Chapter 1
I woke in my bed with my mother standing over me. She looked concerned.
Something was wrong.
The last time I saw any semblance of concern on her face was when Olga dropped out of college. Even then, it was like it didn't completely register with her.
"Honey, you can't keep getting hurt like this, you really need to watch where you're going."
"Where I'm going? What are you talking about?"
"You don't remember? You fell down that stairs again. You can't keep doing that we can't always afford to take you to the hospital."
Really? Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you?
"You look confused. I'll let you rest."
"Confused? I remember exactly what ahppened!"
"No you don't honey you hit your head. Maybe you had a bad dream?"
It was then that I knew why she was concerned. I could see it in her face. It wasn't concern, it was cowardice. She wan't concerned about me, she was afraid.
"That's it." I choked back my tears and did the same thing I always do. I turned my pain into anger. Anger is a much easier emotion to process. It also happenes to be the only one my parents really understand. "I can't take this anymore. What did I do to deserve this? Am I really such a horrible daughter? Even if I was a total bitch to you all the time, I'm a kid! No child, no matter how much hell they give their parents, deserves this."
My mother laughed. "Did you ever consider taking respinsability for your actions?"
I looked at her in utter disbelief. My pill-popping drunk-ass mother was trying to lecture me. I don't know what it must be like to have children, but I do know one thing: If anyone ever laid a finger on my child I would give them an old-fashioned ice-pick labotomy.
My mother never fought for me. Nobody did. It was time I started fighting for myself.
"You know, you're right. I'm going to do just that, and I'll start by getting the hell out of here."
That night I stayed at Phoebe's like I do every time something like this happens. This time was different though. I was determined to never go back.
I had almost finished my Senior year of high-school. Since I was legally an adult there were was no more legal red tape for anything. I could just... go.
"What? Helga I thought you wanted to go to Haverhill? You can still accept their invitation."
"That hippy-dippy art school? What the fuck am I going nto do with an art degree? I don't even know if I want to go to college. I really need to work on me right now."
Phoebe scoffed. "Says the girl who still can't leave the house without at least a few valium. I'm tired of enabling you Helga." Phoebe's expression seemed to say "I'm sorry."
"I know it's not your fault, but you've known the facts for years now, and you still haven't gotten help. I know I don't know what it's like and all, but you have to see things from my perspective. If you hated your parents as much as you say you do you would have called social services years ago. But I know you never will. Not only do you still love your parents, but you're allowing youself to be a victim. A statistic. The Helga I know would never allow that."
"I-" I readied myself for an angry retort, but nothing came out. She was right. I had nothing to say to that. I felt my expression soften. "I know you're right. I just need to do what's best for me. I need to make it on my own. Ray always told me 'if you ever need a place to stay I can set you up in my apartment building'"
"You mean project."
"So what? It's a place to live."
"Helga, it's a place for whores and druggies. Burnouts who will never amount to anything."
"Then it's the perfect place for me."
Phoebe looked deeply saddened. Partly because I had such little faith in myself, and partly because she knew I was right. I did belong on Washington street with Ray and his crew.
"So you really have no furniture?" Ray was partly suprised and partly sad that he wouldn't get to show off his strength lifting stuff for me. "When you said tou were moving in I was expecting, you know, like boxes and stuff."
"I did bring some boxes."
"Bitch you got one trunk of books and a tiny box of clothes." We laughed. "I thought you white women were supposed ot have all kinds of shoes and shit. Like, coats and bags and all that."
I shook my head at him. "Have you ever seen me waring anything other than these nasty-ass sneakers and jeans? What, you thought I was rich or somethin?"
"Naw, it's just that, you know, even poor white women got nice clothes. That usually part of why they poor to begin with."
I laughed pretty hard at that. I immediately thought of Olga with her piles of shoes right next to her piles of bills.
I liked hearing Ray's perspective on stuff. He came from such a different world. Only, it wasn't too different because his parents were dead beats too. He started fending for himself around my age.
"Well, pretty soon you gonna be snappin necks and cashin checks just like me." He beamed. He was so pleased with himself to have his own little protege.
"Dude, Imma be like the karate kid of weed. You're gonna be so proud of me."
"Yeah yeah, just don't get too cocky. I can't have my new girl gettin blasted away on her first day."
Ray moved my box into the bedroom. Then, something rare happened. Ray was serious for a moment. "You know, I really respec your descision to work with me. For a girl out here you got one of two options, either deal, or... Well, you know." I don't know if black people can really blush, but I think Ray was blushing.
"Yeah yeah, we all know nobody would pay real money for a night with me." We laughed
I thought back to the first time I met Ray. I was looking for a type of weed that you had to get "on the bad side of town." I was pretty scared. Of course I never let my friends know that. I remember Harold giving me a pep talk before I went to meet the guy. Of course he was too chicken to go in himself. Looking back on it, it's pretty funny how good weed brings people together. He was actually being nice to me for once. "Remember, It only takes fourteen pounds of pressure to rip a guy's ear off."
"Yeah yeah you big baby. I'll be out in a minute, just calm yo tits."
I walked up to the front desk of this very apartment building. "Hi, I wanted to pick up a package?"
"Aw yeah yeah, you the chick Joey sent right?"
"Yeah."
"Aw, well a pretty lady like you deserves the best. I'll see what we got out back."
I sure hope he's actually talking about weed.
"Here we are." He brought out a small brown box that looked like it could be a package.
"Thank you." I said as I slipped a fifty into the tip jar.
I thought he was kind of cute. I knew he was older than me but I couldn't help but blush when he called me pretty. I continued buying from him for a few months. Sometimes I'd pick up bigger packages for my friends, and we'd have discrete ways of passing it. I alwyas picked up on it and was good at being dicrete. We got close to getting searched by the cops once, but I was able to smooth talk them away.
After that, Ray offerend me a job. "You know, there's an untapped market in Hillwood. All those upper-middle-class trust fund babies. Yuppies, soccer moms..."
"Yeah you'd be suprised with who smokes out there. I got high with my health teacher once."
From there on out we were partners. I never really sold that much, just to my friends. That's the best way to start out.
"You know, I think gramma might have an old couch lying around somewhere. I'll go see what we got." Ray lived with his grandma in the apartment on the first floor. She owned the building, and Ray took care of it. Ray ran the building in more ways than one. He supplied the tenants with electricity, water, heat, and drugs. If they didn't pay up, he'd take away each thing one at a time. He wasn't a normal gangster though. He rarely resorted to violence. He knew junkies like the back of his hand. He could get them to do anything. He had all the scum bags wrapped around his finger. He knew how their minds worked.
I hate junkies. I'm never really scared of the people I see in this neighborhood, but something baout those junkies just got to me. It's like watching an animal starve to death.
Only, they're not cute. They're pathetic. They scared me the most. How somebody could sink so low as to actually inject something into their veins was beyond me.
I will never stoop so low.
