Feminism, Part One--September 30, 1995

They leave me at home.

Not that I minded; I don't particularly like the notion of Lou driving my car, maniac that he is, but a fix is a fix and a fact is a fact, and the fact is, we need a fix, all three of us. And honestly, I'm tired of the ride. We've been out to the spot at least three times this day, in varying permutations: me and Lou, me and JP, me and JP and Lou and Sophia...I really just want to stay home and nap.

Reid goes with them this time, leaving the dog, Thunder, with me. Thunder is his guide dog, a big slobbery Lab who isn't above snatching an unattended burger from the table and scarfing it, bag and all. Since we have no money for anything but the nightly fix, burger-theft is out of the question; the dog lays on the floor with his head on his paws and waits.

JP has gotten paid today, and we're flush with cash; in fact, they're going to stop at the Maplewood house for a sack of weed, a treasured indulgence. We're certainly living large again...an empty fridge, a house full of packing boxes for the move in two days, and a sack of weed. The sink is full of dishes and cold greasy water--no hot water since the gas was been turned off--and we have no dish soap, no truck rented for the move, no idea of where we're going or where we're going to put our stuff. The only "stuff" we care about is the box with the needles, my notebooks, and all the music. JP's guitar, his amp, the TV, my computer, the CD player, the four-track...all are in the pawnshop waiting to be redeemed. At least without the rent to pay, we'll have enough money to get them all back. Then we'll clean up, get the band together, save some money, rent a new place, and get to work on immortality.

Yeah, right.

I sleep for a while, maybe an hour. When I wake up they still aren't back. I wonder what's happened, but then again delay is the only constant at the spot. "Go around the block" means a five-minute wait. "Five minutes" means fifteen. "Ten minutes" and you have at least half-an-hour to cool your heels before the pack-man shows up. "Half an hour" means you might as well go home.

None of us ever go home. We always wait.

The door opens. Lou first, leading Reid; then JP. I know immediately that something isn't right; JP's wearing the look that says "See, what had happened was...."

"Hi puss," he says.

I'm not going to be charmed. "What happened?"

JP and Lou exchange glances, and JP puts his arms up over his head, his most adorable-little-boy-telling-a-huge-fib gesture. "See, what had happened was..." he begins.

Lou cuts in. "I didn't crash the car. The car is fine," he says. "Sorta."

Visions of seizure and reposession dance in my head. "'Sorta'? What does 'sorta fine' mean, JP?"

"No really, it's fine, I promise." He pauses. "It's just...not here right now."

"Well then WHERE is it, if it's not here???"

"It's over on Maplewood," he says. "We....sorta got a flat tire."

All the air goes out of my lungs in a rush. "A fuckin' FLAT? You get me THAT scared over a fuckin' FLAT???"

"Welll, we didn't know how you were gonna take it!" he laughs.

"You idiot, I thought you got the car seized or something." I'm prepared to be magnanimous, now that I know what the problem is. "So where's the...you-know?"

They glance at each other again; clearly, THIS is the part they'd rather not tell me. "We didn't get to the spot," Lou says. "We stopped at Maplewood to get the sack, and when we came out the tire was flat. It's over in front of the house over there. We'll have to go get it in the morning, and I'll take the tire off and go get it patched over at that place on Western."

I'm more pissed about the lack of dope than about the flat. "How long has it been since our last shot?" I ask JP.

"Four, five hours, maybe. You're NOT going to get sick," he tells me sternly. "It'll be fine--we'll just get the tire fixed first thing tomorrow, and then we'll go over to the spot like always. No big deal...It'll be fine," he tells me again.

And though he's always been right before, this time, somehow, I'm not so sure.