Part 43 (1/2)

Daddy came in later. Angry.

And Kyra, on semester break.

She was upset that I might have damaged her reputation. Whatever.

But it has been Mom chipping away at me, trying to convince me we can maybe-maybe-become a family again. I don't know if I want that.

First I have to make it through rehab.

It's a pricey place, with a pretty staff and lots of mindless activities. The shrinks even pretend to be nice while they're picking at my brain. I tell them just enough to make them believe they're fixing me. I'm probably unfixable. But hey, you never know.

A Poem by Ginger Cordell You Never Know When a pa.s.sing cloud might meet another, and together unleash lightning on thirsting ground.

One insignificant spark strikes bone-brittle tinder.

Buoyed by the quiet breeze, an ember smolders until evening wind blows, carries smoking wisps upon its wings into the forest, sighs into crackling summer leaves until the canopy burns.

So take note of every pa.s.sing cloud, because you never know.

Ginger

Don't Know If It's the Same

Everywhere, but Vegas has its very own teen prost.i.tution court, complete with a special judge who says he believes that underage hookers (my term, not his) are the victims of this particular crime. After watching him deal with a long lineup of young tramps (my term again), I think up to a point, he's right. Pimps and johns are most definitely the criminals here. The problem is that most of the girls in the courtroom, including Alex and me, were willing victims.

Whatever. We are d.a.m.n lucky to have a judge who cares even a little about what happens to any of us.

His choices for what to do with us are limited. Juvie. Group homes.

Treatment programs, for those who need them. Hard-core repeat offenders spend time in Caliente, a lockup in mid-nowhere, Nevada. And for the few lucky ones with families who still care and will take them, the chance to go home.

Turned out for once in my life, I was one of the few.

When I called Gram, she freaked. Good freaked, I mean. All the bad of what I've done started spewing from my mouth. She shut me up right away. We can talk about that later. Right now, tell me what I have to do to bring you home. She didn't yell. Didn't cry. Not until she told me about Iris. She's dying, Ginger. Advanced HIV.

Gram and the Kids Really need me now. Iris, too.

She's wasting away. Docs say she's got maybe a year.

I tried to get Alex to come back to Barstow with me.