Anything But Red
6
I am brought back by the sterile smell of the room. White latex gloves. The call of a code or a name over an intercom.
“Was this the first time you had ever done cocaine?”
He is referring to the overdose. My skin itches. I shake my head. “I’ve done it all.”
“Were the Morgan’s aware of your addictions?”
Again, all I can do is nod. I’m getting uncomfortable. My hands are shaking more. I grasp onto the mattress tighter, count the tiles in the ceiling again. The tiles on the floor. Fight it.
I had been living on the street for six months after I ran away from my last foster home. I sold drugs for money. I sold drugs for drugs. I sold myself for drugs. I sold myself for somewhere to sleep. I never saw money anymore. That’s when I started doing the heavier stuff. It went further. Coke wasn’t enough anymore. I tried heroin that night. The only night.
Dean, my social worker, found me in an alley near a bar in his neighborhood. I couldn’t remember anything. Only being in the same place I was now. Throat screaming for a remedy. Itching for something. Sweating in the coldest state of air-conditioning. Except that was an accident. A week later he sent me to live with the Morgan’s. He told me they would straighten me out. They tried to at least.
“…Perry? What happened with Marie,” the man in white asks- pushing past the borders of personal space.
“She… ”
Jane and Michael Morgan had the perfect life. They both worked high up for big companies, dressed well, had a nice house, nice cars. Time on their hands. They were nice people.
They had two kids. Sam was twelve, cocky, and he hated me. And Marie was 4. She dressed up in pink frilly dresses, wore a tiara eighty percent of the time and wanted to be a ballerina. She told me Sam didn’t like her, I told her it was ok- he didn’t like me much either. She asked me if I was her new big brother. She invited me to tea parties every day when she got home from school. She took exactly two teaspoons of sugar in her tea.
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
“Was this the first time you had ever done cocaine?”
He is referring to the overdose. My skin itches. I shake my head. “I’ve done it all.”
“Were the Morgan’s aware of your addictions?”
Again, all I can do is nod. I’m getting uncomfortable. My hands are shaking more. I grasp onto the mattress tighter, count the tiles in the ceiling again. The tiles on the floor. Fight it.
I had been living on the street for six months after I ran away from my last foster home. I sold drugs for money. I sold drugs for drugs. I sold myself for drugs. I sold myself for somewhere to sleep. I never saw money anymore. That’s when I started doing the heavier stuff. It went further. Coke wasn’t enough anymore. I tried heroin that night. The only night.
Dean, my social worker, found me in an alley near a bar in his neighborhood. I couldn’t remember anything. Only being in the same place I was now. Throat screaming for a remedy. Itching for something. Sweating in the coldest state of air-conditioning. Except that was an accident. A week later he sent me to live with the Morgan’s. He told me they would straighten me out. They tried to at least.
“…Perry? What happened with Marie,” the man in white asks- pushing past the borders of personal space.
“She… ”
Jane and Michael Morgan had the perfect life. They both worked high up for big companies, dressed well, had a nice house, nice cars. Time on their hands. They were nice people.
They had two kids. Sam was twelve, cocky, and he hated me. And Marie was 4. She dressed up in pink frilly dresses, wore a tiara eighty percent of the time and wanted to be a ballerina. She told me Sam didn’t like her, I told her it was ok- he didn’t like me much either. She asked me if I was her new big brother. She invited me to tea parties every day when she got home from school. She took exactly two teaspoons of sugar in her tea.
“I can’t.”
“Try.”