Gritted my teeth, locked into the love of the needle.

Right there, on your thigh.

And accepted Adam's tattoo, the tiny heart a very big Stashed under your skin.

symbol, forever bonding us, his ink in my flesh.

It Throbbed the Next Day

I Still Wasn't Down When We Landed

Tightened Airport Security

No one greeted me on the far side of the jetway, no relatives, no friends, only slot machines.

Tugging those two carry-ons, upper thigh itching like crazy beneath a tight pair of jeans.

I wandered toward the escalators, a 50-foot-long mural of blue Lake Tahoe flanking me on my left.

8-foot-tall showgirls in purple boas (and not much else) smiling at me from the right.

Kristina drawn left, Bree to the right, the monster started to retreat just in time.

I Saw Them

before they saw me- the whole fam-damily turned out to greet me: Jake, sweaty and animated, auburn hair (And where did that come from, Mother?) ruffled, freckled face (Thank G.o.d I missed that recessive gene!) handsome with summer color.

Leigh, on summer break, too "Brittney-ish" (So much of Mom's platinum beauty!) to really be gay, (What a waste-like a butch would care!) legs to die for, unshaved in short shorts.

Scott, face losing stress as he (Hard day, or another argument?) put work behind him, (Mom could have done worse-and had!) tall, lean, and great looking for 40.

Mom, somehow prettier with laugh lines, (Would I be able to say the same?) visible from here, (Would I ever even be that beautiful?) and a smile that could light a starless night.

Right at that minute, she saw me. (And, just for an instant, her smile was all mine!)

Then She Caught Sight

of something not quite right, something not quite familiar.

She hesitated, unsure that I was me.

Her smile dissolved, ghostlike.

But then she waved, and my family flooded me.

Homecomings Are Strange

You come home, and everyone talks at once and everyone asks questions, but no one waits for the answers.

Instead they talk about themselves, what they've been up to, what they're going to do next, as if you're a photo on the wall.

And then they talk to one another, forgetting you've just flown in, forgetting you're in the backseat, forgetting they've already said it all.

And you want to shout, can't you see I'm here?

can't you see I'm brand new?

Can't you see me at all?

My Mom Says "I Love You" with Food

So we went out to dinner. Not McDonald's, either.

We went to a buffet. A mega casino-style buffet: Salads-Oriental chicken; wilted spinach; ambrosia; three-bean; crab (at least that's what they call it); potato (three kinds); pasta (five kinds); carrot & raisin (nasty); and, of course, green.

Entrees-pizza, lasagna, mushroom ravioli; fried chicken, roasted chicken, chicken piccata; mahi, halibut, and deep-fried cod; mashed, baked, scalloped potatoes; vegetables; and on the carving board, roast beef, roast turkey, and roast loin of pork.

Desserts-apple, cherry, and lemon meringue pies; angel, carrot, and triple-chocolate cakes; pastries, cookies, rum b.a.l.l.s, and truffles; cobblers and bread pudding; soft-serve ice cream, with all the fixings; and for sweet-tooths on a diet, strawberries (forget the diet, top with whipped cream!).

So Mom gets two plates (low carbs), strawberries (no whipped cream).

Leigh gets three, eats half of each, skips dessert.

Scott eats most of three, with a brownie and ice cream for dessert.

Jake finishes four, down to the gravy; tops that off with three desserts.

As for me, still battling the monster for brain and stomach s.p.a.ce, I picked at a single plate.

Home Sweet Home

Despite All Trepidation

Despite the monster, fluttering in and out of my head like some demented moth, drawn to whatever light might be left there, despite Bree, demanding I find a way to get high, as if I had a clue where to get crank back here in Kristina Land, despite Leigh, helping me lug one suitcase, her hand annoyingly pinching mine with every tug, every pull, despite Jake, dropping the other suitcase down an entire flight of stairs, spilling shampoo, lotion, and tampons, despite Scott, smelling depressingly clean, while my own speed-induced body odor reeked ever stronger, despite my mom, insisting I looked fabulous, having dropped four or five pounds, all the while wondering if anorexia had arisen....

REGARDLESS.

I Slithered Down the Hall

into the haven of the bathroom, shed my clothes, showered, scrubbed my skin until I thought it might blister, studied my thigh, found likely signs of infection.

Bree shrugged, Kristina silently screamed at the angry green pocket of pus beneath the purple welt- Adam's forever symbol of love.

The Door Opened

I did scream then.

But it was only Leigh.

Hey, it's only me.

Kinda jumpy, aren't you?

"Did you need something?

I'm naked you know."

I've seen you naked before.

'Course I've never seen that before.

She pointed to the tattoo.

What could I do but ask her opinion?

In my opinion, you've got one nasty infection. Did you sterilize the needle?

Thinking back, I wasn't so sure.