As I veer away from Diamond Drive, sirens wail, and red and blue lights eddy into the darkness.
For the past two months, 1546 Diamond Drive was my place of residence. It was a gorgeous house. Not just gorgeous but beautiful, and everything in between. Driving by, you might not notice it. You may even think it looks a bit small. But step over that threshold and it will take you over. I can’t even say for sure I’ve seen every room in that house because of its size and depth. To keep the house lit for a month has to be at least a couple grand. But that’s not so much of a problem since Jay’s father died and left him the house. Nothing has been a problem for him, or me, since that. Not the bleached and bent grass or the garbage piling up on it. I’m not sure when they stopped receiving the newspaper; the ones that were out front have been trekked over so much they would probably be unreadable. But none of that worried Jay so I didn’t care either, and neither did anyone else that found their way to 1546.
But, I knew peace wasn’t permanent. I just wanted it to last for a little while longer. Nothing lasts, and when that reality sets in harder than before, I head to the coast. To the water and sand, waves breaking hard and settling slow, a salty whisper at its lip.
I was fifteen years old the first time I truly experienced the absolute pacification of what I now call my Realm of Serenity.
The beach welcomed me into its arms that day. A day I searched for solace like never before. It was my savior. I wish my love for the beach was still that pure. Now I’m in one of Jay’s old t-shirts, a broken sandal kicking up sand, and I’m looking for the only thing that brings me peace.
The combination of papers, clothes, and food containers shift around in my back seat as I pull off down the road. I lock my door and start off to the beach search. To get supplied, to score.
It’s been awhile since I’ve done it alone. Jay’s been tying me off and shooting me up, slipping pills onto my tongue and bringing glass to the tip of the melting point; and taking us to the limit of ecstasy. I try to remember his face; try not to forget it, really, but the waves of pure stimulation and gratification start to overflow. Right. Now. I can feel each. grain. of. sand. I know exactly when the wave is going to fall over and crash into itself.
I wasn’t always this way, taking repeated tracks nowhere. Things really changed when the guy that got my mom pregnant stopped sending child support the few months that he did send it. My mom had to pick up a second job to support me and my younger brother, so when she was working I would lock Ryan in my mom’s room and invites some friends over to party.
I was making out with some guy in the living room when I heard my friend Tia screaming. I almost bit the boy’s tongue as I scrambled off the couch to find out what was up. Tia was pacing back and forth in front of the opened door. She stopped and turned to me.
“Jackie,” Tia cried, “I think he’s dead.”
I found a stray bottle on a table and took a sip before I stumbled over to see: my little brother passed out on my mom’s bed.
“He’s not dead, idiot!” I said. “Ryan! Ryan! Wake up you little shit-face!” I plopped on the bed and his little nine-year-old’s body was heavy with stillness. “Ryan,” I said, putting my face right up to his. Our noses nearly touched. I took a breath. He didn’t. I whispered his name again. Black emptiness filled my stomach.
•••••••
My life after that isn’t very clear. It’s like looking into the cloud-painted sky all murky white and no way to tell what the weather might bring. The only thing clear is the beach. I was there if I knew my mom would be home, and even when she wouldn’t be. The horrid feeling that crept upon me when I was around my mother was unlike any emotion I’ve ever experienced. Her eyes grew darker when she looked at me like they were trying to shield themselves. They seemed to shrink, contracting away from me. I thought I might die from the palpable guilt getting heavier every day, hour, and minute. Smothering me, enveloping me at every thought that entered like a disc that just won’t stop skipping; scratched too deeply, and no way to move past the track.
The sand is cold but, in my hand it turns warm. I hold my breath waiting for next wave to break.
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