I come to in a pharmacy refrigerator aisle. I can’t remember how I got here, except I remember it vividly because it happens like this all the time. I get high and I get a craving and I disappear into myself on the dark three block walk between my apartment and the drug store. I tell myself stories so that I don’t think about getting shoved into a van that comes out of nowhere down the dark street. If I was smart, I’d keep my wits about me — but what has awareness ever gotten me except knowing too much about things I can’t change? I wander the aisles and check my phone for the time and text messages that don’t come through. I think about the rainy day this summer when I followed Claire down the makeup aisle as she ran her nails over the plastic tubes of lipstick and mascara. She stole a cherry chapstick and a pair of tweezers. Subtle and quiet for only a moment, I watched her slide them both into the pockets of her dress. She looked up at me to make sure I saw before she started tapping her nails against the nail polish. Her smile said: I take what I want. I tried to tell her: Take me. We went to the market and bought two pineapples, a jug of orange juice, and a bottle of vodka. We drank screwdrivers from the messily carved out fruit with novelty straws that had penises on the end. She kissed me with cherry lips between cold showers.
“How do you think they get Mountain Dew that colour?” I ask the clerk. She looks down at the bottle of Arizona Green Tea. I don’t really remember choosing it and it’s not what I really want. “Pardon?” She looks confused. “Mountain Dew,” I gesture to the fridge aisle. “The fluorescent yellow. How do you think they get it like that?” “This is Arizona Green Tea,” she clarifies for me. She thinks I’ve lost it. “No, I know. I was just wondering about Mountain Dew.” “Oh,” she uses the scanner gun on the Arizona Green Tea. “I don’t know. Is that all?” I look around and down. “One of those scratch cards.” She pulls out the tray and lets me pick. She scans it. Four dollars and change. I tap my phone on the terminal and take my tea and scratch card out to the sidewalk. The neon lights and TV reflections from the sports bar next door remind me of a casino and I regret my scratch card when I remember what a scam the whole business of gambling is. I tuck it in my purse and crack open the can for a sip. It’s not what I wanted. I didn’t see anything I wanted but there’s something missing, something lacking. I pull out my phone and call a friend. “Do you think I’m losing it?” I ask him. “Are you losing it?” “Maybe.” “Where are you?” “The McDougal drug store.” “Come over. I’ll open a bottle of wine.” That’s not what I want, either. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there in ten.” When I hang up the phone, I see two texts from Claire.
What are you doing?
I miss your lips.
I delete the conversation. I head down the street, a little more aware of the cars coming up behind me.