes, and a fully
functional brain. Yadda, yadda . . .
Well, I am glad about the brain.
Except when Mom gives me
the old, What is up with you?
You’re a brilliant kid. Why do
you refuse to perform like one?
A C-plus in English? If you would
just apply yourself . . .
Yeah, yeah. Heard it before.
Apply myself? To what?
