Page 40 of Close to Falling

“Hey, baby,” I reply. I haven’t used today because I knew I would see him. I feel off and complete at the same time. He sits, and I do the same.

“You been okay?” he asks.

“No. You?”

He shrugs. “Could be worse.” He grins, and I wonder what could possibly be worth smiling about. I run an uneasy hand through my hair, and my eyes look around the room.

“This sucks,” I say. “I want to touch you.”

“Me, too.” His smile disappears.

Chapter Sixteen

Time doesn’t stand still as my boy sits in prison. He grows bigger because all there is to do is work out. His face fills out more as the months pass by, and he shifts from looking like a boy to a man. He turned twenty-two, and I’m getting closer to twenty-one. I’ve lost weight, and he points it out. It’s getting harder to see him and not feel him. Distance and prison make him harder, and I can tell he isn’t just changing on the outside. Each time I visit him, I see the war in his eyes, and he has mentioned me not coming anymore. I lash out like a needy child, and he apologizes, telling me he loves me. I make him promise not to say anything so stupid again.

He’s angry, and I’m clingy. I’m angry, and he’s clingy. Our conversations are forced, and there are always words we should say but don’t. We fight more and more, but love letters keep my hopes up because he writes from his soul. The sun rises and sets as the days pass. I’m more dependent on the pills than I have ever been. I hang out with new people and go to new parties with the same old habits. I’ve met a new drug dealer, and he keeps me well supplied.

I switch from job to job because nothing fits, and I can tell Frankie and Landon are worried about my well-being. My twenty-first birthday comes and goes, and I care less and less about everything around me. River grows more distant, and his letters tell me he wants me to move on. My habit covers me completely, and I can no longer remember who I was before everything went to shit. I’m only normal when I’m two pills in now. I’m breaking.

***

“That sounds like you were giving up,” Ellie says.

“I was depressed, and it only got worse.”

***

I’m floating. The air feels so good, and the lights look stretched. I breathe in hard and wince as the powder goes up my nose. Lying back against the sofa and waiting for the rush only cocaine can give me, I rub my face and look out past the porch railing. People surround me, but I’ve never felt more alone. I saw River today, and he looked at me strangely, like he couldn’t recognize me anymore. Apparently, someone in the prison does tattoos, and River’s arms are getting covered. On the outside that boy is starting to look like his attitude—badass and untouchable.

“You don’t look like yourself anymore,” he told me.

“I miss you is all,” I replied.

“You’re changing, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I’m still the same,” I said.

“No, baby, you’re almost gone.” His face was devastatingly sad. “This is killing you. I can’t fucking do this anymore.”

“I can. I will,” I told him as I reached across the table and touched his hand. He gripped mine like he was trying to keep me from falling, but I knew all it would take was a strong wind and I’d be heading toward the floor.

Thick two-by-fours lined side by side make up the roof to the porch that people I don’t really know and I are under. It shields us from the rain, and the dank couch I’m sitting on smells like mold and dirt weed. Thinking about our conversation from earlier makes me tired, even though my heart is racing from the cocaine. I stand up and step off the porch. Rain only takes a minute to soak my clothes, but I keep walking and get into my car. I drive without feeling and make my way to the field River parked us in on a night I cooked for all three of my boys. I put the car in park and open my door. Stepping out, I look up to the sky. Heavy drops fall into my eyes, and I hold my arms out wide. My eyes close, and tears well up behind my lids. I look down and sink to my knees, clutching the ground below me, wondering how it all got so crazy.

***

It’s been almost a year now that River has been in prison, and I’m headed up for my weekly visit. I’m high, but I don’t care. I walk in like usual, but this time the guards direct me to the phone area. I’m confused, but I follow. I’m told to have a seat. I look around at the people sitting in booths just like I am, phone up to their ear, speaking to their clients or family members through a thick glass. River walks out in handcuffs, and I wonder what the hell is going on. I pick the phone up, and he sits down after they remove the cuffs. He looks at me, and I see a cut above his lip. He picks up the phone, and I wish I was holding on because a gust of wind was headed my way.

“What is going on?” I ask.

“Just some shit in here,” he says, looking hard and cold.

“What shit?” I look back at his cut lip.

“Don’t worry about it, B,” he tells me. “Look, Maddie.” He casts his eyes down, and I see the tips of his fingertips turn red from where he is gripping the phone so hard. He looks back up at me, and his face is passive, his emotions gone.

“I need you to move on, B. Don’t come back.” He’s done, and I break.

“What? River, you don’t mean that,” I reply, taking a breath and trying with everything in me to believe what I just said, because I know he is serious this time.

---