What you are afraid to do is a clear indication of the next thing you need to do. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

I didn’t die. I didn’t intend to. I landed in the tree, albeit without grace. My heart is in my stomach just remembering the leap. The airborne moment with nothing below me – it was euphoria.

I climbed and fell out of the tree. With a novel set of bruises, cuts, scratches, and a swollen black eye, I walked through the courtyard again. Nicky was gone now. UCLA boy was swimming in the pool when he seen me.

“Honey,” he called out, “What happened to you? Sweet Jesus!”

“I just fell,” I dismissed with a nonchalant wave. It wasn’t really a lie. I fell out of the tree even if I did jump into it.

He didn’t buy it and that night when Nicky stumbled through the courtyard, sufficiently intoxicated, UCLA boy was waiting. He beat Nicky until lights switched on and people came out. He was pulled off Nicky who was lying on the cobblestone courtyard deck with puddles of his blood beside him.

I'd rather find my wings on the way down. (Paul Brandt)

Before I walked through again, I forced control on myself. I diluted my rage. I cooled down. Then I briskly breezed by Nicky with a level head and a sure smile.

When I got back to my apartment, I locked the door behind me. Man, I wanted to get high. I took my everlasting supply of candy from my cupboard. I put one in my mouth then realized I was just making myself fatter. I marched to the balcony and spit it out. It flew over the giant out-of-place tree that seemed to separate our building from the next. I emptied all my candy out the window. They filtered down through the leaves of the tree. I liked that. Esthetically it was just really pleasing.

Emotions were firing through my body. I was confused and overwhelmed and I just wanted heroin. I didn’t know what to do next.

I climbed up on the railing and teetered for a second. The railing was no more than an inch thick. I was flying high above the world. It was dangerous, it was exciting. I was scared and I felt alive.

I jumped.

If you were to leave me, I will not feel sorry for myself; I enjoy your company immensely, but I do not cling. (Anthony de Mello)

When I was walking Rider out, Nicky was at the pool with one of the other miscellaneous aspiring actress. He was practically dry humping her on the tanning chair they were sharing.

I kept looking straight ahead. I carried on my conversation with Rider as if it were as important as it was entertaining. I debated hopping in his car and making him take me back to Santa Monica with him but when he made a joke about Nicky and upping the screening for tenants I felt defensive. This was my home and I would have to face the music.

I swear their smacking lips grew significantly louder when I walked by. I get that Nicky and I were just friendly friends but still I expected at least a little decency. Even if he pretended he wasn’t hooking up with this dumb wannabe actress that would be enough. Any effort at all would have been appreciated.

When, at Rider’s side, I first saw the scene, I wanted to rip her apart. Then I wanted to destroy him. But I’m not an idiot. I knew if I tousled with either (or both) of them Rider would lose his faith in me and my ability to run this place.

I could do it, I could be in control.

We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements in life, when all we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about. (Charles Kingsley)

 Rider came over for our monthly family dinner later that week.

“How’s school?”

“Good.”

“How’s life?”

“Good.”

Followed by:

“How’s work?”

“Good.”

“How’s life?”

“Good.”

“Here’s the money.”

This time went a little different. Rider was troubled about something. He didn’t want to tell me but I beat it out of him.

“There’s a minor issue.”

“With what? Is it the apartment building?”

“No, it’s, uh, it’s the money – the debt.”

“That the boys owe our Vietnam friends?”

He nodded silently.

“I thought that was almost paid off.”

“They are screwing us. Bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re charging us interest.”

“So, that shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Oh Honey,” he sighed. “It’s not a bank loan. They don’t play by the rules.”

“They govern themselves, I get it. I’ve heard it all before. So what do we do?”

He shrugged.

I shrugged back at him angrily. What kind of response was that?

“I’m going to Philly this weekend to talk to Senior.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, Honey, I need you to stay here.”

I hated being told what to do.  

If you look to others for fulfillment, you will never truly be fulfilled. (Lao-tzu)

“I just don’t know if he treats you the way a man should treat his girlfriend.”

I laughed, “Girlfriend! I’m not his girlfriend.”

Will furrowed confused eyebrows. “What?”

“It’s not really like that. We’re just friends.”

“Honey, I’m his roommate. I know.”

“We’re friendly friends.”

“So I guess the fact that he sleeps with every girl he can get his hands on doesn’t bother you then?”

“Nope,” I lied with an impeccable poker face.

He squinted to see through my lie and I broke a little as I added, “Why wouldn’t he? I’m fat.”

“Fat? Honey, you’re a lot of things but fat isn’t one of them. You’re skin over bones.”

I offered a half-smile.

“Come here,” he said and pulled me into a hug that was a little too tight and lasted a little too long and led to something that was a little too much like a kiss. It wasn’t as much like a kiss as much as it was excessive making out.

So that was an interesting turn of events but as it turns out Will is as sparing with his words as he is his kisses.

You don't know how lovely you are. (Coldplay)

“Hi,” said William when I opened the door.

“Hi,” I huffed.

“I’ve got rent.” He said as though it was a victory. He handed me the envelope stuffed with the dull green bills him and Nicky had drawn together.

“Thanks.”

He put his forearm on the doorframe and leaned in. It was overdramatic and I couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t preparing for a role on some soap opera or something.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I gulped. I didn’t mean to gulp. That didn’t usually happen to me as I spoke but there I was – gulping mid-sentence. I bet he thought it was because of his slick little lean-in. He looked into me with really intense blue eyes. My frown turned to a giggle as I imagined him practicing this look in front of his mirror. But then I thought of the scene in front of my mirror a moment before. My frown reappeared.

“Honey,” he said. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?” I kept forgetting he was British. He looked very American. He looked like an ugly surfer, born and bred in California.

I stepped back and he accepted the cue to come in. I locked the door. I didn’t know why but it just happened to lock in one natural motion.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it Nicky?”

“No. Why would it have anything to do with him?”

He looked toward the floor. “No reason.”

“What?”

“I love Nicky,” he began. “He’s my best friend. He’s a great roommate, a great guy but I just don’t know if he is completely, well, respectful of you.”

Will had hit a nerve.

I was feeling my pleasure diminishing day by day, and my feelings of ecstasy growing weak. (Claude Cahun)

“The question is: why do you want to date a high school student?”

The question was more or less rhetorical but he straightened his lanky posture with a feverish: “Are you kidding? You’re gorgeous.”

I feigned modesty. Maybe I would give him a discount.

“Since you’ve started to fill out your body is amazing.”

“Fill out?”

“Yeah, you used to be so skinny, you looked like a crack whore but now you’re getting shape and… why do you look so angry? This is a compliment.”

“Get out.”

“But what about our conversation?”

“Get the hell out of my apartment!”

He left sheepishly and maybe it was just my foolish arrogance, but I didn’t think he would tell anyone that I was in high school.

I went to my full-length mirror and discarded all my clothes. He was right. I guess I didn’t notice it before. Nicky hadn’t dared say anything. I had been able to count all my ribs and see all my veins all my life so I was never looking for them. I was never thinking about the measures that would indicate whether or not I was gaining weight. So there I was, standing naked in front of my mirror, cursing myself for getting fat when there’s a knock at the door.

It was rent day so I threw my clothes back on. They seemed tighter now.

It's a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school. (Ferris Bueller)

People went out a lot there. We were close to all the star-studded clubs on the Sunset Strip and all the fabulous Hollywood parties, if anyone was lucky enough to get in. I wasn’t old enough to go to the clubs, though I would never admit it, and I wasn’t connected enough back then to get into any of the fabulous parties.

One of the UCLA blokes came to pay his rent. This was the one who was later extradited from the group, but at this point they still liked him. I took the envelope with a forced smile and thank you.

“So I heard Nicky say you’re in college.”

“Yes,” I agreed, almost repentant about the suppressed groan that leaked through my response. I hate small talk, when would these people catch on?

“Are you doing an internship?”

“No, I’m studying.”

“Oh that’s funny.”

“Why is that funny?”

“I noticed you coming out of Melrose High yesterday.”

“And?” I hid my concern as best I could as this stupid UCLA undergrad dangled this bit of blackmail in front of me.

“You’re a high school student.”

“What?” I spat incredulously.

“Can I come in?”

It was my best option so I stepped aside to let him by and closed the door behind him.

“What do you want?”

“I can’t afford to pay rent.”

I laughed in his face. “You think I’m going to let you live here for free to protect my reputation. You’re out of your bloody mind!”

“What about a discount?”

Once I seen how quickly he caved I knew this would just be a little hiccup.

“No.”

“What about a date?”

I laughed.

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

Seasons are changing and waves are crashing and stars are falling all for us. (Red Jumpsuit Apparatus)

There was a knock on my door a millisecond later. I knew it wouldn’t be Nicky back so soon. I suspected a complaint from someone and I wanted to scream again. I really needed some mood enhancers to deal with this job.

“Go away.”

“It’s me, William, I just wanted to talk to you for a second.”

“William?”

William was Nicky’s (less attractive) British alter ego. They were roommates and shared their acting struggles. Most of their trouble was based on the fact that they supported each other by distracting each other from the stress of struggling and utter lack of success. They brought each other down but they were happier for it. I could relate. I opened the door.

“Hey,” he nodded. “So I heard the screaming…”

“And?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

He stalled in the doorway like he wanted something else.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said hesitantly.

“Okay.”

“Um, I’m just going to go.”

I closed the door. That was strange.

She's crazy. And just when you think you've reached the bottom of her craziness, there's a crazy underground garage. (Unknown)

In the coming days and weeks he almost became my, dare I say it, boyfriend. We never explicitly discussed the semantics of it. He stayed over at my fabulous apartment sometimes. He would kiss me by the pool, even in front of the others – like he was proud or at least marking his territory. I would run lines with him, I did that a lot. It was incredibly frustrating though because his was as dumb as a box of rocks.

I kneel on my bed in a little pair of shorts. Nicky loved shorts. He lay with his head comfortably on the pillow throwing a stupid ball up in the air and catching it, repeat.

“No, Nicky,” I sighed. “That’s the next scene. This is where…”

“Right, right, right,” he quickly stopped me and started with the correct sequence of lines.

I caught the ball out of the air. “No.”

“What is the line?”

I read it to him and he said, “Right, right, right.” I read the opposite part from the script in my hand as he stumbled through the next bit.

“No,” I said firmly. “You didn’t study these lines at all did you?”

“It’s just an audition. I can bring the script in. It doesn’t matter if I have my lines memorized.”

“Don’t you want to stand out? Don’t you want do an amazing job instead of just scraping by? You say it’s “just an audition” but isn’t that the most important part? If you don’t rock the audition, you don’t get the part.”

“You are exhausting.”

“What?”

“Even if I don’t do what you tell me to do, it’s exhausting just to listen to you.”

“Whatever. Run lines by yourself.”

I threw the script down beside him.

“I don’t need to run lines. I’ll just read them at the audition like everyone else.”

“I swear you don’t listen to anything I say.”

“I listen but I just choose to do things differently.”

“Incorrectly, you mean.”

He gave me that smile, that I’m-not-going-to-fight-with-you smile. I rolled my eyes as I stood up on the bed and took a towering step away from him. He nudged his heel against the back of my knee forcibly enough to make me plummet down to the bed, bouncing beside him.

Needless to say I was unimpressed. He laughed and tried to turn my frustration into something else but I was too irritated with him and his laziness. What I really wanted was a nice long line of heroin. Instead, because I wouldn’t risk the charmed life Rider had entrusted onto me, I went to the cupboard and got a bag of bite-size candy. I started chomping away and Nicky teased me about how I was going to get chubby, so I told him to get the hell out. He thought I was kidding until I screamed, nice and shrill. I was afraid only dogs would hear it but he soon stalked out with some comment about my craziness, like I cared.

You may not be her first, her last, or her only. (Bob Marley)

That was the day I lost my virginity. Technically it was a felony. Like all the things in life that are supposed to be bad, it was quite good. Not fantastic, but not as bad as they make it out to be in those abstinence campaigns or high school health class. I didn’t tell him it was my first time, obviously; that wouldn’t have been cool. I didn’t want him to think it was important or special or anything.

In retrospect, I guess I blew by the whole thing like it wasn’t important or special. I wish I had taken more care now, not that it matters, but it might have been nice to have a date first or at least to have undressed slower. But as quickly as I dove into it I can still remember the musky smell of his hair and how it lingered hauntingly on my fingers for the rest of the day as if it was trying to remind me what I had done as if it was wrong. That’s the problem with having any sort of moral code (and I will admit my moral compass doesn’t exactly point due north), it holds you back and keeps you from embracing life and enjoying the moments. Was it the moment Nicky Martinez stole away my childhood or was it the moment I discovered passion? Everything is marked by the measure of my morality. Luckily I was pretty good at stowing away my moral inclinations.

I would have learned more from it if it had been terrible or if he hadn’t called. I did pay for it later though but that was a long way away.

Hunting is not a sport. In sport, both sides should know they're in the game. (Paul Rodriguez)

It’s so much easier to be in control when you don’t care.

“It’s Nick, right?”

“Yeah, but most people call me Nicky.”

“Are you twelve?”

“No.”

“Do I detect a little Italian descent?”

“Um, my fatha’s fatha was Italian but I don’t know much about him. He was a pretty seedy cat.”

“Oh yeah?” I was interested, legitimately interested, and not just because of the body he had unveiled. “Are you in touch with him at all anymore?”

“No, he’s in jail. He was anyway. I don’t know where he is now. He’ll probably rot and die there, he did a lot of bad stuff.”

“Such as?”

“Ah, I’d rather not get into it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to think that all Martinez men are that bad.” He winked with a greasy sort of smile that seemed really appealing at the time.

I turned back to my book and began reading the stupid sentence I had started over a dozen times. “So you’re not bad then?”

“You sound disappointed.” This amused him more than it dejected him.

I shrugged as I read on.

“Senza freno senorita.”

I thought I was being rather sly as I slid my eyes gracefully from my book to him in a sideways glance. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He smirked. I turned the corner of my mouth up in a mischievous smile.

“Maybe I’m more like my Italian grandfather than I like to let on.”

I pretended I didn’t know that “senorita” was a Spanish word. There was an intense moment as he leered at me with an evil sort of smile like I was his prey but I returned his stare with an equally intense look. He didn’t realize that he wasn’t the predator. Maybe I didn’t realize that he was.

What you eat in private, you wear in public. (Unknown)

He waited for me to comment or laugh or give him some sort of reaction. I read.

“Yeah I went to Philly once. I’m from not too far from there. I was born in Indiana but my dad is from Boston.” I couldn’t help but cringe at his Boston pronunciation of Boston: Boyston. “I grew up in Boston.”

“No kidding.” He missed the sarcasm dripping from my words.

“Yeah! It’s a great spot. Love it. Red Sox! But ya know, I really like California. You’re an east coast girl; you know what I’m sayin’? It’s just nice out here.”

I looked up from my book and gave him an oh-my-God-do-you-ever-shut-up look of death. That was when I realized that he was actually quite attractive. He had taken off his shirt somewhere between his string of words and he looked magnificent. I’m feeling flustered even now just getting a mental image of that tanned skin and those arms, they weren’t straight like the arms of any other man I had seen before (albeit I was accustomed to the sunken scrawny arms of drug addicts) but it was just strange to me how curvy they were. It was like his arms consisted of several variable sized balls laced together under his skin. His abs, my God, they were even better: they were abs! There on his stomach were these perfect six perfect little bumps, maybe even more. I must have started drooling because I’m almost drooling now as I recall it.

Suddenly his decently proportioned face was perfect, chiseled by the Gods. Suddenly I was laughing and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t remember what he said. In a flash my cool, along with my annoyance, had evaporated. I let him rattle on a few moments longer while I composed myself again. I got control of myself and consciously made an effort to return to the dominate position in the situation where I had naturally gravitated before when I didn’t care.  

Creating relationship is the heart of acting. It is basic. It is essential. (Michael Shurtleff)

I went to class most days. I studied diligently so I could graduate in June, a year before my time. I tried to keep the fact that I was in high school under wraps but then one morning I wanted to study by the pool. People slept until noon, it seemed safe enough, but then Nick came out to review his lines for an upcoming audition in the chair beside me.

“Studying?”

Well, I was busted.

“I didn’t know you were in college,” he added as he settled in.

I revoked my previous thought.

“What’re ya taking?”

“Drugs,” I kidded.

He laughed without pressing me any further, which was a relief.

I guess I should have asked him what bit part he was auditioning for this time. I guess I should have commented on the weather or the heat, but I just couldn’t be bothered with small talk, ever.

“How’s your day going?”

“It’s 9:30, not a lot has happened one way or another.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

I started reading again.

“Where ya from?”

I didn’t look up and tried not to stop reading as I replied, “Philly.”

“Right on! Brotherly love.”

If you must get in trouble, do it at the Chateau Marmont. (Harry Cohn)

I moved into the biggest apartment. I had a view of the city and the courtyard. I was the only tenant with a balcony. It was bigger than Rider’s apartment but it didn’t overlook the ocean like his so I don’t think he was jealous. It was great though. The two days of detox were a lifetime away and a small price to pay, but I guess once you get through something it always seems smaller and less significant than it was. The pain of drying out and the excitement of moving in; those emotions can only be reached through my memories, I’ll never live them again – that’s an interesting thought.

So my tenants started moving in at summer’s end: aspiring actress; aspiring director/producer/actor; Molly Ringwald’s distant cousin/aspiring actress; a pair of newlyweds who were aspiring for nothing – strange; hot aspiring actor (Nick, we’ll come back to him); slightly less hot aspiring actor roommate (William, we’ll come back to him too); three separate UCLA students who soon all attached to one another, then eventually hated one, as these things go; aspiring actor; aspiring actress; teacher – who knows how she got there; Hollywood heiress running away from her parents on their dime after being kicked out of the Chateau Marmont; model (that’s right, not aspiring, real model); writer; aspiring writer; agent; aspiring agent; aspiring actor; aspiring actress; actress. It’s a mouthful but I more-or-less remember all of them. I was younger than any of them but I was always sure to present myself as someone older. Coupling the position and the dim wits of all my new aspiring friends it was an easy sell.

It’s an interesting situation that I was in. Doesn’t it feel like a social experiment? Take the antisocial girl and throw her into an ant farm in West Hollywood. It’s not that I was antisocial per se, being alone was just what I was used to and I liked it. The setup of this new situation was perfect for me though: I was in control. I was the lady in the best apartment hovering over everyone and snatching away their monthly rent checks. It was great.  

It's this building. It makes people nuts. It must be something in the water, something to do with the pool. Come to think of it, I was normal when I moved in. (Dr. Michael Mancini)

The place looked pretty standard from the outside as we pulled up on the curb. I slammed the passenger door and assessed the place as I walked up to it. Rider handed me the key and told me to do the honors. I unlocked the gate and let it swing open, banging against the stucco archway. Rider was a couple steps behind as I stepped into the courtyard. The pool was a sparkling blue and I couldn’t wait to lie beside it in one of the long white tanning chairs. The building was two stories and everything faced the courtyard. I loved the layout. I loved, well, everything about it.

All the apartments in the area looked basically the same. When the television show Melrose Place started up it made this style of apartment famous in TVland. While I never really watched the show, I thought it quite authentic because my building was just a block and a half from Melrose Avenue and it looked just like their building.

At the time it was the most fashionable place for anyone who was young, hip and up-and-coming to live. Maybe it still is. However, knowing how real estate shoots up and plummets in Los Angeles County I somehow doubt it is.

That’s the thing I loved about LA then and hate about it now: it is always changing. Nothing is ever stagnating or still, everything and everyone is in a continual state of motion. I loved that then: moving, moving, moving. Maybe that’s why I’m so tired all the time now. Too long in LA will suck the life out of even the most energetic and I don’t know if I was ever really energetic, except maybe when I was really high and that wasn’t real.

Still I’ve got to say, for someone who spent so much time away from reality I never felt lost or lacking direction. All those people who are searching for themselves seem stupid to me because I always knew just who I was and just what I wanted. When I seen my Melrose Place apartment building I thought that was what I would want for the rest of my life.

She had resolved never again to belong to another than herself. (Kate Chopin, The Awakening)

Waking up in your own vomit seems to me should come before the detox not after, but since I was never a real heroin addict I guess I don't really follow the rules.

I vowed to myself to never detox again. If I ever started up with love affair with heroin again, and I suspected I would, I would never again go cold turkey. Detox should be a synonym for suicide or at least death.

But then I was clean and Rider was ready to let me have a life. The day he took me to West Hollywood was my awakening. That sounds dramatic, I know, but that’s just the kind of experience it was. Even then I told Rider that when I tell my grandkids about my life I would call this my awakening. Rider made some snarky comment about telling my patrol officer rather than my grandkids. I chose to ignore him.

And maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me. (Oasis)

When he went to the prison clinic later that day and whispered his concerns to the pretty nurse her smile immediately disappeared and her bedside manner was lost. Suddenly she seemed to be holding her breath as if she would catch it just by sharing air with him. She whispered the condition to the doctor behind a medical folder as if she were keeping it secret from Uncle Tony. He waited. He spoke. He waited. They took blood. He waited and waited and waited. When the results came back he wished he was still waiting. Uncle Tony was HIV Positive.

Uncle Tony wasn't the only one dying. On the other side of the country I was convulsing on Rider's bathroom floor. I had a pretty ironclad regime developed: vomit – vomit – scratchscratchscratch – pain – vomit – tears – vomit – wailing, not crying – vomit – aches – shakes – Rider's heart breaks – vomit. It wasn't the best couple of days but now, years later, I can look back and say it was just a couple days. That's so much easier to say now though. I lost all concept of time. I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I was tired but I couldn't sleep, I was just too uncomfortable. I can't even explain the feeling. I wasn't at home in my own body. It was like my body was trying to achieve some sort of evil vindication against itself.

“Rider,” I cried out, “I'm dying! I'm actually dying. You've got to take me to the hospital. Oh my God, this is the end of my life.”

I was aware that the world was still turning. Occasionally I pulled myself along the floor from the bathroom to the balcony for fresh air but once I threw up over the rail onto the pedestrians below Rider quickly ushered me back in.

Still, I knew it was night, I knew it was day, and eventually I knew the worst was behind me. It was a mild relief. I know, you would think it would be a euphoric exciting realization but my body felt like it was still far from recovered. Everything was sore and felt somehow immobile. Even my skin felt a shaky. My eyes didn't want to open all the way. My legs felt like they would buckle as I walked the mammoth distance from one side of the bachelor apartment to the other.

“Coffee?”

“Water.”

Rider handed me a tall clear glass.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I was just murdered, buried, and clawed my way up through six feet of earth.”

“You look pretty good for a zombie.”

“Don't patronize me please.”

“Manners? Honey, this is a side of you I've never seen before.”

I was unimpressed.

“Why don't you go lay down on my bed.”

“Really?” He never let me sleep on his big magnificent king size bed with the million thread count sheets. He nodded. I abandoned my glass of water and went to his bed right away. I knew this would be a once-off after he tried to sleep on the sofa and realized what he had sacrificed. What I didn't know though, was that I was going to throw up. It wasn’t a surprise really, but I did expect to wake up for such an event. And that act alone solidified the one time deal.

If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. (John Green)

As my body began to turn on me, Uncle Tony was having a rendezvous with Scotch of a similar nature. She visited him most weeks, at least once a month. If I could have seen past myself and my own problems I would have been curious as to whether or not their relationship would last.

“Tony,” she said softly and seriously, breaking his lighthearted banner, “we need to talk.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“You know.”

“Okay, I didn't but I'm not surprised.”

She looked a little perplexed. “Tony, I think you should see the doctor.”

“What?” Now he was perplexed.

She took a deep breath. “Tony, baby,” she stalled, “I'm HIV positive.”

He made a noise that was a combination of “Whoa” and exhaling dramatically.

“So... okay, that's like... wow. Does that mean you're dying?”

“Not yet, not really.”

“Scotch,” he breathed her name with pain, “I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm sorry,” she said, “I may have passed it on to you.”

He felt like he should have been mad, maybe not “should have” but definitely “could have”. But there's something about a dying woman that makes her too sad to deserve ridicule even if she put him in the same position.

Tears started to drip from her eyes to pool on the table.

“Don't cry.”

“I'm going to die.”

What was he to say to that? He put his hand over hers, even though it seemed poisonous now. He wanted to pick her up and hold her and make her feel like everything would be okay. He wanted to pretend, just for a moment, that he could protect her from the disease already destroying her from the inside out.

“I thought I was careful,” she said. “I thought this was the disease of gay men and drug addicts. I can't believe it happened to me.”

Uncle Tony swallowed his worries before they slipped out of his mouth. The pit of his stomach pained with the possibility that he had done this to her. The thought of Vincent gave him a chill.

Perhaps we find ourselves wanting everything because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing. (Sylvia Plath)

I had heard all the songs about lost love and I was aware that breakups were difficult, no matter who does the leaving. My breakup with heroin proved that fact to me. When Rider returned just hours later it had already begun.

“It's freezing in here,” he said cautiously, looking at the thermostat.

“I cranked the air conditioning, I'm sweating.”

“Why are you wearing my sweater?”

“Because I'm freezing.”

“Interesting,” he said pensively as he walked behind the kitchen counter and started unloading the brown paper grocery bags.

“Why is that interesting?” I asked as I approached the counter and began to dig through the spoils from the opposite side of the counter.

“It's just not how it happened for me.

“I'm not jonesing, I might still be high.” I scratched my arms and neck. “This sweater is itchy, do you have anything else?”

“Get your own sweaters.”

“We're poor, remember?”

“We're not poor.”

“Well, we sure as hell aren't rich.” I scratched more. “Maybe if I had been allotted more than half an hour to pack I could have brought along these things. I miss my closet.”

“You know LA is supposed to be one of the greatest shopping centers in the world.”

“Money, remember, the whole having none of it situation.”

I took a bag of candy from his groceries and started picking away at them.

“Robertson Avenue is near your future abode; wait until you discover that, then you'll be broke.”

I sighed and scratched. “I'm already broke.”

He handed me a bottle of hand lotion. “The more you scratch, the more it itches.”

I rubbed my hand on my face to test the softness. “Are you trying to tell me my hands aren't soft?”

“It will soothe the skin that you're scratching the shit out of.”

“Oh.”

I started rubbing the hand lotion over the swollen red lines my nails had traced out all over my white skin. It burned.

“Look how white I am,” I said holding up my white and red arm.

“You need some sun. You've got to start embracing this place. Drink some water.”

I obeyed without contest. This wasn't his first picnic. It was annoying how Rider always knew best, but I respected him and his commands because he didn’t care about commanding me, he cared about me. So I drank some water.

Let me forget about today until tomorrow. (Bob Dylan)

“One more line and I’ll do it.”

He half-smiled. I held out my hand to shake on it.

“I’ll shake when you’re clean.”

I rolled my eyes as I went to prepare my last line.

“How will you know if I fall off the wagon?”

“I’ll know.”

I laughed.

“Are you going to give me drug tests?”

“If I have to.”

“You’re kidding me? You would give your own niece a drug test?” Ironically I was laying out a line as I asked this.

“Not my niece, my employee.”

“We won’t be related anymore?”

“You’ll learn that family and business can be hard to balance. You have to compartmentalize.”

“Will you revoke my nieceship the entire time I’m working for you or just when I screw up?”

“Mostly just the latter.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m not going to watch this,” he said as he reached for a sweater. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I rolled my eyes as he shut the door behind him, leaving me alone with my first love, heroin.

If the drugs don't work no more, you get high on life. (Henrok Achido)

“Okay. Now what about a little commission on this job?”

Rider nodded.

I pushed him from the other side of the counter. “No way!”

“But–”

“Always a “but” with you!”

“You have to get clean.”

“Rider, I shoot up like twice a day – I am clean!”

He shook his head. “I mean clean-clean.”

“And come along to NA meetings?”

“Sure, if you want.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s a dealbreaker. I can’t have a druggie running my property.”

“Ouch. Druggie.”

“Are you in or out?”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“The property is already developed, this is an asap deal.”

“I said I have to think about it.”

“I’ll have to hire someone else if you can’t commit to it.”

“I have to think about it.”

“Think about the reign drugs have over your life. You’re going to compromise an opportunity like this for drugs? I thought your habit was under control. I thought you were the one in control of your life?”

“I am.”

“Then this shouldn’t be a big decision.”

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Ten seconds.”

“Shut up.”

“Nine.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Eight. I need a property manager who can make decisions on the spot. Seven.”

“Rider, I’m your niece.”

“Six.”

“When would I need to start?”

“Five. Detox: immediately. The position: when the first is complete. Four.”

I swallowed.

“Three.”

“I can’t think when you’re counting at me like that.”

“Two.”

I panted.

“One.”

Do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm. (Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette)

“What?”

“Well,” he stalls.

“What?” I repeated, less than amused.

“You know how your school is quite a ways away from here?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me about this school nonsense… wait! Did you buy me a car?”

“You can’t drive.”

I shrugged, dejected again.

“It’s better than a car.”

“Rider, you know I’m not into this nonsense. Just tell me.”

“I bought an apartment building in West Hollywood.”

“What’s West Hollywood?”

“Oh Honey, poor unsophisticated Honey, it’s only the most posh, up-and-coming neighbourhood in Los Angeles County.”

“I get my own apartment?”

“Building!”

“What? That’s ludicrous!”

“I want you to manage the apartment. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Please, what you do here? I could do it with my eyes closed.”

“And go to school every day.”

“Not a problem. But you need to talk to the guidance counsellor about advanced courses so I can graduate early.”

“Honey, don’t wish your life away.”

“I’m not. I’m wishing my life would start.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

“So that’s it? I just need to go to school and I can run an apartment building? Across town! And I get my own unit in the apartment, right?”

“Of course.”

“Amazing!”

“But you have to walk to school.”

“What!”

“But it’s only a block and a half away.”

“I guess.”

“Does this mean I’m never going to see you?”

“No, I’ll be over when I tire of takeout.”

I'd look on the bright side, if I could find it. (Eeyore)

I ripped open another letter from my mother with excitement but let it the white sheet drift effortlessly to the countertop a moment later. I sighed, which was Rider’s cue to ask what was wrong.

“My mother.”

He laughed. “Care to elaborate?”

“I think she’s actually going to stay in Philadelphia when she gets out. She would rather be there alone just to be close to my father, rather than come here and be with me. That’s messed up.”

“Are you going to go back?”

I was dumbfounded. “You want me to leave?”

“No! No, I just didn’t know if that’s what she was getting at.”

“Maybe, actually, yeah I think she expects me to move back there once she gets out. I don’t even think its safe there yet. Besides I thought we were supposed to be moving here anyway. I hate the way she worships my father. I’m her daughter!”

“So she should worship you?” he teased.

“Screw you.”

“You won’t be saying that when I share my news with you.” He got up from the table and paced slowly toward the opposite side of the counter.

When you're up, it's never as good as it seems, and when you're down, you never think you'll be up again. But life goes on. (Blow)

Until a vacancy opened up in the building I had to share Rider’s bachelor apartment. To be honest, it was a blast. Now that he was clean (including Narcotics Anonymous meetings) there were a lot less women around, which I liked. But there was also a lot more trouble for me when I had a recreational bit of heroin. He lectured me a little but not too much. It wasn’t unbearable. I didn’t realize how often I got high until there was no heroin coming in. My father and Uncle Tony were having the same problems back in Philly. I didn’t have the money or resources to buy anything and the boys had screwed over too many suppliers and connections to get any real good stuff smuggled in. They were detoxing on the Scotch Scotch was smuggling in. Uncle Tony had even garnered a liking for cannabis, just a little mixed in with his cigarettes but enough to feel the difference. We were all bridging gaps into the unknown and doing things we never thought we would.

I was cooking full-fledged meals for Rider. My agenda was to convince him to let me be homeschooled. I didn’t realize it in Philly but I was actually quite antisocial. It was a learned behaviour though because really my whole family was antisocial. It’s funny how the things you think are normal when you’re growing up turn out to be the strange to the rest of the world. I guess it’s good that I got outside my little box in time to realize this. Not that it really mattered to me.

My mother was being pushed around. She was battered and bruised but with her contributions to the educational programs at the prison she would likely slice her time in half and be out within a year.

The boys were doing okay. The ten year sentences served to each of them were running out slowly but they all had faith that they would be out as soon as their debts were cleared. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they opted to stick around in jail a while longer and let Rider rebuild their lifestyle a little before they re-entered the real world. The only thing they had left was their home.