Dennis Tafoya - The Dope Thief

He could only see clearly the end of the arc of wanting someone. He could feel gears turning inside him when he saw certain women, fell in love two or three times a week with women in shops or at bars or just stopped alongside him at intersections, but it was like he skipped too much in his head and got caught up in how the end played out. The screaming and cocked fists and broken glass. He had a vision of his mother carrying him into the bathroom and locking the door, holding him in the bathtub while his father screamed like a gutshot animal and smashed things in the kitchen.

THAT NIGHT HE lifted the lid on the toilet tank and pulled out a plastic ziplock bag with a foil package in it. He went into the kitchen and made a pipe out of a straw and aluminum foil and dumped a tiny hit of brownish, clotted heroin into the bowl. He sat on his old couch and fired it up and waited. His apartment was tiny, white walls and three rooms over a garage owned by an ancient Ukrainian widow who only left her house for funerals and bingo.

He had put on an album he liked, the sound track to the Bruce Willis movie where he finds out he’s a superhero. The music was quiet but built to a point. Ray liked to think it suggested powerful things happening that were invisible to the eye. He put the pipe down and poured himself a Jameson. He became aware of a pound ing in his blood, a repeating signal that spread warmth and light through his head and down along his arms. He lay back on the couch and let his eyes almost close, so the lamplight filtered or ange through his lashes. Currents moved in his blood, and he thought of chemicals being conveyed through his system to his brain, like people in another time passing buckets full of water hand to hand to throw into a house on fire. He sipped at the shot, and the burning in his throat was like something being cleaned out of him. The woman from the store came into his head wear-ing blue and black, and he closed his eyes, trying to conjure the sensation of her fingers touching his forehead. Light, in the way some women’s hands were light on your skin. He touched his own dry lips and felt his heart beating in the pulses in his fingers. His head moved with the low drumming of his heart, small lateral movements as if there were water under him. He drifted, drifted, waiting for the fire to go out.

“Hey, counter lady.”

“Hey, you.”

“How much is this hat?”

“You want that hat?”

“I don’t know. Yeah.”

“That is a ridiculous hat.”

“It’s cool.”

“Take that off, it’s making me laugh.”

“I make you laugh?”

“Yes, you’re laughable.”

“Well, I like to make you laugh.”

“I know you.”

“Yeah. I know you, too.”

“You’re in Mrs. Haddad’s fourth period En glish.”

“I was. Fatass Haddad.”

“You used to make us all laugh in there.”

“Not Fatass.”

“No. You’re Ray.”

“ Yeah.”

“You know my name?”

“ Yeah, I know your name.”

“You’re a liar. You don’t remember me.”

“I remember you. You’re Carole Quirk’s friend.”

“But you don’t know my name.”

“Carole’s friend.”

“I knew it. You don’t know. Hey, what happened to you?”

“Ah, nothing. I got kicked out.”

“I know that, everyone knows that. What for?”

“Ah, I boosted some stuff.”

“ Yeah?”

“ Yeah, it was stupid. I don’t know.”

“Claudia Shaeffer said your dad…”

“ Yeah.”

“Is that true? Is he in jail?”

“ Yeah, he’s an asshole.”

“Why is he in jail?”

“For being an asshole.”

“They don’t put you in jail for that. Half the world would be in jail if they did that.”

“You don’t say that.”

“What?”

“Asshole.”

“So?”

“I don’t know. I just knew that about you. You don’t say…”

“Swears.”

“No.”

“Well, it doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t raised like that.”

“You’re from, like, the South, right?”

“ Kentucky.”

“Yeah. Isn’t your dad like a cop or something?”

“A state trooper.”

“Oh, man.”

“You don’t like policemen.”

“No, I don’t know. My old man sure hates them. One thing.”

“I guess he would.’

“One thing, they always call you by your whole name. Raymond.”

“Yeah, that’s my dad.”

“Raymond, is this any way to get ahead in life? And shit like that.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“But you’re laughing.”

“I can’t help it, you make me laugh.”

“Good, I like to make you laugh.”

“You going to pay for that candy bar?”

“No, I’m going to put it back.”

“You already ate like half of it.”

“Well, then it should be half price.”

“Oh, you think you’re super bad, huh?”

“I would be if I had this hat.”

“You’d be super retarded. Anyway, Mr. Rufe just put in a camera over in the corner, so he can see when you juveniles steal from him.” “You think I care?”

“You should. He’ll call my dad and my dad’ll put you in jail.”

“Like I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

“Maybe you should be scared of me.”

“Why?”

“I was in jail.”

“ Yeah, but I’m not scared.”

“Not even when I’m close up like this? In the middle of the night and you’re all alone at the counter?”

“Not even then. Anyway it’s like seven thirty at night. It’s not even dark.”

“What about now?”

“No.”

“I think you should come for a ride with me.”

“My shift is almost over.”

“That’s good, then come for a ride.”

“I have to go home.”

“Just for one ride?”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“I know it.”

“You don’t. Say it.”

“Marletta.”

“Say it again.”

“Marletta.”

“So you know my name.”

“I know about you.”

“What do you know?”

“I know you do gymnastics. I know you’re smart. I know you like Carole Quirk but not her other friend, Amy.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“No, I know. I see you. I know your mom is black and your dad is white and that’s why you moved up here.”

“Who told you that? You think that’s funny?”

“No.”

“You better watch what you say.”

“No, I know that’s why you’re so good- looking.”

“I’m not.”

“No, you are. I thought so the first time I ever saw you.”

“No. No one says that”

“They’re all dipshits.”

“You think I am? Good- looking?”

“You are.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Kiss you? I wanted to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a juvenile.”

“You’ll help it when my dad sees you.”

“He protects you, huh?”

“Something like that. He gets pissed. And then he calls me by my whole name.”

“What does he call you when he’s not pissed?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

“Like the swear of a juvenile is worth anything.”

“What does he call you?” “Mars.” ‘Uh-huh.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.” “I’m not.”

“ Yeah, you kind ofare.”

“You’re laughing, too. Look at my arm and your arm.” “You’re so pale.”

“And you’re like, I don’t know. Honey or something.” “ Watch the hands, mister.” “ Your skin is soft, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t be back here. Mr. Rufe would be super pissed.” “I’m just keeping you company.” “Are you coming to junior prom?” “No, probably not. When are you done?” “Soon. I have to go home.” “Nah, you don’t.” “You shouldn’t do that.” “Kiss you?” “No, you shouldn’t.” “I can’t help it.” “No?”