Memoirs Aren't Fairytales by Marni Mann Read Free Book Online

ahead of me in the checkout line. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric walk in and go down one of the aisles. There was only one camera, aimed at the register, but there were mirrors near the ceiling in all four corners of the store.
    The line moved fast. I unzipped my jacket, undid the top three buttons of my shirt and arched my back. The customer in front of me finished paying, and I reached for a pack of Juicy Fruit, setting it on the counter.
    “Forty-nine cents,” the cashier said, but his eyes weren't on me, they were scanning the aisles.
    “Can you tell me how to get to Quincy Market?” I asked, handing him two quarters.
    He looked at the change, and then his eyes slid a few inches up to my chest. “You, uh…”
    While he watched, I adjusted the underwire, and my boobs popped out even more. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said.”
    “Err, t-take the Orange Line to State Street and it's, uh, a b-block from there.”
    I heard Eric cough, and then the bells on the front door chimed. We were in the clear.
    I told the cashier to keep the penny and thanked him for the directions. He didn't say you're welcome, but I still gave him a little shoulder shake for being so helpful.
    I caught up to Eric at the end of the block. “Did you get it?” I asked.
    He leaned forward and the box of foil poked out from the collar of his jacket.
    “That was too easy,” I said.
    “You made that dude almost swallow his tongue.”
    “I did good?”
    Eric laughed and put his arm around my shoulder. “They did good,” he said, nodding towards my chest.
    We rushed back to the apartment. Eric's hands were shaking so bad he dropped the keys before he got the door open. We took the stairs two at a time and already had our jackets off before getting inside. We sat on the floor by the bed, and Eric followed Que's instructions. The heroin was cooked up, and he spread it over the foil.
    When I was in fifth grade, a cop came into our classroom. We were all wearing our black t-shirts with D.A.R.E across the front. We stared at the cop while he paced in front of the chalkboard, showing us poster-sized pictures of different kinds of drugs. When he got to heroin, he said it was like a terrorist. I didn't know what that meant, but I knew it was something bad. During my sophomore year at UMaine, I watched on TV the attack on the twin towers. How could that cop compare tragedy and murder to this harmless white powder? Something that made me feel this incredible shouldn't be categorized as a terrorist.
    Heroin deserved the top shelf in Que's drug cabinet. It deserved the highest rank.
    Coke gave me energy. Ecstasy made me dance and want to be touched. Shrooms made me hallucinate. But heroin. Shit. Heroin was kind. It didn't trip me out like acid or bring me into a dark hole like PCP. It showed me the quietness of the waves.
    When the smoke came out of my mouth, I felt every muscle relax. The replay of my parents' nagging was muted. The looks of pity that flashed in my head from when I moved out of my dorm room were blurred. And the dirtiness I felt inside my crotch was wiped clean.
    I heard Renee walk through the door. She dropped her purse on the floor. I felt her sit down next to me and I opened my eyes just slightly to greet her.
    “Chasing the dragon, huh?” she asked.
    I was chasing something. And damn it felt so fucking good.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    When the three of us got back to the apartment at two in the morning, all our stuff was dumped in the hallway. The bed frame was in pieces, and the mattress leaned against the wall. All our clothes were thrown in boxes piled on top of the couch cushions. We were only two months behind on rent. Shit, I thought our landlord would be more forgiving than that. He had changed the locks while we were at work and put a No Trespassing sign on our door. We tried to break in, but the door was like steel, and Eric couldn't knock it down. We needed a pick-up truck to move it all and a place to crash. With