Cricket: Ember's Story

Even if

Jesse comes back just before the sun comes up. My bones are rattling for a fix, and he's already high and I figure I'm on my own for dope today. But he brought me some, a tiny sticky ball of Black no bigger than a booger.

"Thanks," I say softly.

He doesn't respond, just nods and hands me a piece of unused foil. I put the ball in the corner and grab my lighter and the plastic shell of a ballpoint pen. I heat the Black and chase it as it slides down the foil, inhaling the smoke through the pen as I go.

Then I think of Cricket, and I stop.

I'm already feeling it, but I don't smoke the rest. I've been smoking heroin with Jesse for a year, but I don't consider myself a hardcore junkie. I get dopesick without it, but it doesn't rule my world. I can stop when I want.

I think.

Jesse looks at me sadly. He reaches out to touch my black eye, but I flinch, which hurts his feelings, I can tell.

"I'm sorry, Ember," he says.

"Me too," I say.

"I'm just sorta shocked. Like numb. I can't believe I have a kid all the sudden," he says with a soft laugh.

"I should have told you."

"Yeah... you really should have. Damn. Talk about a surprise."

"I want to keep him, Jess."

Jesse sighs and shakes his head. "Christ, I knew this would happen. No, Ember."

"Why not?"

"We aren't parents," he says.

"We can be."

"Yeah well I don't wanna be," he says, leaning back against the wall beside me.

There's a big hole in the wall because Jesse kicked it one day, and now the whole wall makes an ominous crack sound as his back settles against it.

"Why not? The drugs? We can quit. The lack of jobs? We'll get some. No house? We'll save up. What else are we doing with our lives?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Well aren't you sick of doing nothing? Don't you want to do something that matters?" I ask.

I know he hates our life, because he always talks about it.

"How do you wanna die, Ember?"

That's his opening line. I'm used to his morbid obsession with death, but this question always sends chills up my spine because of where it ends up.

"I don't want to die," I will say in response, to which he replies:

"Well you have to someday."

"So I don't wanna think about it until then."

"You know how I wanna die?" he'll ask.

"How?" I'll ask, humoring him.

"I want to go with you," he always says. "I want us to die together, Ember."

And I'll say something along the lines of, "Stop talking like this."

And he ignores me and gets some far off look on his face, like he's no longer in the room with me, this scary vacant look. And he just keeps on talking and talking and talking.