Cathy Eats Her Words

November 16, 2007

Day Ten

Filed under: NaNoWriMo,Novel — jeanne @ 7:45 pm

There was instant pressure from Star’s lawyer to get her into rehab. She’d tested positive for coke the last two times she’d gone to probation, and with any more slip-ups the judge would stick her back in jail for the duration. Cathy was determined to help, and so renewed her search for rehabs.

Finding a drug rehab center on the internet is very difficult. There’s no real information out there. There’s a lot of verbiage, a lot of ad copy, but they don’t tell you much about anything, and certainly nothing at all about what it’s going to cost or what the insurance is going to cover. She had to call a bunch of them, and then call Star’s insurance company, over and over, to find out what she needed to know. And every time she asked a question, she could sense there was volumes she wasn’t being told, but she didn’t know enough to see thru the crap.

Richard was having fits about it, of course. It was his insurance, and after he got over the fear that his employers were going to find out that one of his dependents was a drug user, and fire him, he became afraid that it was going to end up costing him money. Cathy had no patience at all with his fears.  His mother had died the year before, and he had money and property coming out of his ears. Most of the antique furniture that had filled her house up in tony Westchester, New York was sitting in his basement, with drapes over them to protect the surface from the animals. He could sell any of the antiques, or sell some of the stocks he’d just bought, or dig into his bank account for spare change. Yet he was talking about bankruptcy, and Star still hadn’t even interviewed at a rehab center yet.

Cathy finally settled on one half an hour north of her house. It had a fancy website, and from what she could see of it, the place was nestled in the woods and made everyone do a lot of walking and exercise. It looked good. She called up and got someone who had nothing but good things to say about getting Star in and getting her fixed up. But it all sounded like a sales pitch, with no real details until you were ready to sign. There must be really good money in rehab, she thought. Come on down, we’ll treat you right.

All Richard wanted to know was when she would be by to pick Star up, who had gone back to her father’s house right after Cathy blew up at her for staying out half the night and not giving any information about where she’d been or with whom. This time, at her father’s, she didn’t have use of her car, having a suspended license, and didn’t have the keys to lend to any of her friends, and wasn’t allowed to have anyone visit her, or IM anyone or talk on the phone. So Richard said, backing it up with hidden cameras and recording devices. Cathy didn’t know whether to believe him, but evidently Star did, because there was no trouble from her. But Richard was out every day for work, and couldn’t watch over her. And Cathy knew he kept a stash of drugs in his closet, and also knew that Star had long ago figured out all the passwords he used, so she was anxious to get her into rehab and away from temptation.

The lawyer’s plan was for them to walk into the next probation meeting with papers for rehab in their hands, and slap her in there right after she’d done her drug test. So Cathy had to scramble, because probation was in two days. She went down and got Star from her dad’s and then went north to the rehab center. It was in the woods, as the website had promised. It seemed to have been built in the ‘70s, because the style was all cedar siding and shed rooflines and A-frames. There were a dozen buildings or so, and the younger patients were kept in a dormitory by themselves, with a soccer field and a baseball diamond behind it. The sidewalks outside the front door were covered with cigarette butts. The place was clean, but a little ratty, as if the furniture was subject to the prying fingers and fidgety hands of thousands of junkies with nothing to do with themselves.

They sat in an orange-painted waiting room for awhile, waiting. Cathy wondered about the psychological significance of the color orange. Red overexcites, blue calms, yellow makes you psychotic, green is healing (except that nasty gray green they use in hospitals. That color encourages infections). She decided that orange was meant to remind you of home, of a refrigerator stocked with orange juice for you to drink right out of the bottle before your mom noticed and yelled at you.

Then a guy with a facial tic came in to interview her. He was taken with her beauty, which Cathy thought a bit unprofessional, and got her to tell him all about her problems. Cathy was surprised to hear a lot of it, because it was all the stuff she had been keeping secret. Her drug friends, the fact that Spike was selling drugs out of the house, the full, gory story of the home invasion and beating and robbery, the drugs she would mix together and down every chance she got without any concern about drug interactions, the fact that she really liked cocaine. What was most interesting to the guy doing the interview was the fact that she couldn’t sleep at night. Did that indicate something special going on with her brain chemistry, Cathy wondered. The guy ignored her. He wasn’t telling her anything; it was as if he and Star were having a conversation in another room where she could only see their lips moving.

In the end, it was all business. He took her insurance card and left the room, and came back in a few minutes saying it’s all settled, and Cathy should plan to drop her off right after probation was over, gave Star a list of things they were allowed to bring with them, and sent them off. Cathy’s head swam a little. She hadn’t had a chance to ask any questions, or to get a sense of what was going to happen. She hated when things were settled so quickly, because it didn’t give her time enough to adapt. She was always being expected to just hop right into the program, and couldn’t. It was a source of irritation to Star, who was always anxious for change. Cathy just supposed it was the difference between a kid and someone on the verge of getting old. On the other hand, she’d always been like that, so never mind.

They went shopping. The guy had told her that there was going to be lots of exercise, and suggested she get some outdoor gear. And somehow, among all those clothes Cathy had picked up off the floor at Spike’s house, there were no sweatclothes among them. At least, Cathy didn’t remember any, and Star swore that none of those clothes fit her anymore. It was because of all the coke she’d been doing. Her muscles had wasted away over the last month or two, and the flesh hung off her bones. It was painful for Cathy to notice. She’d always been so athletic.

So they went off and bought her some clothes, some new cosmetics, mainly to make her feel better, and some fresh sheets and blankets so she could bring her bed with her, which was a very important thing to Star. She never slept in someone else’s bed if she could help it, even if it meant stuffing the car full of pillows and comforters. A strange obsession, perhaps, but Cathy’s younger brother used to take great pains to select just the right towel from the linen closet every night so he could rub it against his face and smell it as he sucked his thumb to put himself to sleep. How much stranger was that?

Star stayed with Cathy and Gray that night, and failed to complain about the small TV or the light coming thru the curtainless windows. Cathy figured she must be really freaked out about going into rehab, or about going back to jail if rehab didn’t work. At dawn they were up. Cathy insisted on some breakfast, and Star chose the sweetest cereal they had and still added sugar to it with a sour look at Cathy for her food choices.

On the way to rehab, the back seat crammed with suitcases and garbage bags, the two women were almost relaxed, almost friendly to each other. It was a whole different atmosphere than the stiff, hostile one that was now usual between them. Star played word games with Cathy, just like they’d done when she was a little kid. They made jokes and guessed what began with different letters, and misread signs to get funny phrases out of them, and Cathy actually enjoyed herself. She felt very warm toward her child, and very grateful. It was as if she had her real girl back, instead of the vicious bitch that had mistreated both Cathy and Gray as long as she could remember.

Intake was a pain, with all sorts of papers to sign and all sorts of rules that they didn’t mention during the assessment, and Cathy found herself going home with several of the items Star had packed: mouthwash, anything sharp, all her DVDs, her razor and her electric hair tools.

She came back several days later, with a load of junk food for Star, who’d called and said she was starving, but only had a microwave. The food was horrible, she’d assured Cathy. Not as bad as prison food, they had more than peanut butter and jelly, but it wasn’t what she was used to, and she wasn’t eating.

Cathy caught Star coming out of a meeting. It was in a different building than the dorm, and crowded with people milling about, drinking coffee out of styrofoam cups, eating candy like it was a requirement for being a recovering addict. Star seemed embarrassed to see her mom, and quickly walked her around the corner to an empty section of the corridor.

“I brought you some goodies,” Cathy announced. She noticed that Star was all pimply and hormonal-looking. Maybe she was getting ready to have her period, or maybe coming off all those drugs made her look puffy and redfaced. Perhaps she’d been crying.

“Shhh, Mom. They don’t approve.”

“But it said in the paper they handed you,” she objected.

“The paper means nothing. It was just for show. They’re much different inside than they were at assessment.” Star looked around furtively. Cathy wondered if she were trying to avoid being seen with her mother, or letting her mom see the people she was with. Then the returned to the main hall, Star steering her toward the exit. A woman who looked like she was in charge came up to Star and gave her a big hug, which Star returned. Cathy was astonished. Star didn’t like being touched, especially by her mom. Why was she letting strangers hug her?

“We think your daughter is wonderful,” the woman said. She seemed genuinely fond of Star. Could she be behaving in here? Cathy thought. “Are you going to join us for lunch?” she continued. “We’re all just going over there. It’s really great food,” she said, smiling.

Cathy looked at Star, who had stiffened. Could she be hiding something from me, still, or is she really just embarrassed? “Um, no, I guess I should get home. I just came to see Star for a moment.”

“Yeah, Mom can’t eat anything unless she makes it herself,” Star added, explaining when the counselor looked suspicious, “Food sensitivities.”

“I’m sensitive to a whole range of flavorings and colorings,” Cathy put in. The counselor nodded – not just neurotic – and turned her attention to someone else from the meeting who had questions. Star backed Cathy away and took her out to the car, where she was anxious to see the bag of groceries Cathy had brought.

So Cathy drove Star around to the dorm, where she gave a reluctant hug and got out, bag in hand, and disappeared into the building, explaining that family weren’t allowed inside. So Cathy made her way home again, feeling vaguely dissatisfied.

Star had told her that it wasn’t necessary for her to come to family night, so she and Gray got there early.

Families filtered in, and stood as far as they could from other families, standing around stiffly or laughing and joking softly among themselves. Some of them were finishing take-out dinners, some had stopped for coffee. When the time came, they all piled into a large room that was empty in the center, with chairs lining all four walls. The families all sat down as far from each other as possible, and after awhile the patients filed in and went to sit with their family members, some glad to see them, some looking pissed off. Star came in last, and dragged herself over to sit next to Cathy, pointedly ignoring Gray.

Cathy had been to twelve-step meetings before, when Star was just a baby and Richard was having trouble with various substances. After blowing his entire Christmas bonus on coke, and Cathy finding him slumped in the bathtub at four in the morning, knocked out, with a yard-long stream of snot flowing from his nose, he’d checked himself into the hospital upon seeing her face the next day, and Cathy got a full dose of Al-Anon while he sorted himself out. The meetings she’d gone to had been lively, emotional, full of conflict and resolution. She’d thrived on the support.

When Richard got out, he avoided cocaine, but started drinking, and it was only after she’d left him that he stopped doing that. There had been several numb years before she left where the only time they’d talk was when he had finished one of those boxes of cheap rose wine. But the talk was stupid, pedantic and repetitive, and he forgot everything he said the next morning. So Cathy saw the end coming and made preparations.

But now she was in a meeting with her daughter, who was still being rude and rebellious, but was also feeling insecure, because she kept leaning against Cathy while others were introducing themselves and telling their stories. Hi, I’m Name, and I’m an addict. (Hi, Name.) Her closeness was all the indication Cathy had, but since Star usually went out of her way to avoid contact, it was significant, and Cathy wondered what it meant.

After everyone introduced themselves, the counselor narrowed in on a guy who was evidently here for a second try at rehabilitation. He was young, his parents were young. They were college educated, well dressed, uncomfortable to be there. He was dressed like a rapper. They’d worked very hard to raise themselves the level of their own parents, and were in the process of making very good lives for themselves and their kids. But here was Junior, throwing it all away. The parents looked like they were always angry at him, and humiliated to be here in front of other people who deserved to be here, and obviously had problems. They didn’t feel they were on the same plane.

The kid’s name was Sam. “Yeah,” he started, with his head down, mumbling. “I’m four days clean.” Everyone clapped. It’s what you do at a meeting.

The counselor interrupted to ask the parents how they were. The dad scowled. “We’re aggravated,” he said.

So the meeting focused on them. “This is my second time in rehab,” Sam said, looking around at all the kids who’d been there with him and hadn’t yet graduated. “I got out of here with 63 days clean, and then went and had a beer on Friday after work. And then I got drunk.” He looked around. “I don’t even like being drunk. My drug of choice is coke. I been doing coke since I was thirteen.” His dad stiffened and rolled his eyes. His mom looked shocked. “But if I can’t have coke, I’ll have booze. Sorry, Mom, Dad,” he muttered, having seen their expressions out of the corner of his eyes. “I told them about it the next day,” he continued, “and they brought me right back here. Man, were they pissed.”

The counselor turned to the parents. “How did you feel when he told you he’d gotten drunk?”

The father spoke reluctantly. “You can imagine how we felt,” he said, and many of the parents around the room nodded. “We told him that we had expected much more from him, and that we couldn’t understand how he could act like he lived in a ghetto when we’d done so much for him all his life.” It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. He turned to his dad and started to say something, but the father shut him up with a wave of his hand. “We sent him to a good college, and he dropped out. All he does all day is sleep, and he works at a night club.” He turned to his son. “You wanted to be a lawyer.” It was apparent how much his dad had hoped for it. “And now you’ll never be approved, because lawyers are expected to be morally upright, and here you are a drug addict, wearing ghetto clothing, working at minimum wage, with no future. The only thing you don’ have at this point is a police record. Thank God.”

Sam hung his head, but there was a defiant glint to his eye. His dad was really mad, and his mom sat there with the icy calm of someone trying to hold it together without screaming.

“And how do you feel about that?” the counselor asked his mom.

She started to cry softly, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, and said nothing.

“I wanted to ask you why you’re here,” the counselor continued, to the dad.

“For my son, of course,” he answered quickly. Cathy looked around the room and saw that all of the patients and half the parents were shaking their heads. It was exactly the wrong thing to say, as anyone who’d been thru a twelve-step meeting would know.

The counselor turned comments over to the floor, and one by one the kids and their parents turned on Sam’s parents and explained how they needed meetings as much if not more than Sam did.

Sam’s parents sat stiff and purse-mouthed thru this, obviously thinking they were being blamed for Sam’s problems. Cathy could see that they stayed awake nights, wondering where they’d gone wrong, and misread it every time a parent told them their story

“I thought it was my fault for months,” a housewifely woman spoke up. “It was only after coming in here and hearing other people’s stories that I understood that it’s Andrea’s life,” she indicated her daughter beside here, “Andrea’s choices, and Andrea’s addiction, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Other parents nodded, smiling at Sam’s parents, who didn’t acknowledge any of it. Cathy spoke up when it was her turn. “I went to twelve-step meetings a lot when Star’s father was in rehab. It helped immensely. Not just because I had people who knew what I was going thru, but because I learned a whole lot of tricks for coping, and getting thru the crisis. And also because I was being told by the people at rehab that he was probably going to die, and was scared out of my mind. It was worse than his drug problem. I needed to hear from other people who’d been thru the same thing, that their family members hadn’t died, and they’d gotten better. I needed that,” she finished. The dad was sitting stony-faced, and the mother was looking at the ceiling.

Star started to talk, but it was to Cathy. The counselor had warned them against cross-talking. “Was Dad really that bad?” she asked eagerly.

“Shhh.” Cathy leaned over and whispered, “He was worse. He spent thousands of dollars when we had nothing, and he kept staying out all night and coming in right before I had to go to work. I had to leave you with him, and you were a tiny baby, and I’m certain he slept all day long while you were left all by yourself in your crib.”

Star looked a little uncomfortable, and leaned against Cathy again. She loved the feeling of her daughter’s leg against hers. “I need to talk to you. Afterwards,” She whispered. She must have been feeling uncomfortable with all the confessions going on, because she turned her head and started talking again. “They said I was too on top of my problems today in group,” she said. Maybe she was comparing herself to the poor dad on the grill at the other end of the room. Cathy wondered if she realized he needed to know that he needed help as much his son did, or if she thought everyone in the room was just picking on him. “I’m way beyond everyone else here. I know as much as the counselors know,” she continued. “And they can see it. My head counselor, Betty, told me I should be a social worker because I understand so much.” She seemed proud of herself.

Cathy patted her hand and didn’t mention that it seemed like she was in denial. She hoped that Star’s competent veneer would crack with a little more pressure from the counselors. Maybe being above it all was one of the stages they helped each other thru. It felt disloyal, but Cathy could see that she was going to have to expose Star’s attitude while she was here, make sure everyone knew that she was just doing rehab to avoid jail, and was trying to skate thru the process without making any real changes inside of herself. Maybe that’s why everyone liked her here. She had them all snowed, even the counselors, and they didn’t see the seething hatred she carried inside of her. But maybe, Cathy thought, that hatred was only for her mom, and everyone else saw the Star that Cathy only remembered.

When they got out, Star was still being clingy. “What’s going on, baby?” Cathy asked her, hoping that maybe she really was working her program and trying to come to grips with her problems. But she wasn’t ready for what was really going on with Star.

“I’m pregnant.” Star looked at her mom with anxiety in her eyes.

Cathy stopped in the hall and thought for a moment. “Pregnant. That’s why your face is so spotty. It’s hormones.”

Star was impatient for her reaction. “That’s all you’re going to say? I’ve got zits?”

Cathy hugged her. “No, baby. I’m delighted. Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I just found out. They did all sorts of blood tests when they admitted me, and they did this one twice to make sure. They think I’m about a month pregnant.”

Cathy asked, “How do you feel?” She wasn’t really sure how she felt herself.

“I’m cramping a little bit, and my ovaries are hurting.”

Cathy rubbed her lower back. “Well, ovary pain is normal in early pregnancy. The cramping isn’t a very good sign, tho. I need to warn you that you might start bleeding, and if you do, you just have to realize that your body isn’t ready to have a baby, but at least you can get pregnant, so you can try again when your life is more under control.”

“But I wanted to get pregnant,” she said. “And my life is very much under control. I’m going to be a great mother, and I’ll never do anything wrong again.” She was so innocent. “But don’t tell Dad, okay? I want to tell him myself, when I’m ready.”

“He won’t understand.”

“But how do you feel about it?” Star was still anxious.

“I’m delighted. I don’t care that you’re really young, and haven’t gone to college, and the father of your baby is a drug dealer. It’ll all work out.” She gave her daughter a reassuring hug. But the words sounded ominous to her ears as she was saying them, and she knew that Richard would have an entirely different opinion. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him, either. Too bad they couldn’t hide it from him.

“What does Spike think?”

“He’s very happy. We’ve been trying to get pregnant. We’re getting married as soon as I’m out of rehab.” Well, that’s interesting, Cathy thought. “Will you help me shop for a wedding dress? I want to get married at the botanic garden.” Cathy didn’t mention that it would cost tens of thousands of dollars to get married anywhere special. She didn’t mention that after jail and rehab, they should be glad to be married in a registry office. Star had her hopes set on a traditional wedding, and why shouldn’t she have one, just because she’d thrown away everything traditional about growing up, like college and a job? She could hear Richard’s angry protestations in her head. She looked at Gray, who was taking it all calmly. She realized that she had a few problems with Star’s being pregnant. It was perhaps not the most mature thing to do in the light of rehab and a possible jail sentence.

“Don’t you think you might have waited until all this legal stuff was out of the way?”

She was blithe. “The judge won’t sentence me if I’m pregnant.” Cathy kept her mouth shut. Hopefully the judge would never find out about it.

There was a hearing the following week, her speeding ticket and driving on a suspended license. Because she’d been arrested on drug charges, her pending traffic violation now took on a more sinister aspect. Star’s lawyer was waiting for them when they arrived from rehab. Rehab had let Star out for the court appearance, and Cathy had also arranged for her to go see the maternity center at the hospital.

Star and the lawyer stood before the judge, Cathy trying hard to look like a good mom, sitting in the benches. The lawyer handed the judge a letter from the people at rehab, stating that she’d been clean since she’d gotten there, and was a model patient. Star said she was doing everything she was being asked to, and more, and she wanted to be a counselor when she got out of college. The judge looked over his glasses at her, one side of his mouth raised in a sneer.

“You know, young lady,” he said, “with one stroke of my pen I can put you behind bars for 321 days.” Star didn’t appear struck by it, but Cathy did the math. Almost eleven months. It scared the shit out of her. Star could have her baby in jail. What would happen then? The state would take it? “Do you even know the penalty for possession of cocaine? Fifteen years.” Cathy gulped.

Star admitted that she hadn’t really thought about it.

“Well, I want you to think about it.” He took up his pen and started writing. “Forty-eight hours in jail, starting immediately. After that, you go back to rehab.” He looked at her again. “And you be sure to do everything they tell you.”

She nodded, and Cathy felt defeated as she turned and followed the bailiff thru the door back to the jail. Cathy started to cry. She wondered if Star would be shedding any tears. She seemed so stiff necked.

Star’s lawyer thought she got off easy. “He’s put people in jail for their entire probation period,” she said as they walked out to their cars. “He wants her to know he’s serious about this.”

“Did she tell you she’s pregnant?”

“Yes. Are you happy about it?”

“I am, but Star’s dad won’t be.”

The lawyer grinned. “He doesn’t know, huh?” Cathy shook her head. “He won’t like it.” The lawyer had met Star’s dad, and had a good sense of how he would feel.

Richard, as predicted, was furious.

Star called her the next morning from the jail, and said she was out already. Two for one. Cathy immediately offered to come to the jail to get her, but Star said she was going to walk to her dad’s house because it was close by. It was at least five miles, but Cathy thought maybe she wanted the exercise, the breath of freedom. So she got dressed and headed down to Richard’s house. He’d told her before that she should call before coming down, so she called, and he didn’t answer because he was dead asleep and wouldn’t hear a bomb if it went off under him.

She walked into the house when she arrived, and Star was upstairs in her room, sorting thru clothes on the floor and putting them into a bag to take back to rehab. She seemed angry that Cathy had just come on into the house without permission. Cathy ignored it and went into Richard’s room. He was sitting at his desk in his underwear, smoking a cigarette and furiously typing on his keyboard. An email to somebody. Cathy sat on the edge of his bed and waited for him to finish.

“I am stunned by this latest evidence that Star has lost touch with reality. Did you know that she’s gone and done the unthinkable?” Cathy stared at him, waiting for him to run down. “First she’s been warned about the importance of an education and ignored it, and now she’s a functional illiterate who is barely qualified to make change at a convenience store.”

Cathy objected to calling her functionally illiterate. True, she couldn’t spell, but neither could Cathy’s brother, who’d been editor-in-chief of his college newspaper. “I spent a lifetime warning her about the dangers of habit-forming drugs,” he continued, referring to his days as a crackhead. “She ignored it. And now she’s in and out of jail with yet more jail waiting for her when she gets out of rehab.”

“When she became sexually active, she was warned about the consequences of that, and ignored it. Now she has locked herself into a life of underachievement.” He had turned to look at Cathy, glaring at her as if it were her fault.

Cathy hoped that Star wasn’t listening on the other side of the door. He was making her angry by constantly referring to their daughter as a loser, when it wasn’t anything like as bad as he was making out. Of course, it wasn’t good, but Cathy always preferred to hope that people would use their mistakes as opportunities to learn, to make course corrections. And Richard obviously saw each mistake as a necessary preliminary for making the next, worse mistake.

He was going on, this time about himself. “These things have come at an ever increasing cost – medical, emotional and monetary cost – to me. I have suddenly discovered that I do indeed have limits.” He drew himself up, sucking in his gut. “I am no longer able to bear these costs, even if I were willing, which I am not, now that she’s stuck the dagger in and twisted.”

By getting pregnant? Cathy wondered.

“You and she will have to work out some other living arrangements once she leaves rehab,” he continued, wiping his face with a greasy hand. “I am well past the breaking point and need to put an end to my own suffering irrespective of the consequences in terms of relationships with either you or Star. As much as I love her, someone else will need to shoulder her burdens from now on.”

Cathy thought about how formal he was being. As if he’d just written all this down in an email and was reciting from memory.

“All of the people who matter most to me are saying, ‘Run, don’t walk, to the nearest exit.’ I fear that this is what is at hand, irrespective of what people think.” He sighed melodramatically. “I cannot and will not continue to watch my child commit slow-motion suicide. I’m finished. Used up.”

“Why don’t you come to one of the family meetings at rehab and say that?” she asked.

He gave her a look of contempt, and continued his speech. “I no longer want to be seen in public with that creature,” he said, spitting the words. “If she ever turns her life around, I’d love to hear from her.” He shook his finger at her. “But after the turnaround. Not in the midst of promises or good intentions and more bullshit plans.”

Cathy sighed and looked around at his room, which was more filthy than ever. Maybe he had enough to worry about just keeping himself straight, such as it was, she thought. “Okay, then, she’ll come stay with us again. I’m looking forward to having her.”

He looked at her as if she hadn’t understood anything he’d said. He seemed shocked that she hadn’t agreed with him that the best reaction from her parents would be to immediately disown her and kick her out on the streets. “Very well,” he said, turning back to his computer and starting another email message. “I’ll be boxing up her things over the next few days and sticking them in the basement. If you want to come and get them, fine, or I’ll drop them all off with that damned dog of hers when I’m done. Or she can pick them up en route to wherever she thinks she’s going. Maybe she and Spike will be successful in turning this into his grandma’s problem, and she’ll shit him a free house. Anyway, if my experience is any guide, you’re going to need all the luck you can get, so I’ll wish you good luck. And now, if you don’t mind, I need to take a shower and get the fuck to work, where I know you probably don’t care, but they’re going to fire me any day now, another reason why I must jettison my unfortunate offspring before she sinks me.” He looked at her, accusingly. “If you’d only listened when I asked you to get an abortion, none of this heartache would have happened.”

Cathy left in a hurry, and slammed the door. Dick.

go to tomorrow’s writing

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3 Comments »

  1. I’ve read the whole thing, it’s really, really good. I love the characters and everything. Just one little thing that bugs me: it’s through (as in through the park) not thru (as in drive-thru)and though not tho. Chatspeak + novel annoys me just a tad. Otherwise great.

    Comment by Trace — November 17, 2007 @ 10:58 pm | Reply

  2. sorry about the chat speak. i used to be a proofreader, and normally it would bother the hell out of me. but, english changes, and these are two examples of the way i’m doing my little bit to change english. i blame the highway department.

    Comment by constructionews — November 19, 2007 @ 6:27 pm | Reply

  3. […] go to tomorrow’s writing Comments (1) […]

    Pingback by Day Nine « Cathy Eats Her Words — October 12, 2009 @ 3:04 pm | Reply


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