Scars from a Memoir (7 page)

I'd lived with her, worked the streets with her; we'd gone through withdrawal together. I'd recognize her anywhere. The only time I'd seen her look worse was when Richard, our old dealer and the man who raped me, had beaten the shit out of her and put her in the hospital.

“Who's askin’?”

“It's me.” She didn't say anything. “It's Nicole.”

“What the hell do you want?”

When Dustin and I had left rehab, we'd moved into Sunshine's hotel and he'd supplied her with dope and needles. But that ended as soon as he and I moved to Dorchester, and I hadn't run into her since.

“You look a little out of it,” I said. “You OK?”

“I'd be a whole lot better if you'd stop talking and give me some dope.”

Tiffany kneeled down next to me and put her hand on Sunshine's leg. “Why don't you let us take you to the shelter so you don't have to sleep on the street?”

“Who the hell is she?” Sunshine asked.

“You can trust her; she's one of us,” I said.

Sunshine looked me over, from my hair to my shoes, and then snatched my hand. “Look at you all clean and mighty now.” She stared at my fingernails. They were cut short and painted in light pink polish; they had once been dirty and broken like hers. “Don't matter, though, you still ain't no better than me.”

There was nothing else we could do. The shelter would probably be full at this hour, and I couldn't bring a user to our apartment. The dollar I'd given her was resting on top of her sign. I would never give her money for drugs, but it was enough to buy her a cheeseburger.

“Let's go,” I said to Tiffany.

Just as I was pulling my hand out of Sunshine's grip, she latched onto my arm and yanked me into her lap. “I need heroin,” she cried, dragging out the
n
’s. “Nicole, I need a nod. Help me get a goddamn fix.”

I knew exactly how she felt. Her stomach was churning, wanting to spill. Her muscles ached like she had the flu. The visions in her head were so real she could close her eyes and taste the powder on her tongue.

There was a moment in my life when I had actually felt thankful I'd met this woman. She had helped me out when I'd run out of money and had given me a place to live.

I wrapped my arms around her and cradled her against my chest.

“It hurts,” she sobbed.

Her tears leaked through my shirt. They were hot, but her skin was cold and clammy.

“I know it does.”

“You remember when we were shittin’ all over my room from being dope sick? And you were telling me how you wanted to die?” she asked. “That's gonna happen to me real soon if you don't give me enough money for a taste.”

“Nicole, don't fall for it,” Tiffany said.

I gave her frail body a squeeze and kissed her forehead. “Take care of yourself, Sunshine.”

“Screw you, then,” Sunshine yelled as we walked away. “Think you're better than me now that you're clean? You're gonna fall, Nicole. You'll be here soon, and don't come askin’ for my help.”

When we got to the end of the block, waiting for the cross signal, Tiffany put her hand on my shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done to help her.”

I nodded.

“Doesn't make you feel any better, though, does it?” she asked.

“If I relapsed, I'd be sharing a doorway with her.”

Tiffany stayed completely silent.

*   *   *

I called Asher when I got home and told him what happened—how I'd met Sunshine all those years ago and worked the streets with her. He never interrupted me, but when I finished, he was still quiet on the other end. Had I said too much?

“You're incredible.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Sunshine could have been a trigger, but you were strong and you didn't enable her. You did the right thing, and it must feel so good.”

I'd just told him I'd lived in a crack house hotel with Sunshine and prostituted to pay for my heroin. I wasn't the one who was incredible. But I couldn't get Sunshine's look—the spit that flew from her toothless mouth and her pleading eyes when she begged for dope—out of my head. “It never feels good to see someone you care about in that much pain,” I said. “But I know I did the right thing. Even if I tried to get her help, she wouldn't take it.”

“It's hard to believe someone would turn down a chance at getting sober.”

“Believe it. I turned it down so many times.”

“Why are you sober now?” he asked.

I got off my bed and went over to the window. The sky was clear and full of stars. I didn't know where people went when they died, but I hoped Michael was one of those little bursts of white. “Sobriety feels better than heroin,” I said.

-7-

ASHER AND I MET ALMOST EVERY NIGHT for a walk. He'd pick me up either at work or at my apartment after a meeting. Tiffany hadn't said anything to me about going out since the night of Asher's party. I wanted to believe that was because she thought I could handle it, but in reality, Tiffany was too busy with her summer term and Professor Allen to care. They'd been dating for a few weeks, and when I saw her at curfew—the only time we were both home—he was all she talked about.

Being outside with Asher meant fewer distractions. No TV, no stereo; all we had was our own words. And Asher had lots of them. He would read me short stories he'd written for school; some he'd gotten published. He was working on a book, but he didn't talk about it much. He wanted me to be surprised when I read it. Since his graduation a few weeks ago, he'd been debating whether to take a semester off to finish the book or go to one of the grad schools he'd been accepted to. I never told him what I thought he should do. His passion was writing, and he was good at it. A master's degree would only make him better, but all the schools were on the west coast. I knew it was selfish of me to want him to stay in Boston. I didn't care.

I still hadn't been back to his apartment, and he never pressured me to. But there was so much more I wanted to know about Asher: the walls he stared at when we talked on the phone, the color of his sheets. And was his smell from an aftershave he kept in the medicine cabinet or cologne on his dresser?

Asher told me Nadal spent the weekends at Tyme's, so I sent him a text during my lunch break and asked if he wanted to hang at his place tonight. His reply said to come hungry.

“Texting your boy, huh?” Sada asked, smiling over my shoulder.

I laughed. “Get out of here.”

It was better to keep things light with Sada. She never asked a lot of questions, but I didn't want her to start. My feelings for Asher weren't to be shared. She had been nagging us to go on a double date with her and Roger, her new boyfriend. I changed the subject whenever she brought it up. I didn't need to hear her voice outside of work; she talked enough during our eight-hour shifts.

“You and Asher,” she said, pulling out her lip gloss to apply another layer, “are totally scrumptious together.”

“We're just friends.”

“Does Asher know that? The only time I see that boy anymore is when he's picking you up.”

“You should talk; Roger's been keeping you pretty tied up.”

“Oh, love, he has.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “With handcuffs and scarves, and—”

“I get the point.”

She puckered her lips and strutted to the counter.

*   *   *

I went home after work to shower, but none of my roommates were there. Each of us had changed so much since my first week at sober living. Kathy and Ashley were either out with friends or sleeping. Diem hung out with the girls she worked with and was doing a summer term at Boston University. The only time I saw any of my roomies was at meetings and curfew. We would always be there for each other whenever it was needed, but in our own way, we had learned how to live again.

I put on a strapless sundress and belt that I'd gotten at Diem's boutique. Asher never commented on what I was wearing, which was usually my work clothes, but tonight I wanted to feel pretty. The dress showed off my waist, and Tiffany's cardigan hid my arms. I didn't want to appear too overdone, so I covered my lashes with a thin layer of mascara and swiped gloss across my lips.

While I was walking through the kitchen, the phone rang, and I stopped to answer it. “Hello?” When no one replied, I checked the caller ID and “Unknown” showed across the screen. “Hello?” I repeated.

“Have you missed me?”

Dustin?

I hadn't heard his voice in so long; it caused my skin to prickle. His breathing filled the silence. I closed my eyes and could almost feel it on my neck—his smell, the chunk of flesh missing from his nose. It was all too clear.

“How did you get my phone number?”

I also wanted to know where he'd gotten the money for a cell with an unlisted number. Cell phones were smuggled into prison the same way drugs were, but it was really expensive to get a number that couldn't be traced. But Dustin was never one to answer questions—and plus, I knew he had ways of getting money.

He let out a tiny moan. “I need to hear you say you miss me.”

“Is that why you called?”

“My friend who paid you a visit said you became breathless when he mentioned my name.”

“Did he tell you he got his ass kicked, too?”

“Baby, tell me you love me. Tell me you dream about my tongue—”

“I'm going to hang up if you don't tell me what you want.”

Dustin's friend hadn't delivered a strong enough message to get me to help him out. Reminding me of his tongue wasn't going to persuade me either. The only thing I missed was his heroin.

“I need you to disappear if you're asked to testify.”

“I'm the state's main witness; if I don't show up and give my testimony, you'll probably get out of jail.”

“Exactly.”

“Why would I want to do that for you?”

“Don't you want to be with me again?”

“I have to go,” I said, my finger hovering over the button.

“Do this for me, baby. I don't deserve twenty-five years in jail.”

“Good-bye, Dustin.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You're not taking me seriously. You should be.”

“There's nothing I need from you, so I don't have to listen to you anymore.”

He was silent for a minute. “When you close your eyes, you can still feel me touching your body. No one has made you feel as good as I have. Baby, let me make you feel that way again.”

“I…I'm done listening to this.”

As I was hanging up, he said, “Just think about it.”

There was nothing to think about; I was done with that life. I wasn't going to help him get out of jail by failing to appear in court. I could get in serious trouble for that. He deserved to be in there—even more than I had. For the five years I'd been a junkie, I hadn't made any right decisions. I wasn't that girl anymore, and nothing Dustin said was going to bring her back.

*   *   *

On the way to the train station, a pair of ratty sneakers stuck out of the storefront where Sunshine had been. As I got closer, the gray blanket came into view, and then her cardboard sign.

I reached for my wallet and handed her a dollar.

“I need a hell of a lot more than that,” she said.

She was more awake than before, and her eye looked a little better. It was no longer swollen, and there was only a small line of black under her lid.

“That's all you're getting; just enough for a cheeseburger,” I said.

“You know I ain't gonna buy no cheeseburger.”

“You look like you could use one.”

“I could use a bundle of dope and a new rig. You got that for me in that little purse of yours?”

“The contents of my purse are much different than they were when I lived with you.” I paused. “You be careful out here.”

“Nicole,” she yelled, and I turned around. “Is it hard? You know, not being on the needle anymore?”

“It's harder than being on the needle.”

She swiped the air with her hand. “Ain't for me, then.”

“But I know you don't want to keep living like this. I didn't.”

She answered with her eyes.

“I can help you,” I said.

“I ain't going to no rehab.”

“You know how bad I was, and I did it. You can do it, too.” She didn't respond. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Sunshine had been in the game for so long that heroin had made her stop believing she deserved any better. I'd been out of the game
for months, and I still wasn't sure I did, either. Was sobriety my savior? That answer wasn't clear yet. What I did know was that dope teased and begged, asking Sunshine to chase its high. The one she got when she injected for the first time or after she took a long break, the one that gave her body the most intense feeling it'd ever had. But no matter how much dope she shot after that, she'd never get that high again. At least not from drugs. I just hoped I could convince her to chase life instead of drugs before she took the shot that killed her.

*   *   *

Asher buzzed me in and met me in the hallway. His hands gripped my waist and he went to kiss my cheek, but I moved my face so he landed on my mouth. The peck was soft like his lips.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

Asher's words were so different from Dustin's. But Dustin was right: no one made me feel the way he had. And sometimes all it had taken was a glance in my direction or his hand on my thigh.

He led me into his apartment; the lights were dimmed and the table was set.

“Do I smell lasagna?” I asked.

He pulled out a chair for me. “Didn't you say it was your favorite?”

I noticed a bowl of salad and a plate of garlic bread on the table. “Did you make all this?”

He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a pan of lasagna. He wasn't using potholders and almost dropped it on the way to the table. “I got the recipe from the Internet,” he said. He cut a piece and put it on my plate. The sauce was watery, and the top noodle slid off the stack.

Other than my father and Michael, no guy had ever cooked for me. None of them would have known my favorite foods either. Dustin didn't need to; his heroin had filled me.

Asher tried to fix the noodle, but the cheese fell off, too. “Nadal usually does the cooking.” He grinned bashfully.

I put my hand on his arm. “It's perfect.” I waited for him to plop a piece on his plate and take a seat. “I really appreciate you doing this for me.”