The Cake is a Lie (26 page)

“
Look, my mom is very ill,
she’s probably dying. Hearing the news that her son has been doing
drugs might kill her. You can’t tell her, you really can’t.” She
told them anyways and I was enrolled into the outpatient
program.

The whole way home I kicked the back of
my mom’s chair violently. This would cause Allan to slam the car to
the side of the road and threaten to kick me out.

“
Your mom’s very ill, you
little punk. Her spine’s degenerating. She’s had a shoulder
replacement and she needs a hip replacement. What are you
thinking?”

When he’d start driving again I’d kick
both their seats even harder.

“
You’ll never understand.
You’ve never been as cool as I am. You’ve never walked into a party
with the most popular kids in your entire school. It’s the greatest
feeling in the world.”

I was the oldest kid in my outpatient
group. Most kids were in middle school, with snide looks implanted
on their faces and crazy fucking-up-with-a-purpose war stories. I
took the less-time-for-good-behavior approach and sneered at the
trouble makers. I never had any intention of quitting drugs, but I
retained a lot of the information. I still got kicked out. I wrote
a bunch of nasty things in my “journal” about the fat counselors.
How eating was an “addiction,” and sitting in front of the TV was
an “addiction.” How being a controlling B counselor was an
“addiction.” Everyone got kicked out eventually. By then my mom was
back in the hospital so no one said anything. The same night I got
kicked out I was right back to doing what I was doing.

Inside Desean’s car I could only
imagine the howling night wind roaring through the ferry terminal.
I was with two of Duncan’s friends, Marquis and Desean. They were
using the downtime on the ferry to start cutting up lines on a cd
case on the center console.

Shorecrest’s party scene was much more
gangster than the Shorewood’s. They used heavier slang and acted
harder. But the wannabes were always a step behind the drug trends
at Shorewood. My drug steez let me fit in with Duncan’s friends
without having to add a single “cop that,” or “stuntin” to my
vocabulary. Tactfully drop “being blown” enough in stories and
you’ll eventually get a mild mannered call from some g’s asking you
to “hook them up.”

I’d hooked them up that night, after
over charging them–and feeling damn good about it. I hung out with
Duncan and his friends every three weekends. It was the perfect
ratio. When my Shorewood friends annoyed me I just dipped out to
the Shorecrest scene for the weekend. I loved being able to switch
between the two “rival” groups. It was social genius stuff. That
night the big Shorecrest party was at a cabin across the
sound.

My spread eagle arms and legs took up
the empty backseat. While their ID’s busily went about the never
ending work of preparing the chunky flakes for inhalation, I got a
great idea for a joke. I leaned in and started sweet talking the
shiny powder.

“
Aw ya, you’re some dirty
coke aren’t ya? You want all up in my nasal don’t ya? Ya you do.
You want deep up in there.”

I got chuckles but then Marquis said a
little too seriously, “You a foo.”

The kinda-diss caused me to shoot
Marquis a mean look but I ran into Marquis’ even colder face. Man,
everything is always so serious with these guys, I thought. Why
don’t you make a joke, Marquis?

“
Oh come on, that’s funny.”
I had to use my bad-joke back off line. “Yo Desean, cut me up a
fatty.” I immediately commanded, to take everyone’s mind off the
whole thing.

“
Aight.” These kids thought
they knew about blow. He lined up a daunting gob.

I did it and then falling back in my
seat I put two peace signs up in the air and start waving them,
exclaiming, “I’m not a crook, I’m not a crook.” I didn’t even wait
to see that one land, cockily I turned out the window. They
laughed, but not hard enough. They didn’t even know who Richard
Nixon was. Avi would have gotten the brilliance of that joke. F-ing
douchebag.

I felt the familiar raw edginess of the
concoction rushing on. Then, watching one of the tied up lifebouy’s
thrashing in the wind, time froze, for a millisecond, it completely
froze. Dread hit me like a child in the pitch black. Detergent
bottles and big green yuck faces flashed across my mind. What did I
just put into my body? I was so unnerved that I dropped all
charades of being cool and grasped out for comfort.

“
Hey, you guy feel
alright?”

“
I don’t know, I feel kind
of sick. I’m gonna hold up on it for a minute.” Desean
answered.

“
I’m posted dawg,” Marquis
said defiantly.

I fell into dead silence, but my
thoughts were pounding. Desean is sick too, this is definitely some
bad coke. Oh god. I deserve this. Ok, it’s ok. How many times have
you been through these exact scary sensations on drugs? Coke only
lasts a half hour, that’s nothing compared to some of the bad trips
you’ve been through. But what if this is an overdose? Desean’s
sick, and I did twice as much as him. What if I’m dying? I can’t
call 911, I’d rather die than face the social disgrace.

By the time we reached the cabin I was
trembling like a tuning fork. All my senses were pointed inward as
we entered and began greeting people, I didn’t even say hi to
anyone. The kitchen was nice, 70’s appliances. I perched up on the
first open space on the counter top and silently resumed panicking.
The evidence was too great, the inexplicable sensation, how shitty
I felt, I was overdosing. I couldn’t call 911, I could only tough
it out. Duncan finally came over to me.

“
Yo Marky Mark, you alright?
You look sick. You wanna smoke a blunt?”

“
I’m not feeling well.” I
felt feverish, this is what it must feel like to die. I waved him
off. Duncan was busy, he was co-hosting the party and he was
already party OCD.

I’m so sick I don’t even feel like
smoking, I panicked. How sick do I look? Oh god.

I sat there, stuck, for an hour, until
some ghastly whim caused me to bolt for the deck. I needed some
last fresh air before I died. On the deck, my behavior caught some
people’s attention.

“
You okay, Marco? You’re
shaking? You want a cigarette? Someone get him some water.” I
didn’t respond, I just shook until they were all looking at me, my
arms frozen across my chest. The smothering crowd of concerned
faces caused me to flee again. I had to get away from
people.

I pushed through the crowd until one of
my nudges produced a halting bark, “You better step back bitch.” I
turned around to face Janae, Shorecrest’s Janae, Janae James, one
of the coolest girls at Shorecrest. She was surrounded by a circle
of her girlfriends. There was just something about that name. When
I was younger I was fascinated with this coincidence. The best
explanation I had was that parents who named their daughters Janae
around 1988 must have been more likely to foster those perfect
conditions that created super popular kids. But this type of
analysis didn’t register when I was in middle school, I’d settled
on the conclusion that Janaes were just meant to stand out, Marys
may never understand.

“
Excuse me,” I said. We’d
been introduced a half dozen times and there was still no hint of
recognition in her face.

Her bunched up nose and
eyebrows weren’t nearly as scary as they used to be. A memory hit
me from when I was a foot shorter, in 7
^th
grade, looking up
terrifyingly at her big hoop earrings as I’d stood next to Duncan
in a circle of Kellogg kids. Someone had asked her about a popular
boy she’d been flirting with. “I only date ballers,” She’d decreed
with a retarded squint. I’d trembled then.

“
Keep walking,” Janae
answered to my apology.

“
I only date ballers,” I
said back, softly. It’s funny the offhand things that end up
staying with you forever.

“
Huh?”

“
Nothing,” I smiled creepily
and scurried along. The run-in took my mind off my desperate
predicament for a few moments, but the terror rushed back as fast
as a thought. I scampered downstairs and crawled on top of a bunk
bed I found inside a dark bedroom.

God get me through this and I will
start volunteering at a homeless shelter, I promised. I sunk my
head into my hands until kaleidoscopes of light and perler bead
visions began tormenting me. A hint of green light from my pocket
flashed in the dark, I pulled out my phone, it red “home calling.”
I hadn’t given them an excuse for tonight, I’d just ignored their
calls. They’d called six times straight earlier.

I answered it, “Hi.” I started
scrambling something together. I’m sorry for not calling you
earlier, I thought this cabin party would be so cool, but it sucks.
I really regret coming.

“
Oh Marco… Hi honey, how are
you?” My mom’s voice doesn’t sound right.

“
I’m good mom… How are
you..?”

“
Well dear, I had something
important to call you about, but now I.. I.. I just can’t remember
it. How funny is that? What a thing?”

“
Oh, ok.” She got like this
sometimes because of her pain meds.

“
Oh, now I remember. The
remote. I can’t find the remote. Have you seen it?”

“
Did you check the cushions
mom?” She sounded preoccupied, I could imagine her at home in her
pajama once piece, hobbling and propping herself around our Purell
smelling living room searching for the remote.

“
Yes, I checked the cushons…
Oh Marco,” She paused to laugh at herself. “Here it is. It was
under my seat. Can you believe that?”

“
Funny mom. Glad you found
it. I gotta go, love you.”

“
Ok, love you my dear.” I
hung up the phone and reburied my head into the pillow.

Amidst the hundreds of thoughts jerking
at me a deep notion of life crossed my mind, disappearing before I
could wrap my head around it. Life’s like a filthy house? Like the
crack shack? A Mexican slum? Mushy? Something about garbage… Trying
to recall the train of thought that led me there made me feel
sickly dizzy like trying to solve a huge math equation. I spent the
rest of the night crashing in and out of sleep. Fluctuating between
resigning myself to die and mustering all my strength to keep
living.

The next morning wasn’t like after the
other bad trips, where I immediately felt somewhat better,
overjoyed to be given a second chance. There was no place for
celebration with this one. It took a month for the taint to ease,
to get back into a groove. That was the last time I ever snorted
anything. You couldn’t pay me enough to do it again.

With a week left in the school year
most of the seniors weren’t around campus anymore, their great
railing was as deserted as a ski resort in summer. A few of us had
gathered around the relic to try and recreate the magic. I was
doing my best Loren impression, leaning back into the air with my
feet tangled through the bars for support. The group assembled
around me was a travesty. My best friends had all dropped out. The
railing was now a hodge-podge circle of skaters and sophomore
hard-druggies. Sophomores!

The nerve on these kids, I thought.
They’re not even saying anything, they’re just standing around
nervously. I wasn’t saying anything either, I never had anything to
talk about with the skaters. Did you guys see that hot new skate
video?

While I was contemplating the
possibility of a whole year of this, a 300 dollar blonde hairdo
entered the courtyard. Casey something, a senior who transferred
last year. When I saw her around campus it never felt right. She
was acquaintances with the most popular kids, but even amongst them
she stood out like a whale in a fish tank. Her hair was just too
nice, her clothes too mature, she looked like a 24 year old. It was
why I never bothered to learn her last name.

Casey was walking directly at us. Is
she coming over to us? Why is she alone?

As she got closer I lost track of her
in my peripheral vision. Then I felt a hand crawl up around my
back.

“
Hey big boys.”

I didn’t even look over my shoulder, I
could tell by the stone look on a skater, Ross’ face, it was
her.

“
We were just talking about
skipping 5
^th
to blow a blunt,” Ross lied invitingly. “What’s up with
you?”

“
Oh I’m good, I’m just
walking and talking.” While I tensed up like a statue her finger
started making circles around the back of my shoulder. Something
was clearly up, but I didn’t stop her. I wasn’t going to feel her
up back, but I wasn’t not going to stop her.

“
You smell nice,” Casey said
with what I assumed was sarcasm because I just smoked a
cigarette.

“
Are you going to
5
^th
?” I
asked, finally turning to her. Her well-trained eyes responded
attentively.

“
I need to go to my academic
advisor, but I’m lost.”

“
It’s by the office.” Ross
pointed down the hall.