Sister Ray

6. Burger

I had relapsed after the detox that second time I came home. After the rehab not taking twice. I didn't stick around to see my parents reaction, but figured they'd kick me out, or have me arrested, once it was clear that I had robbed and pawned the jewelry my mother would wear while gossiping with aging aunts, and an uncle that summered in Provincetown and who was well versed in the pairing of colors when it came to what he wore.

My mother would go on about the earrings my father got her from Bethany's for their anniversary. To one aunt, with a wonky eye but who bore a son that became a doctor, my mother said that the matching watches her and my father were wearing, were bought when we visited Monaco, that, they cost five-thousand- - each.

These were the reindeer games played when gathered at reunions and summer barbecue's. Christmas' and, on the off occasion, Easter's.

Under heat lamps, depending on the season, next to bungalows and in-ground pools, my aunts would start their conversations with: not to brag, or my uncle would say: between us girls, and I heard my dad use the ubiquitous: oh, mine is docked in Manhasset Bay Marina, many times, scoffing if you said your's was docked anywhere on the southern shores of the Long Island. The Hampton's didn't count.

Everyone was vying to be The Big Dick of the family.

It would've be my folks, but on the count of me, well, you know how it goes.

They, my father, was a banker. Investment, not teller. He bought the right stock, which I later uncovered was given to him via insider tips, and he could've retired when he was forty, but his work ethic was that of a different era. We lived in a huge house out in Nassau. It was one of those neighborhoods where your taxes were frightening, but the town had its own glorified rent-a-cop who, with some frequency, used the N-word.

- - - -

Either my father had lied, or the lady at the pawn shop knew how to spot a junkie, the loot came to somewhere just short of four-hundro, which, look, for an addict, that's sweepstakes type money, but I had lifted a lot of shit from the house and it left me puzzled.

But, I didn't complain.

Odds were that she had a piece under the counter, aimed at my dick, and in all honesty, the last time I negotiated anything was, well- - fuck?

It was fine, really it was, considering I hadn't paid anything for the jewelry. I was up almost four-hundred percent with those numbers.

It was certainly enough to get me to Little Odessa.

Or was it Little Russia?

I thought Odessa was Ukrainian?

It was in Brooklyn, I new that for sure. All the way at the ass end. Bottom. I had to take two different kinds of trains to get me out off Long Island, which ended up being less sobering than I think my parents were expecting my stay to be. Hoped that my second rehab attempt might've taken.

No dice.

- - - -

I had met this Russian call girl during my first stint at St. Magdalena Rehabilitation Center, just outside of Newbergh, NY.

Albany.

She was pretty, she had been beautiful, but the darkness under her eyes showed me how many years since she had been that. Beautiful. Svetlana lived in Brighton- - yeah, Brighton Beach. She was close to my age but looked about ten years older.

Svet and I both smoked the same brand of cigarettes and we mind melded when she told me she loved the SciFi movie series, Tales of Pangea. We geeked out over it. Her favorite character was the protagonist, Rallis Loque, and I countered that Saxena, the tough as nails warrior who was an ally to Rallis, was arguably just as an important and complex character as the lead of the franchise. And Svet said that while she loved all the movies within that space opera universe, she felt that Champions of the Nazaro, was by far the best in the series. Adding: It's one of the only endings to a beloved series, that ever stuck the landing.