The end is where we start from. (T.S.Eliot)

Epilogue

Hope spent one hundred days and nights in jail before her lawyer, Courtney Steinbecker, was able to get her removed from California State Correctional Facility permanently. Hope was able to get back to Philadelphia before her Uncle Tony passed on. She spent several weeks at her father's house in Philadelphia in the time leading up to her uncle's passing.

In his final days, Tommy played Let It Be for his brother on a record player in his room. He played the song time and time again. Tommy meant well but Tony once told him that he couldn't wait to get to hell so he didn't have to listen to mother Mary whispering words of wisdom anymore. Tommy continued to play the song.

Hope kissed her uncle’s pale forehead as he lay dead on the bed where Scotch had died. The cool sweat on his still warm forehead transferred to her lips.

“Christian arrived later that night and I know this is strange but I was afraid to kiss him because I wanted to keep that last piece of Uncle Tony with me. I didn’t want to pass him on to Christian. I wanted to hoard that last glimpse of Uncle Tony for myself. I loved that man so much.”

At the funeral Hope delivered the eulogy. There were eight people in attendance: Senior, Tommy, Penny, Rider, Christian, Hope, a pastor and a mortician.

There was a time when I thought it would be okay if I could just see him one more time. One more time is never enough. I'm not going to make a big production of this. It's not what he would have wanted. I just have a couple things I want to say.

Uncle Tony was a great man. He was a great uncle, brother, son, and we all loved him. We will all miss him. I wish he could have lived forever but that's what makes life so precious. We all just get a little plot of time here on earth so we must make the most of it. Love big and live hard. Uncle Tony did that. No one lived as hard as he did and he loved too. He loved Scotch and when he lost her he lost a piece of himself. I wasn't here for her funeral and I wasn't around to support him then, now I wish I had. I wish a lot of things today as we lay him to rest.

I understand that he can't live forever but I wish he could have lived long enough to meet my baby. I didn't even tell him I was pregnant because I didn't want him to think about what he would miss in death. My baby will miss out because he or she will live without a Great-Uncle Tony. I wish it didn’t have to be that way.

Our family lives and dies but this is not the end.

Tony was buried beside Scotch in the family cemetery. Tony's grave, alongside Rick's grave, was visible from Senior's bedroom window. Their ghosts were everywhere.

Hope gave birth to a baby boy the following spring. They named him Jude.

Gloria and Tommy (ex-UCLA Tommy) have now been dating for the past five years.

Lilia started dating the bassist from the New Hope Community Church band. She still works in an office and drives a Honda Civic.

Hope and Christian currently spend their summers in Philadelphia with their four-year old son, Jude, and their one year-old daughter, Grace. The family spends the rest of their time in their house in the Palisades. Hope splits her time between the Palisades and New Hope Ranch.

New Hope Ranch, purchased as a birthday gift and summer getaway, has been transformed into a rehabilitation facility for drug addicts. Hope works at the ranch on a casual basis, alongside a highly trained and qualified staff.

“I feel like I’m finally doing something good with my life,” said Hope, the founder of the Ranch. “I’ve been on the other side and I know how they feel and I know they can be better. I’ve came to peace with my past and they will too.”

She is clean¹. No one ever expected her to be clean and even her father, still addicted, is proud of her for cleaning up her act. She is reformed. She is a heroine.

“I have an amazing husband and two precious children. We have a great life.”

“Hope was never wholly good nor was she wholly bad,” said Christian. “No one is. Hope may have embraced a noxious path but it’s brought her here and she’s doing some really great things.”

“Everywhere she flew on the wings of life, she was propelled their by her ambition,” said feminist theorist and author, Audrey Hart.

She holds a notorious place in history. She leads a normal life.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The names, dates, and places have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.

1 The only thing not accounted for are the drugs confiscated from the luggage of new in-patients.

You can either be a victim of the world or an adventurer in search of treasure. It all depends on how you view your life. (Maria Eleven Minutes)

I keep having interviews and everyone wants to paint me as a victim but I was never the victim. If I was a man they would portray me as a villain or a tyrant. As a man I would be one face in a sea of faces of notorious bad guys polluting the world, but I'm a woman so I'm a victim.

I'm a product of my father, uncles, and all the other bad men that entered my life and took advantage of me. It's silly really but that's how they see it. There are petitions and protestors lobbying to get me out. Steinbecker even hired me a public relations person. It's all a joke though. I'm no victim. I never was and I never will be.

There are plenty of victims laying on the side of the path that I've beat for myself. Maybe the greatest casualty was me because here I am: imprisoned.

So if I had the opportunity to do it all again, would I? The truth is I don't know. There are places I remember all my life. Though some have changed, some forever, not for better. Some have gone and some remain. All these places have their moments with lovers and friends I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living. In my life I've loved them all. But of all these friends and lovers there is no one compares with you. And these memories lose their meaning when I think of love as something new. Though I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before I know I'll often stop and think about them. In my life, I love you more.

That's the story of my life. That's the difference between wrong and right. (Velvet Underground)

So that's my story. Here I am in jail. I'm a prisoner. I've done the bad and now I'm taking the fall. It has been the longest six weeks of my life and though Steinbecker keeps promising me she will get me out I don't know if I believe her. I believe in God and I believe in atonement and I guess that's what I'm doing.

I thought the hardest part would be being away from Christian. I told him I wanted a divorce. There's no point in him suffering for my sins but he objected. He is a great guy. I wonder what the people at New Hope Community Church must think of me now.

Christian isn't the hardest part though. I've survived without him before. Uncle Tony is dying. He doesn't have much time left and I'm trapped in here. I won't get to say goodbye before he dies. I love that man like a father. I want more than anything for him to live and since that isn't an option I want more than anything else to say goodbye.

Christian comes to visit nearly every day. He acts positive but I know it kills him. Lilia came by once. We're a world apart now though. She doesn't know what to say to me anymore and I don't have the energy to try.

Rider comes by every so often but he doesn't bring much sympathy. He watched this happen before. Our whole family has been here. He gave me a lifeline and I failed. I think he thinks I deserve this and maybe he is right.

Steinbecker is in every day sometimes more than once. For what I've been paying to keep her on retainer all these years she might as well be working her ass off to get me out. I'd very much like to be out of here.

I sleep as much as possible. I've never had my father’s insomnia but here it's different. Here my ability to sleep is magnified. I try to maintain a sleepy haze at all times. I break away from my dreams to see my visitors and that's about it. Even when I'm eating I'm dreaming. I dream of my past and all the shining moments that have come before and I dream of the future: of getting out and getting back to my life with Christian. Even just casual weekend visits to my father's house will be cherished when I get out, if they live until I get out, if I get out. God, I wish I could see Uncle Tony once more.

Things change and friends leave. And life doesn’t stop for anybody. (Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower)

My first thought was that Christian had gone dirty while I was gone but, of course, it was me. The look of disappointment in his eyes robbed my heart. They took me away from my new beginning and tacked another dirty chapter onto my old life.

I wasn't allowed to post bail. I was stuck there. I was a prisoner. Everything was dirty and cold and hard. Suddenly all the shit things I had done in my life were manifested into one location and I was made a prisoner of it. I was haunted by my past. Everywhere I went I saw the faces of Nicky, Miami, Martin, Joseph, the hippie, and all the unnamed faces with meth mouths.

Bigger women took my food and pushed me around. Suddenly mediocre didn't seem so bad. Once you get a glimpse of the other side of mediocre you would give anything to drive around a Honda Civic and pay a mortgage.

Tommy had set me up. He had been given a deal. He could get out early if handed me over. I was the kingpin of our operation. Tommy was just the fall guy. I still had the connections, means, and ambition to do it again: to do it bigger, to do it better. I was the dangerous one. Tommy was just a sidekick. I'm not sure when they figured that out. I wonder if anyone was impressed that I was the first female drug lord. No other woman had ever successfully run such a large drug operation. Hell, I must have been ruining a hundred lives a day. The repercussions of the drug empire were bad, I'll admit that, but the money that we drew in was outlandish. It didn't even make sense to me that one person could have so much money. Now I’m in jail. I guess that’s justice. I guess the system works.  

A friend is someone who understands why you like your strawberry sodas without any strawberries in them. (Charlie Brown)

The next day Gloria walked through the lobby with me as the staff lined the room and clapped and cheered at my dismissal. I smiled so widely my face hurt. I held Gloria's hand tightly and wished I could take her home with me.

She went as far as the open door and caught the smell of freedom on the other side. At the top of the stairs, I kissed Gloria on the cheek and ran down to embrace Christian leaning against his Jeep Renegade. I laughed as he spun me around.

“Of all the cars,” I laughed, “this is the one you take.”

“There's nothing wrong with this old jalopy.”

We drove all the way to the Palisades before the novelty of clean fresh freedom went sour. Police cars surrounded the house and someone yelled: “Freeze!”  

If there is ever a tomorrow when we are not together there is something you must always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think, but most important of all, even if we are apart, I'll always be with you. (Christopher Robin)

The night before I got released I spent some time down on the beach alone. I spoke with God. I thanked Him for his help and support and warned Him that I would need a lot more of it real soon. Little did I know that turned out to be a muted request.

Gloria came by.

“Tommy called for you.”

“My father?”

“No, the other one.”

“What did he want?”

“He didn't say but it sounded like something was wrong.”

I dismissed it. “That's not my problem anymore, that's not my life anymore.”

“I'm proud of you,” Gloria said. I was surprised. “I'm actually going to put an effort into this and I'm going to get out.”

“That's great.”

“I figure if you can do it anyone can.”

“Gee thanks.”

“So Tommy is like your old friend? What does that mean? Was he like your boyfriend?”

I laughed then flatly added, “No.”

“He seems nice.”

I laughed again. Then I realized what she was getting at and I laughed even more. “You're interested in Tommy?”

“Only if you've never been with him. I don't want to do everything you do.”

I hugged Gloria. I did that sort of thing now: affection, love, not a problem.

It's that wonderful old-fashioned idea that others come first and you come second. (Audrey Hepburn)

Selfless acts were one thing but a selfless joy, now that was groundbreaking. When Gloria's mother showed up on Sunday I was filled with a weird sensation. I was happy for her. I got no personal gratification but it was still such a great feeling. I sat there alone in the tea garden but I didn't feel alone: I felt happy. I was more aware of all the people around me now. I was starting to like people. It was strange.

Christian returned that Sunday too. I suppose I should have been apologetic or modest after our marital turbulence, but I was so excited about Gloria's happiness.

I forgot all the things that had happened and I gushed, “Look at them!” I pointed to Gloria. “Look how happy Gloria is!” I was nearly in tears I was so excited. “I did that. It wasn't all me of course, but I helped it along.” I beamed at Gloria beaming at her mother and I didn't see it then but Christian was beaming at me. It was a circle of goodness. It was a positive feedback loop. I liked the good feeling of being good.

I decided then that I did deserve Christian, that I was a Christian, and that I would be good.

I could see people now. Drugs ruined lives. I didn’t want to be involved in that negative force tearing people down. I didn’t want to be cuckolded in my own little corner of the world. I wanted to be part of the world. I wanted to embrace people, embrace life, embrace God and embrace goodness.

I liked the strange feeling of being good and clean. I wished it on others. If only my family could be good and clean. If only they knew what it felt like. It was better than being bad.

Uncle Tony was getting pretty sick and so my family didn't come to visit while I was locked away. I had planned a trip to visit them the week after I got out. I would buy my new plane first, no expense to be spared on account of my fourteen million dollar payday (not bad for a three and a half minute phone call).  

I'm driving blind. I'll lay it all on the line for you. (Bon Jovi)

When she was gone for a morning massage I made three phone calls.

The first started with 011 84 and it soon came back to haunt me.

The second was to Tommy. It was done and I was out for good. That was what I told him anyway.

The third was to Gloria's mother.

Maybe I should have been suspicious when I got more questions about the logistics of Gloria’s situation from her uninterested mother than I did from Tommy. Neurotic, anxious Tommy didn’t have two questions about our part in the largest heroin deal in world history.

There was a time when I would have questioned how easily fourteen billion dollars came to me and a time when I would have questioned Tommy's motives and demeanor. I was getting old, not in human years, but in drug dealer years. Your lifespan is shorter when you're a drug dealer so you age faster. You grow up fast, you get old fast, and I guess I was just getting lazy in my old age.  

Untie all the strings between you heart and mine. Unlove me. But do it real slow, so I don't have to lose you all at one time. (Julie Roberts)

“I can't do this,” I said. “I'm sorry.”

And I walked away. Maybe the only thing that mattered to him was me, maybe not. Either way he wasn't the only thing that mattered to me. I ran down to the beach and into the freezing water. I went out to my waist and let the cold cut into me. Each wave almost pulled me out with the undercurrent. I wondered if that would be so bad. I could think of worse ways to die. I loved the ocean and for it to peacefully take me away, well, that wouldn't be so bad.

God, what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to deal with this? God, help me. Help me. Help me.

I didn't even know what the problem was anymore but I was overwhelmed and overemotional and so lost, hurt, and pained. I wanted help. I wanted help in a big way and the only person who could help me now was God.

I turned, without making a conscious effort to do so, and waded back in to the shore. I sat on the beach, dripping wet and lightly sobbing. It was like I had just been on an outrageous high and my body was trembling in the aftershock.

I felt an arm around me and I whipped my head around to see Christian but he wasn't there.

“Are you okay?” Gloria asked.

I answered by collapsing into her. I lay my head in her lap and continuing my soft, slow sob. She stroked my hair and soothingly whispered, “Shh.”

It got dark and cold. I was shivering when we left the empty beach and walked up to the heroin house holding hands. Gloria was the best friend I had ever had. No one had ever been there for me like her and I decided to pick another “first selfless act”.  

Our sidestepping has become a brilliant dance where nobody leads at all. (Dashboard Confessional)

“My love for Christian was strange but it was real and it was meaningful. I always hoped my son would find that same passion for someone. I always hoped it would be someone who would be alive.” She laughed at that but I was too uncomfortable to laugh along with her. “I always hoped it would be someone who would treat him right and love him as much as he deserved to be loved.”

I nodded.

“Hope, what is going on with you two?”

I inhaled for so long I thought my lungs would burst. I let the air sit in my chest puffing my heart out as I spoke, “I'm no good for him. He deserves someone better.”

I exhaled. I had said it out loud. I had put the wheels of my first selfless act in motion.

She shook her head. “Hope, you deserve him.” It was strange to hear the words from her mouth. She must not really know much about me. “I came in here today to get mad at you. I came in here to tell you to smarten up, get clean, and make things right with Christian. I don't know what's going on with you two but I know he's miserable without you. He's been miserable since you came in here and he's even more miserable now. I don't know what happened but frankly I don't care. The only thing that matters to him is you and you need to get better and make it right.”

You're a prison I can't escape, you're a decision I never make. (Ben Harper)

The next week I waited in the tea garden but the only person who came was Christian's mother.

She sympathetically explained how he was at wit's end. All he wanted was me to be clean, safe and happy. I knew that. Then she told me something I didn't know.

“Do you know why I named him Christian?” she asked.

“You wanted him to be a Christian?”

“No,” she smiled, “but I did. I named him after his grandparents' son.”

“Oh right, I knew that.”

“But did you know why I named my Christian after their Christian?”

I shrugged. “Respect?”

“I loved him.”

“Their Christian? I thought he died before you met.”

“He did,” she confirmed. “I met him through his parents. I saw his pictures, watched his home movies, heard the stories of his life, read his journals and letters. I fell in love with him without ever meeting him. It sounds crazy, I know. I fell in love with a dead person. I've only ever told Christian and his grandparents. I suppose there was no one else to tell really.”

What was I supposed to say to that? I was drawing a blank.  

We accept the love we think we deserve. (Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower)

He left. I was standing alone like a fool in the middle of the tea garden. Maybe I would always be a drug dealer. Maybe I would always be a drug addict. Maybe I would be a lot of terrible things for the rest of my life but I liked to think of myself as a Christian. The title didn't really matter to me but the meaning behind it did. God meant a lot to me. In a world where not much made sense, God did. I admired Him, not only for His power, but for his compassion. He could move mountains but he cared about the most insignificant, even homeless and hooker (not just the ones depicted by Julia Roberts, he cared about the actual invisible people marginalized by society).

God was great. God is great. Everything changes but that stays constant. I love God. In that metaphysical Heavenly Father sort of way, church had become my father's house. Maybe it my father’s house wasn't Senior's house anymore. Maybe the home of my father, mother, and Uncle Tony, wasn’t my father’s house anymore. Maybe everything that was important to me was turned on its head.

Why couldn’t I be a heroin addict and a Christian? Why can’t a druggie respect their Creator? They can. At the height of my highs I still appreciated how Jesus came to die for my sins and all that. I mean really, who doesn’t sin? Who is righteous, that's what the Bible says: all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Sure, I fall shorter than most but what's the point? I know that you welcome God into your life and then you're supposed to be holy or at least try to be. I can still hear Christian's lecturing voice: How you treat your body is how you treat God's body. But honestly, I don't think drugs are all the bad for my body. I'm smart about it. I'm in control of my drug use. I would want God to experience the same highs that I do. He created Heaven and Earth; I think God has earned Himself a line or two.

Anyway, Christian was gone and words were expelled that couldn't be taken back.

Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending. (Maria Robinson)

Christian came while I was walking on the beach with Tommy. He wasn't impressed.

“What was that?” he accused.

“Nothing, we were just talking.”

“Whatever.” Christian actually started to storm away, leaving me standing alone like a fool in the middle of the tea garden.

I grabbed his arm and told him to wait.

“Nothing is ever going to change, is it? You're always going to be a drug dealer and you're always going to be a drug addict.”

“Christian, wait.”

“You can say my name but you'll never be a Christian.”

You cannot move forward if you are always thinking backwards. (Bathsheba Dailey)

“Honey,” she said, “You're not breaking up with your husband. As far as I can tell Christian is the only glimmer of hope in your otherwise desolate life. Forget drug dealing. Forget drugs. Forget all that shit. You know why people are in here? The first time I wound up here I had accidentally lit an entire bar full of people on fire. I had to choose between rehab and jail. I could be in here for the rest of my life and no one would care. I have no reason to be clean. I have no Christian. Honey, you don't even realize what you have. It's not the houses or the planes. You have a husband that loves you. You have a family that loves you. You have a life. Forget your past and all the terrible shit you did. That doesn't have to be your future.”

She was right. Yet when Tommy told me I needed to make one call. That was it. Just one call, one fourteen billion dollar call to a contact in Vietnam, I said, “Sure. But just one call.”

All I can think about is what she must be doing, and how I wish she were still here. (Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four)

Tommy was throwing me a line and I had to grab on. The person I had become was a stranger to me.

“What's wrong?” Gloria asked when I returned.

“Nothing.”

“What's wrong?” Gloria asked the next day.

“Nothing.”

“What's wrong?” Gloria asked that night.

I started to cry and I spilled everything. I chronicled for her my entire life story. I didn’t skip over any of the brutal bits. An hour must have passed, maybe more, as I crawled through the gory details.

By the end she was on my bed with me lying in her arms. Her response to all this was: “You should write a book.” It was as good advice as any.

“What kind of sick fool would want to read my story?” No offense.

Missing someone, they say, is self-centered. I self-center you more than ever. (Saša Stanišić)

The cool air rubbed roughly over me as I lay on the beach. My arms and legs were sprawled out like I had fallen from the cliff above. I felt like I had. What was I going to do now?

God, I know what I'm supposed to do. I do. I love you, God, and I want you to believe that you made the right choice when you brought Christian and me together. I want you to know that I appreciate that more than anything. I am eternally grateful. But God, I wonder if maybe it wasn't the right choice. 

Maybe there is a girl out there, a girl like Lilia, who is right for Christian. Maybe there's a girl who never ran a stop sign or stole a chocolate bar or killed a man. Maybe there's a girl out there who would make his life so much better than I do. 

He brings out the best in me but there is so little good in me to be brought out. I'm bad. It's in my blood. It's in my genes. I don't think my dilemma is whether or not I'm going to get involved in this deal, I think the dilemma is whether or not I can stay with Christian. He deserves better than me. I don't mean that in a self-deprecating way, I think I'm awesome. I just think, for once in my life, I might need to put my own wants aside and pray a real prayer: Lord, give me the strength to put Christian's needs over my own.

That was that. Christian would be a free man and I would be back in business. I missed myself. I missed the girl who was high and ambitious. I was going soft in here and with him. I scared myself sometimes when I was with Christian because I could just see my identity dissolving into his. I was losing myself to this man and at his essence that was all he was: a man.  

I'm nothing special really, just a kid who tried too hard. (Transit, You Can't Miss It)

“What's wrong with you?” asked Gloria.

“Nothing.”

“That's a lie.”

“I'm a junky, that's what we do best.”

“Wait, did you just admit you're a junky?”

“That's the first step toward recovery.”

“Oh, looking to get out for a little action with the new boyfriend?”

“Gloria!”

“Old boyfriend, whatever, let's not get hooked up on the semantics. I don't know if I'd ditch that smokin' husband of yours for this guy though. Christian is–”

I left.  

I would like to end with my favorite Mark Twain quote. "Don't you worry your pretty little mind. People throw rocks at things that shine and life makes love look hard." (Ellen Degeneres)

When I was alone in the bedroom I called Tommy. Actually I called reception and they connected me to Tommy. Just when I would forget where I was there was a stark reminder like monitored calls that shouted: “You're a prisoner!”

Tommy did something stupid. He told me he had made friends in the clink who offered him in on an opportunity of a lifetime: the biggest heroin transfer in the history of the world. It would be swimming through the American economy for the rest of our lives. Our grandchildren would shoot up this heroin. I had to pretend to be the disinterested recovering addict but I told him to come by next Sunday and we would talk.

I had a dilemma on my hands. I knew what was right and what was wrong now. I wasn't some stupid kid anymore. I knew the sorts of things that happened when I did shit like this. I knew better but I couldn't deny the euphoric feeling of adrenaline pumping through my veins just thinking about how exciting it would be. Either way, I had to get out.  

Gossip is called gossip because it's not always the truth. (Justin Timberlake)

Christian sat down with me at the same small circular glass top table we always sat at. “So who was that?”

“Someone from a long, long time ago.”

When I called Tommy the next week Gloria was all aflutter with the scandal of it all.

“But who is he?”

“Just a guy I used to know.”

“An ex-lover! How fabulous! So when he–”

“Goodbye, Gloria.”

“No, let me stay! They don't let us watch TV in here. I need a little drama.”

“Gloria...”

“Come on, this is as close as I'll get to watching a soap opera until I get out.”

“Goodbye, Gloria.”

“Fine,” she said as she trudged out.

It's the worst thing to fall in love with someone who will never stop disappointing you. (Emily Giffin, Something Borrowed)

Then he arrived. I didn't notice Christian until he was at the table, looming over us.

“Christian!” I was more startled than excited, like I was caught red-handed.

“Hi,” he said curiously.

I got up and hugged him mechanically under Tommy's critical gaze.

“This is Tommy,” I introduced and Tommy stood. Christian extended his hand and Tommy shook it as he accused, “And you must be the husband.”

Christian smiled and exhaled an almost tangible sense of relief. “I guess that's me.” He tucked his arm around my waist and I kissed his cheek. We were disgustingly in love but we were newlyweds; that’s how it was supposed to be.

“I should be going,” Tommy said.

“You don't have to,” I offered, but I didn't mean it. I only got a touch of time with Christian each week and I didn't want to spoil it with a visit from my past.

Tommy leaned across Christian and kissed my cheek. “It was nice to see you, Honey. We'll talk next week.”

I nodded and he left.  

It's like when someone dies, the initial stages of grief seem to be the worst. But in some ways, it's sadder as time goes by and you consider how much they've missed in your life. In the world. (Emily Giffin, Something Borrowed)

“So who is it you're waiting for?”

“My husband.”

“Husband?”

I smiled. “I'm married.”

“It isn't Joseph?”

“No.” I looked at the table. “He died.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn't know.”

“It's okay,” I said dejectedly.

“Do you– you know, want a hug or something?”

I looked up from the table and met his suddenly earnest eyes. I turned up the corner of my mouth, “You haven't changed.”

“Did you think I would?”

“I thought you had.”

He sighed, “I'm still just Tommy.”

Life's not black and white. Sometimes the ends justifies the means. (Emily Giffin, Something Borrowed)

“So to what do I owe this visit?”

“Is there somewhere we can go that's a little more private? To the beach maybe?”

“Sorry, I can't go.”

“You're not allowed to leave this fenced in area? This actually is jail.”

“I'm allowed – I just can't right now. I'm waiting for someone.”

“You mean aside from me? Who would be more important than your old friend, a friend who took a twenty-five year sentence for you?”

“How did you manage to get out so soon?”

“I made the warden my friend.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“The little lawyer you paid for is worth the money, I guess.”

“Is that why you're here?” I whispered, “For your money? I've put your share into a Swiss bank account. I have all the information written in my bible.”

He laughed, not his awkward little chuckling laugh like before, now his laugh escaped as a single boom: Ha!

“Oh, you're serious,” he realized.

“I'll get the information to you. I'll call you later this week.”

He asked the woman behind him if he could borrow a pen. She instantly lost interest in the haggard man beside her and I could see the flicker in her eyes as she passed him a pen. He didn't notice. He took the pen and wrote his number on a napkin for me. He passed the pen back to her.

No matter what's changed there are some things that remain. (Hollie Seals)

Rehabilitation programs were my new obsession. It was the new flying. I missed my plane as much as I missed Christian, well, maybe not quite as much but nearly as much. I decided my gift to myself for getting out of this prison would be a new plane, a real jet plane equipped with luxury seating and a little bar. Then I wondered if I was still allowed to drink after rehab. I figured I would be, after all drinking was never my problem. The only addiction I ever really had was my addiction to power and that was just a repercussion of my blinding ambition.

A strange thing happened one Sunday while I waited alone in the tea garden for Christian: Tommy showed up. Not my father but the other Tommy, remember him? The ex-UCLA guy, he was my former partner in crime.

Tommy smiled and waved as he entered the garden. He walked up to me casually and sat down as if we were back at that apartment we had shared when we were partners. My God, that felt like a lifetime ago. Had it only been a couple years ago?

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Why hello Tommy, how have you been? Oh I've been great, Honey, enjoying my time on the California State Correctional Men's Football Team. And yourself?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I'm just confused, I guess. I didn't know you were out.”

“It's new.”

I smiled. He was half-funny. He looked different now though: not quite so skinny and he looked, I don't know, darker maybe. Yes, that was just the word for it: darker. He might have become uglier too. He was never attractive per se but he definitely wasn't now. He had a little mystery though. Troubled girls would be all over him. Coming to visit me had the potential to fill up his black book, if he had one. It was an oasis of troubled women.

Eagles don't flock. You have to find them one at a time. (Ross Perot)

I took an interest in the program. In fact, I took an interest in every program in existence, no matter how experimental. It was actually the ones that didn't work that I found most interesting.

Appease me for a moment: There was a program in the mountains of Colorado where they put four junkies in a shack in the winter of 1959 with food rations to last for four months. Their Sherpa was a trained psychiatrist. He was killed. One person froze to death. Two of them returned to their drug addicted lives. The remaining person is still in jail. These are the wild sort of programs people employ to try to shock addicts into a normal life. It's crazy.

My lifestyle changed in the house that week. While I slacked off with Gloria, I read. I read textbooks borrowed from psychiatrists, I read biographies of drug addicts, and one evening I dragged Gloria to the screening of My Life, My Addiction in the living room with the addicts. People cried. It was an interesting reaction, I thought. Maybe if I had been a true addict who screwed my life up like that I would have felt compelled to cry too. I had screwed up a lot of lives but when had I actually suffered? The lowest points in my life were detoxing.

I started to be more objective in my therapy sessions. There was a certain element of control and dominance in her position. I saw what she was trying to do but I wasn't buying it. I could tell by her reaction that other patients reacted differently than I did.

The week after that I went to the group sessions, sans Gloria, and just watched. It was fascinating to see how it all transpired. The moderators had total control of these helpless sluggish vulnerable excuses for human beings. Now that was something I could respect.

Don't accept that others know you better than yourself. (James Allen)

The next Sunday Lilia came with Christian. Gloria still got no visitors but she did manage to ruin my visit.

“Sorry.”

“For what? Gloria, what did you do?”

“Nothing. I mean the hubby and the new girl – that has to hurt.”

“What?” I laughed. “Lilia? I don't think so.”

“Why not? If you can see pass that nose, she's a pretty girl.”

“She's Lilia. She's mediocre. She works in an office. She drives a Honda. The most fun moments of her life have been occurred in her imagination. She has no ambition. She doesn't take risks.”

“She isn't in here.”

That was true.

“She seemed nice. Maybe he's interested in that sort of girl.”

“Then why did he marry me?”

“He didn't know there were nice sober girls like that out there.” She could see that I was upset. “Honey, I'm just kidding with you. I'm sure he loves you.”

“I could never be her.”

“Who? Lilia?”

I nodded. “Even if that was what he wanted, it could never be me. I could never be ordinary.”

She laughed, “Someone thinks highly of themselves.”

“I'm not saying I'm great, necessarily. All I'm saying is that I could never be content with being so ordinary. Get up, go to work, come home, eat, watch TV, sleep, repeat: repeat for the rest of my existence. No thank you.”

“But Christian seems like a pretty average guy.”

I shrugged like I didn't really care but it got me thinking. I had to get out. Christian was out there with Lilia and a million more girls like her. What if he finally woke and realized that I'm an ambitious, self-centered drug dealer and there are a million girls out there that would be better for him than me? I needed to get out, fast.  

It's not going to stop 'til you wise up. (Aimee Mann)

Oh that reminds me, I was going to tell you about Gloria's situation with her mother. Her mother was a pretty famous actress in her day. Gloria never knew her father. He overdosed on drugs when she was young. Don't worry it was cocaine that killed him, not heroin. Her mother was a big fan of drugs too. Gloria was on General Hospital as someone's child but she was fired as the result of a closet aging situation.

She had always loved drugs just like her parents before her. She feared her mother loved drugs more than her and I'd like to say I seen evidence to the contrary.

She woke up in a corn field in Iowa after a night that started in LA. She still doesn't know how she got there. She woke up with no money, no shoes, and no idea where she was. When she arrived home she was considered a missing person. She scolded her roommate for jumping to conclusions but it was too late. She got a full-fledged intervention and her mother had already booked her a stay at Healing by the Ocean.

The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair. (Relient K)

I peeled myself away from him. I guess it had been a spectacle but I’m sure the tea garden was accustomed to such scenes on Sundays. I wasn’t embarrassed as everyone watched me walk him to the table where Gloria was sitting. Maybe I should have been but I was too proud. I led him by the hand to our table with a boasting smile. I let people watch. I’m a heroin addict, this is how we do. Gloria just shook her head at me with a crafty smile.

Christian and I sat together in the chair beside Gloria at the round glass-top table. She said a few polite words and left to head back to the heroin house.

“See you at home, Hun,” she winked.

Someone brought us cute little china cups of tea but they went untouched.

He left and it was like was heart was ripping out of my chest, veins torn and dangling from the still-beating red mass he carried away. I walked back to the heroin house alone. I walked into our bedroom and Gloria greeted me with an unsympathetic: “You whore!”

I responded with laughter.

“I do not believe you are married to him. How is that fair? You're as terrible a person as me, why did God toss you a bone like that?”

I tossed myself on my bed.

“I miss him already,” I sighed musically.

“I could strangle you. Don't whine to me about your problems when you have that to go home to at the end of this and I can't even get my mother in here to visit me.”

You are the best thing that's ever been mine. (Taylor Swift)

After our first stint of separation, fourteen entire days, when he seen me it was like he was coming alive. I hopped up and ran toward him. I leapt into his arms and tied my legs around his waist. He laughed and held my body against his as my hands held his head in place in front of mine. I don’t even think I kissed him, maybe a quick peck but that was it.

I dove into charming little importunate sentences: “I’ve missed you so much!” My heart sung the words.

“I’ve missed you too. It’s not the same without you. Nothing is the same without you: the ocean is gray, my students are drones. Hope, the world is black and white and boring without you.”

A tear started down over my smiling cheek. He stopped it with his index finger and ran his finger back up to my eye. He shook his head silently.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I’m so proud of you. I’ve never loved you as much as I do right now.”

I held him as tight as I could but it wasn’t tight enough because in the blink of an eye he would be gone again for another week.  

Then there's you. (Joshua Radin, Someone Else's Life)

Gloria and I would lie beside the pool and work on our tan or go down to the beach and do the same. Every afternoon we would go to our room: Gloria would crank up the air conditioning and I would draw the curtains (though it didn’t defer the light of the stupid ceiling windows aka skylights) and our overheated, over-sunned bodies would crawl under heavy down duvets. We would nap for an hour, give or take.

Our lives consisted of eating, sleeping, tanning, and complaining. It was delightful. I enjoyed Gloria and was learning to enjoy doing nothing.

Christian came by every Sunday afternoon. Gloria told me she hated me when she saw him for the first time. We walked down the promenade together and waited in the tea garden beside the welcome house for him to arrive. Gloria was waiting for her mother, who rarely showed up but always promised that she would – I’ll elaborate on that situation in a second, first let me finish this story.

So Christian strolls in wearing his stonewashed jeans that fit well in all the right places and a royal blue shirt that made his lackluster blond hair look blonder and his lackluster blue eyes look bluer. He tipped his aviators up into his hair and searched the garden for me. When he spotted me, his smile ignited. I know ignited sounds exaggerated and overemotional but that’s just how it happened. I didn’t feel bad for meeting him and making him mine. I made him happy; it was written all over his face.  

The weaker you are, the louder you bark. (Tenten)

I attended most of my one-on-one sessions as they tried to figure out the best way to deal with me. They had different programs for different patients, catered to their individual needs. I needed to get out. I needed some little badge that said “I’m been clean for X days” that would appease Christian. That was my undoing. They found out Christian was my weak point and then they had me where they wanted me.

“If you don’t attend group sessions you don’t get visitation.” It was BS. I started to go and I would drag Gloria with me. I couldn’t face that garbage alone. I already had to suffer through the initial “incubation period” of fourteen days without visitation and I refused to go any longer than that.

Gloria was an actress. She would cry in every group session: big dramatic over-the-top sobs. At first everyone was taken back and the group leader thought it was a breakthrough. She winked at me as she picked herself up off the floor and I realized she was a better actress than she was given credit for. Before long the rest of the group realized it was an act and the slubs were annoyed by it. Soon they pretended they didn’t notice when we skipped sessions and in an effort to keep Gloria from ruining the experience for everyone else they let me keep my visitation privileges.  

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. (Eleanor Roosevelt)

I woke up in my bed when it was over but sadly the worst was not behind me. The physical worst may have been done but, my God, the fun was just getting going.

“Good morning,” chirped Anastasia, the lovely woman who ran the heroin house. We all hated her. I hadn’t even heard her glide into our room until that greeting.

My roommate’s name was Gloria. She threw a pillow at Anastasia with a crude expression. I liked Gloria instantly, lie. Instantly I hated her for living in my room. However, from the moment I got over the fact that I had to share my room, I liked her. I mean, if I had to share it with someone it might as well be her. She was 39, single and skinny, angry and aggressive; she was mine.

We shuffled to the dining room after everyone else was already seated. We complained about the food and pushed it away.

“I’ll just have an apple.”

“I’ll just have a banana.”

Then when everyone else was gone to group therapy we loitered. We stayed at the table, impeding the staff as they tried to clean up the dishes. We bitterly mulled over the details of our lives. I loved it. Those angst-filled days with Gloria were oddly enjoyable. The staff tried to crack down on us.

“The longer you go without attending the sessions, the longer until you get better.”

Better? There was nothing wrong with us.

Got out of bed today. I'm alive. What can I say? (The Ataris)

I was in the heroin house. There were no claw marks on the walls but I could tell that it had been just painted and I wondered if that was why. It was the highest of the houses perched on a cliff. We had to walk (or ride in the ridiculous golf carts) a few hundred meters to reach the circular loop that the rest of the houses were on. I didn’t understand why we were segregated at first. We had to trek the farthest to get down to the facility’s private beach and I wasn’t impressed by that.

However, the first time I went to the heroin house pool, I paced out to the edge of our deck and leaned over the glass partition. I stared down at the water crashing below, disappearing under the cliff’s edge. It was like I was flying. When the breeze blew I held out my arms and let the air rush all around me. It was like I was flying. I could feel like wind hitting me and the nothingness below me. It was amazing. It wasn’t like a real chemical high but I assumed it was as close as I would get while I was in here.

I looked down again. I wondered how many people had dove down there to their death. I could feel myself beginning to crash. It started in my stomach or was it my head? I knelt to the ground and clenched my stomach, squeezed my eyes shut and rocked back and forth.

Someone came to me and guided me to the basement, where the dark room was. That was where people went to detox. It was a fun place, really. The next couple days were really quite fun too. It took me back to Rider’s apartment. I missed that place. I missed him. I wished I could be back there. I don’t know if I would do anything differently but I would just like to go back. Things were so much better back then. I was younger and I had so much more promise and potential. Every day I got a little older and added a few more mistakes to the growing list that was becoming my life.  

Don't forget the people who loved you, they will realize one day that they still do. (Brittani Lavonne)

So I was discharged from the hospital and I went to hell, I mean prison, I mean rehab. The three terms are synonymous.

Christian drove me out to Orange County and abandoned me at the Healing by the Ocean Care Facility. I could vomit just on account of the name alone. He went to carry my bags in but was stopped in the lobby. Husbands weren’t allowed any further. So he eased my luggage onto the marble floor and like we were in a fishbowl, which came to be a theme, we say a too quick goodbye before I was ready. One of the friendly-looking security guards escorted him out and for once being alone was a very bad feeling. Maybe it was because I wasn’t alone. Until I left I wouldn’t be alone again.

The lobby was about the nicest of the place. For what I was paying the whole place should have been made of shiny marble like the lobby floor. I had to share a bedroom with another woman. It was like the freshman year I never had… at a nunnery. The bedroom was smaller than it should have been, again considering how expensive it was, and though I suppose it was sunny and nice, it wasn’t home. They tried to make it feel like home though. There were different houses all set up to make us like dysfunctional little families. The houses were big enough but there was a forced coziness and a lived-in feel that was jammed down your throat. Aside from the lobby of the main building, nothing was like a hotel. I thought the whole place would be like a hotel. That was what I wanted: a little vacation. They made it seem like a resort in the advertisements but it wasn’t. Maybe if I could have been objective about it I would have loved the place. It was like a dry village designed for desperate rich people.  

How do you leave the past behind, when it keeps finding ways to get your heart? (Rent)

The word divorce crept into my mind and started circulating through my blood making it itch.

“I love you,” he said and he started to cry. I had never seen him cry before. It would have been heartbreaking if my heart wasn’t already so broken.

The sooner you realize things will never be the same, the sooner you can move on. (The O.C.)

The next morning Christian came by the hospital with a heavy heart, it was written all over his face.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I repeated shyly. It felt like I was talking to a stranger. “I get out today.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked as if I didn’t know.

He stood at the foot of my bed and I was disarmed, even more than before. Suddenly self-conscious about the state of my appearance I looked away.

“Have you given any thought to rehab?” he asked. Something about his every word was heavy.

I shrugged.

“Hope… Hope, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

We are dying. I longed desperately to escape, to pack my bags and flee, but I did not. (Sophie's Choice)

He squeezed my hand and looked at me with the saddest eyes.

“I’m not saying that’s the route I’d like to take. Obviously the best place for you is in rehab rather than jail. You’re obviously a very sick woman and you’ll never get the kind of help you need in any sort of correctional facility.”

Rehab or jail, talk about Sophie’s Choice.

I clenched my eyes closed and leaned back against my pillow.

Christian opens the door to the small but cozy bungalow and announces his arrival. Two small children run to greet him. A perfect petit woman walks up to him and kisses his cheek. “How was work?” “Great, how I love imparting knowledge!” They sit at the table and pray and eat homemade food. She has never burnt anything or boiled anything over into the burners. They sit in front of the TV and watch PBS all snuggled up on the couch together. No one gets mad or fights. No one is high. Everyone is happy. That could have been Christian’s life if he never met me.

I opened my eyes and the room was empty and dark. I was alone and I cried. What had I become?  

Men marry because they are tired, women because they are curious: both are disappointed. (Oscar Wilde)

“I’d prefer to speak with the patient alone.”

Christian looked helplessly toward me.

“No, its fine,” I told the doctor. “I want him to stay.”

The doctor sighed. He listed off the vertebrate that had been broken and bruised as if I was a fourteen year old boy who had gotten injured during some rambunctious horseplay and I was at fault for my injuries. Then his voice changed from irritated to serious: “Your bloodwork showed a shocking amount of diacetylmorphine.”

“Dual-cell-morphine?” asked Christian.

“Heroin,” I whispered.

“You have enough diacetylmorphine in your system to kill a 200-pound man.”

“A regular Tuesday night at my father’s house,” I kidded. No one was amused.

“I would recommend immediate admittance to a rehabilitation facility,” he said.

I wanted to laugh but I instead painted on a serious expression to mirror them.

“Recommend?” I asked. “If I choose not to go, there’s nothing you can do though, right?”

“It’s been flagged and I can’t just pretend I didn’t see this. Without any reputable reason why you would have this much diacetylmorphine in your system I would have to alert the authorities – it’s my moral duty.”

“That’s BS,” I protested. “I can’t be arrested for this. That doesn’t even make sense. There’s no way that would hold up in court.” I looked to Christian. “There’s no way.”  

I could follow you to the beginning just to relive the start. Maybe then we'd remember to slow down at all our favorite parts. (Paramore, All I Wanted)

Christian was clutching my hand when my eyes opened. It smelled different. I wasn’t in the barn. I was in the hospital. There was a collar strapped around my neck.

“You’re awake,” he said with relief. His eyes were so pure and so earnest I regretted ever putting him through this.

“I was coming to talk to you,” I tried to say but the words filtered out backwards and jumbled.

“She’s awake,” he called out.

He didn’t leave to tell anyone though. He stayed there holding my hand tightly.

“I’m sorry,” I said and he kissed my forehead.

When a doctor sauntered in with my chart he asked to speak to me alone. He looked irritated.

“I’m her husband,” Christian assured and I smiled. That’s right, doc, this winner right here is married to me.

When you love me, it's as if God forgave me for being the mess I am. (John Fowles, The Magus)

I knew he was my husband. I had been there at the wedding. Still, it wasn’t until that afternoon that it really sunk in. I wasn’t a child or a bachelorette anymore, I was a wife. I had to start taking responsibility. I had to start thinking about others, well not others necessarily but Christian at least.

The least I could do was talk to him. For someone who grew up fast I could be a real child sometimes.

I started to slide toward the ladder to climb down but as I tried to lower myself I realized I couldn’t feel my legs. This wasn’t just the numb feeling I had in the house a moment ago or was that hours ago? Either way, this wasn’t like that. This was real. I couldn’t move my legs.

I toppled to the gravel floor of the barn and it all went black.

It's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and near escapes. (Reality Bites)

I couldn’t breathe for a second. I couldn’t even feel it right away. There was a moment of numbness as I felt my heart splitting in two. I know that sounds overdramatic and I’m smart enough to know that isn’t physically possible but that was how it felt. There was a distinct ripping sensation as words, how stupid is that, battered my heart. What was happening to me? I never thought I’d let anyone close enough to hurt me like that. I never thought a man could hurt me. Maybe he could overpower me like that stoned hippie when I was fourteen but he couldn’t hurt my heart. When it came to the mental aspect of life I excelled. I didn’t think I could ever feel my heart break. But I didn’t think I would ever fall in love either, not really, not like this.

I turned slowly but then I ran. I grabbed too much heroin on my way out and I ran. Rain was beginning to peck down and the swollen sky was dark and ominous so I ran into the barn instead of heading far, far away from the ranch, as I had originally intended. I climbed up into the loft and lay back on a pile of hay. I was too hurt to cry. I just lay back and thought “What now?” I systematically sniffed away my ample supply of heroin. It was warm and quiet in the barn. The dull light from the window beside me was peaceful. I fell asleep – well it was more a stupor than a sleep I guess.

“Hope,” Christian called. “Hope, are you in here?” That roused me and I stretched my neck to see him. He looked concerned but I could still see a flicker of anger in his walk. I suppose running off and hiding away didn’t help. I could be such a child.

He turned to leave and I wanted to stop him and tell him I was okay but I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to think he had driven me off into the woods to be eaten alive by a pack of coyotes. Before he disappeared from the barn it hit me: he’s my husband.

And then he was gone.