How long have I been here? I can’t keep track of time.
She gives up. Looking for something to occupy her mind, she finds herself down on her hands and knees reading the messages that have been carved into the cell’s floor. Disturbing questions pass through Sally’s mind.
How did the previous cellmates carve sayings into the concrete floor?
Wasn’t I told that no metal objects were allowed? These carvings were made with something sharp, but what?
A detective comes to talk with her after what seems like years. The lighting is poor and there is an iron mesh welded to the cell’s bars, making it difficult for Sally to clearly distinguish what he looks like.
She longs to see the outline of a human face.
I’m so desperate to talk to someone—anyone—that even talking to this officer feels good. It makes me feel less alone.
The detective addresses her. “I’ve spoken with your mother and think it would be a good idea for you to start seeing a counselor on a regular basis. The charges against you will be dropped, as long as you agree to apologize, in person, to the store manager. Do you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Your mother is waiting outside for you. Someone will come and get you when we’re ready to let you go.” Having said his piece, he gets up and leaves.
After a time, an officer comes to get Sally. She is escorted out of her cell, hopefully never to return, through the stripping room and back to the steel counter where her belongings are returned to her in a manila envelope. The officer firmly places his massive hand beneath Sally’s elbow as he directs her through the door and out to the waiting area. Seeing her mother’s face, Sally feels as though she has been released from one prison to another.
Mother and daughter leave and drive in silence to the Ralph’s store so Sally can apologize to the manager before heading home. Once en route, her mother asks, “Why did you do it? What were you thinking?”
Her queries are met with silence. Both have become accustomed to the deafening silence that lies between them like an impenetrable fog.
Sally uses the drive to process what has happened to her.
I was dared to steal, stole and have spent the majority of my day surrounded by steel. Now, as a common thief with inked fingers, I’m returning to the scene of my crime to apologize. I never want to go through this again.
At the store, she faces the manager, sincerely apologizes and promises that it will never happen again. He says he hopes not and he forgives her.
The drive from the store to their house is filled with more deafening silence.
Sally’s only salvation is to stay away from home and be anesthetized with drugs that her new friends provide. Her favorites are marijuana, which she smokes and cocaine, which she snorts. Both afford the opportunity to escape her painful reality.
Rather be with my friends than home where everything reminds me of Eric. Can’t stand the memories that slice through me like a knife.
Sally’s mother and she barely speak anymore.
This is more unbearable than the memories of Eric.
Mrs. McFee beats herself up mentally. Sally, once a top student who prided herself on being amongst the best, no longer cares about being the poster child for her teachers.
Nothing matters. What’s the point? My own mother doesn’t care.
Why should I?
On the school’s recommendation, Sally begins seeing the district’s psychologist. Dr. Dave Glenstein is small in stature, with a hunched back, pasty skin tone and a severely pocked face from a lost battle with acne as a youth. He speaks with a whiney voice and reminds her of a mouse, always wiggling his nose to readjust his thick horn-rimmed glasses. His beady eyes unnerve her as they peer out over the top of his lenses.
She easily manipulates Dr. Glenstein by telling him what he wants to hear and going through the motions of being helped. He accepts her act.
He’s an idiot! I’m stoned half the time, and he doesn’t even notice/care. Maybe if I go through the motions, he’ll stop asking me how I feel about Eric’s death. Shit! Can’t he see? I don’t want to know how I feel!
Her act is convincing—for a while. Then Sally starts to spin out of control, her mind warped from the drugs she is taking. Her mother wants to help but is too engulfed in her own grief. Sally spends more time with her new friends.
It feels good to be accepted again. The best part? Nothing about these friends reminds me of Eric.
She is paid special attention to by the boys and enjoys their interest. She begins to click with one in particular—Grease, the leader. He is a dead-ringer for John Travolta from the movie Grease. He has the same bad-boy charisma, chiseled good looks, piercing blue eyes and slicked-back black hair—hence his name. He is used to getting what he wants and has Sally in his sights. Sally begins having sex with him.
This sex thing is awesome! Can’t get enough. Can’t stop thinking about it or Grease!
Sally engages in casual intercourse with the other boys in the group through the holiday season, the ringing in of the New Year and well into spring. She does Tiny, Spike, Blade and Taz and likes all their nicknames. Each offers anonymity.
Sally runs with the group as the warmer days and evenings hint towards the coming of summer. She stays out all night and disappears for days on end while on drug binges.
In the group, she finds a new best friend—Angel. Like her, Angel has had a rough upbringing. The group gave her the name Angel, claiming that she must have a guardian angel watching over her to have survived being continually raped and beaten by her father.
Angel is five-feet nothing, weighs a hundred nothing sopping wet, is Hispanic and has a mane of gorgeous raven-black straight hair that cascades down to her rear. Her eyes are the color of milk chocolate, with flecks of caramel sprinkled through them, and have a way of looking right into a person’s soul when she is talking to them. Despite her size, she is a fierce fighter. Those who cross her do not end up walking away from the battle.
Sally manages to graduate. “Yeah! We’re done with school, Angel! Now what?” She lets out a sigh. “You going to college?”
Angel laughs. “Yeah, right, like my dad is gonna spring for me to go to college.”
“Me either. Ma can’t afford it…besides, I’ve had enough of this school shit.”
Angel high-fives Sally.
“Guess we’re gonna have to get jobs.”
“I suppose.”
Angel fills the hole that Eric’s death created in Sally and tells her of a friend she wants to introduce her to. “Sally girl, you’re gonna love Ax! He’s awesome!”
Sally agrees to be introduced. The girls take a bus to Pasadena where Sally meets Ax, and they learn all about his setup at a motel on Colorado Boulevard where rooms can be rented by the hour, day, week or month. He tells them that he always keeps three rooms paid up—parading an endless stream of his prostitutes through them.
Sally is shocked that Angel would think to introduce her to a pimp.
A pimp? Why a pimp? Well, then again, why not a pimp? It’s not like I don’t like this whole having sex thing. It’s fun. Why should