So cold.

No one here.  All alone.  No one else at all.

Where are they?  Beth’s toys are gone.  And George’s bag.  The safe is open.

So he knows.  Or thinks he knows.

No lights.  No warmth.  No phone.  No love.

I could jump back in the lake and let myself sink to the bottom.

Or I could sleep and then decide what to do next.

George is trying this tough love shit with me and he can try all he wants, it’s not gonna work; next thing I’m sure he’s gonna try to keep me from seeing Beth. I’m not sure I wanna see her but I don’t want him thinking he can keep me from seeing her if I want to. Who the fuck does he think he is?

Shit, his old ass is now slumped against me breathing his stinking ass breath in my neck, sour ass breath, sour old man. Looking in my mouth, if I gave a shit I’d make him give me some free dental visits but I don’t give a shit. This oxy is nice, but I need to fly like I do with the meth. I gotta get this mutherfucker to give me some damn money.

“Come on baby, that was good. Don’t you wanna give me something for all this good stuff.”

“Yeah, you right little lady that was some good stuff, but I already gave you the oxy now so we bout even.”

“Oh, come on Wade, you know you gonna want some more…think of it as a down payment.”

Wade threw his head back and let out a cruel chuckle.

“A downpayment? On some pussy from a junkie. You must think I’m Bo Bo the fool.”

Rearranging his newly satisfied area and zipping up his pants.

“See you ’round honey pot.”

“Yeah see ya pops.”

I want to love George.  I wish I woulda never tried meth. Shit, I wish I could be the kind of mother to Beth that I want to be.

I look at myself and all I see is trash. Beth looks at me and it hurts because I know that when she looks at me she sees something good, something she loves. When I tried to get myself clean the last time the lady at the place said to turn the picture of Beth into feelings; that if I could just be how Beth feels about me then I could become who she needs me to be.

Well how about I just feel how to pull a million dollar bill outta my ass. These people are so full of shit. You wonder if they really believe what they say or if they just watching the clock, saying any old shit till the damn 50 minutes is up and they can get you outta the office  and go wash their hands. That’s what I think they do. Like the whole time I sitting there, she’s thinking what a piece of shit, I hope she doesn’t mess up my chair.

I always make sure I at least that I wash my hair, cause I know, even when I fucked up, that the difference between me with clean hair and not is a stringy mess who looks like the poster child for PWT. When I get cleaned up I look good. I know that–but that’s what got me into this shit in the first place. If I was fat with bad skin, George wouldn’t married me. He would’ve just taken me in like another stray but he wouldna tried to save me, make me be a wife and a mother and a member of the goddamn PTA.

When I’m clean, I’m countin’ the time, the hours, the days. I feel like Ima climb outta my skin. I have a drink at noon. I make myself wait till then, a respectable time to have a beer. If he was comin’ home for lunch, I’d try to hold off cause I didn’t want him asking about me drinkin in the middle of the day and what kind of example and blah, blah, blah. Beth was in the first grade thankfully so no more coming home half days. I feel like all I do, sober and not is count time.

It’s like when I’m on stage at the club and I’m doing my thing, grinding up and down on the pole, I’m countin. I figure I do six dips, five rounds, four spins a few shimmies and then I’m done. Sometimes I hold my breath cause the beer sink is so strong I feel like I might just wretch right there on the platform. That would be some shit; DaShawn would have a damn baby cow if I did that and he’d try to beat the shit outta me, not that he has ever put his hands on me, but I think that would push him right over. He’s a tense motherfucker, that one.