place? What is so amazing about this shit that you just had to start doing it again? Why?”
His breathing was so controlled for someone so high. He nodded slowly and came toward me, and this time, I didn't retreat.
“Pops asked me that a while before he died,” he said.
“What did you tell him?” I asked as he sat beside me.
“Nothin'. 'Cause I couldn't just ... I dunno, tell him the reason was him.”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to wrap my head around his answer. “But you were so close with him. You loved him. Why ... why would he be your reason for using drugs?”
Vinnie shook his head. “It wasn't him but life with him. Growin' up in his house was hard, with him workin' all the fuckin' time. He was hardly ever around and when he was, he was always stressed. And I always thought, if Ma hadn't run away, shit wouldn't have been like that, you know? But he drove her away, he did that, and we suffered for it.”
His energetic buzz faded away to reveal the thick blanket of sadness and years of hurt beneath. “I guess I ... we, Zach and me, used to go somewhere else. You know? Somewhere not ... here.”
“An escape from reality,” I whispered, understanding more than I would've liked.
“Yeah, exactly. An escape from reality.”
Drugs are bad, drugs are wrong, and I shouldn't have understood as much as I did. But I couldn't help that I empathized with the need for an escape. I couldn't help sympathizing with the young kid he once was, desperate to shut himself off from his own life, and how the hell do you do that when you're stuck?
In that moment, I thought about Tracey. About what she had said about the pills and alcohol and how it kept the ghosts at bay—or Spirit, as she called it. Sure, she had nearly thrown her life away because of it, but maybe, just maybe, I could be different. Maybe I could find a balance, and maybe Vinnie could help me.
“Show me how to do it,” I found myself saying, relenting way too easily as I lifted my eyes to his.
“No,” he told me, point blank. “No fuckin' way.”
“Please,” I begged him, forcefully ignoring his lingering, unblinking father and the worry in his eyes. “I want you to show me. I want to escape, too. Let me go with you.”
He surprised me by tearing up and clenching a fist, raising it to his forehead, and holding it there. “Fuck,” he muttered, teeth gritted and throat choked. “Fucking hell, Andy. Don't make me do it.”
“Fine. I'll figure it out myself.” I stood from the table and moved swiftly toward the living room. “How hard can it be?”
Vinnie pushed himself up from the table and shouted, “Dammit, Andy! Fine!”
He rushed past me and sat down on the couch. He laid his palms over his face, groaning and cursing. I should've felt guilty for putting him through this, but my need to turn off and feel good outweighed any guilt.
I stood by as he shook out his hands and resigned himself to playing the teacher role. He grabbed the little baggie of snow-white powder and emptied its contents onto the mirror. Then, he picked up the Dunkin Donuts gift card.
“Moe gave this to me for Christmas,” he needlessly explained, as he pushed the cocaine into two neat, even lines. “It was good for a couple cups of coffee and I guess it's good for somethin' else now, too.”
He chuckled humorlessly and dropped the card back on the table. “Okay, watch me carefully.” And I did, paying close attention to the way he pressed a finger to one nostril and bent over the table, close to the little white rows. Then, it went so fast, his noisy inhale and the swift motion of his head. He sat up, gasping and pushing his hands through his hair. It didn't take long for his smile to return, bright and euphoric. I wanted that, I wanted that type of numb happiness.
So, I followed his example, sucking up as much as I could, unsure if I was doing it right. After, I sat up, throwing my head back and waiting for it to feel good. Waiting for the disappointed ghost at my side to disappear. When I eventually heard nothing but the sound of my own heart beating in my ears, I opened my eyes to find Vinnie, and only Vinnie, in the apartment.
“How do you feel?”