Cricket: Ember's Story

21

West telling me I'm a coward for giving up on Cricket has gotten under my skin, and I can't stop wrestling with the problem. I know I could do this, and do it for real, but I'm facing a major uphill battle when it comes to Jesse. That social worker was clear. I can't live with someone using drugs if I want custody of Cricket. Either Jesse gets clean... or we break up.

I've decided to use Adam's decision to quit meth as a way to bring up the subject with Jesse. I don't dare tell him it's because I'm planning to get Cricket back and force us to become one happy family, whether he wants to or not.

"Why would I get clean?" he asks me, all confused, like it's the dumbest question in the world.

"Well, since I stopped... I can really think a lot better," I say.

It's true. One thing I no longer struggle with is being able to tell dreams from reality like I do when I'm doped up. If I'm on a bender I completely lose touch with what's real and what I've dreamed. Dope dreams are so realistic and mundane they feel like real life, and real life is so dreamy it feels fake. You can live that way for weeks, existing somewhere between sleep and awake.

Jesse shakes his head. He's preparing a shot right now, and I watch the ritual with mild interest, the way the drug bubbles in the spoon with the flame under it. He draws it into the needle through a cotton ball and flicks the syringe a couple times to get the air bubbles out.

"I have no desire to think better," he says. "I would like to not think, in fact. Why all this focus on getting clean all the sudden?"

"It's just better for our future if we quit now. Plus, we could save some money. Look how much we've saved since I stopped!"

"Make this really tight," he says, handing me the shoelace he uses to tie off. I wrap it around his bicep and tie it so tight he gasps.

"Damn, Ember! The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus," he says.

"You said tie it tight," I remind him.

"Yeah but not cut my fuckin' arm off!"

His veins are fine for the most part because he's only recently started shooting. We used to smoke it almost exclusively, but that has stopped being enough for him. Plus, he's started using mostly fentanyl. This is the last stop before death.

"Anyway, we can save a lot of money," I repeat.

Jesse shakes his head. "I don't care about that. We're doing fine day to day."

"Well, it's also better for your health and stuff..."

Jesse laughs, like I'm telling a joke. "You know I don't give a shit about that either, Ember."

"So what do you care about?" I ask, frustrated.

He finds a vein easily and says, "I care about not feeling anything. I care about being in some other reality. That's it. That's what I want."

"What's so bad about our reality that you have to escape it?" I ask.

Jesse presses down on the plunger, and I know he's not going to answer me for awhile because that rush is intense. It doesn't last long though. He closes his eyes for a second, completely lost, and the needle is sticking out of his arm so I remove it and sanitize it with his lighter.

"What did you say?" he asks, finally.

"I said what's so bad about our reality?"

"It's not that bad... This is just... better," he says slowly.

"I really want you to do this with me," I say.

Jesse just says, "Mmhm, baby. Okay. Sure."