/ "and i have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay" /
Michelle "Mickey" Hopper has a lot of problems. An alcoholic father ignoring the loss of his youngest daughter, her sister, Sarah...
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...Thursday, November 10, 1983... where is my mind - pixies
Mickey leaned on the edge of Tommy's door as she knocked on the painted, white wood. He flung the door open widely and smiled when he saw Mickey. "Back for more already, Mick-ster?" he taunted.
"Whatever, dick. Do you have the stuff or not?" she asked with a smile.
"After you." Tommy gestured largely for her to enter, she handed him the cash and he jogged up ahead of her towards his living room where Carol was sitting around with a few others from their high school. "Chill out here. I'll grab the stuff from upstairs."
Mickey sat down on the couch beside Carol who threw an arm around her shoulder. "Long time no see, Mick-a-licious. You've been skimping out on me recently."
"We hang out, like, every day."
"Yeah, well, the game was lame without you," Carol said with an eyeroll. "Even the rest of lunch was lame without you. You cannot leave me with those gross guys and little Miss. Perfect."
"Carol, you put your foot on the table so we could consult on your 'frostbite.' You have no room to call them gross," Mickey said.
Carol laughed and buried her face in Mickey's shoulder. "Got me there! Teach me your ways, oh perfect one!"
Tommy came back from his room with a baggie of pills wrapped in one of Carol's t-shirts so no one was tipped off to the reason for Mickey's visit. "This right here is the reason for my 'perfect' ways," Mickey told Carol quietly. Tommy went down on one knee in front of her, presenting the pills hidden in the fabric to her as if she was royalty. Mickey shoved his head playfully and took the shirt and drugs, shoving them in her bag.
"Please stick around! Drink with us for a while. Couldn't hurt," Carol insisted.
Mickey looked around the room. Tommy and Carol were the only ones she knew well from this crowd. But maybe that's exactly what she needed. Mickey shrugged and accepted a beer which Tommy seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. "Bottoms up, I guess," she said, popping it open.
...
...Friday, November 11, 1983...
As soon as Mickey opened her eyes the next morning, she felt like her head might explode. When she finally pushed up from the bed, she quickly transitioned to a sprint to the bathroom so she could empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She wasn't exactly sure what she ate or drank the previous night, but she knew it burned coming back up. Vodka, she remembered with a grimace. It doesn't mix well with Xanax.
Even that momentary thought of the drug had her hands shaking as she tore through her room until she found the discarded stash of pills. At least she'd succeeded in her goal in going to Tommy's.
Mickey winced as the phone in her room rang obnoxiously. She picked it up and rasped out a "Hello."
