Page 27 of Hooked

No wonder he thinks I’m silly.

It’s slow work, setting the hook, climbing down the ladder, repositioning it, climbing back up, setting the hook, ad nauseum.

The motion was something I wouldn’t have been able to do a few years ago. When I was sixteen and Drew was eighteen, we decided to jump off Big Bridge on Seaview Avenue in Edgartown, or Jaws Bridge if you ask the tourists. The name is misleading. Big Bridge is not big at all. But I was afraid anyway and Drew held my hand as we made the leap.

I hit my shoulder on one of the pylons on the way down.

It hurt like hell, but I didn’t want to admit to Drew or anyone else that I’d made such a dumb mistake.

After a few years, I’d developed so much scar tissue that it was hard to move my arm. My shoulder was nearly frozen. I went to physical therapy and breaking that scar tissue down was pure agony. I cried during most of the early sessions and was left with big, mottled bruises that took forever to heal.

But they did heal.

And eventually I could fully rotate my arm again.

The pain was worth it.

I finish sticking the hooks and start hanging the garland. It’s green ivy with bright clusters of red berries set in. Tinsel will give it a little extra sparkle once it’s hung.

My thoughts wander back to Vinny and his scar tissue as I repeat my slow progression across the ceiling. His scars cut him out of so many experiences. But whether he’s interested in breaking through them, that is another question.

Then again, if I’m being honest, maybe I haven’t worked through all of my scars either. My parents’ bullshit I certainly had, in private, but not so much with Drew.

I hadn’t taken the leap with him into using. He’d convinced me to smoke pot with him and his friends once, to just try it, and I’d wanted to be a part of his life so badly that I’d agreed. But it made me paranoid and I’d embarrassed him when I’d begged him to take me home.

“Jesus Christ, it’s just weed, Sia. You’re so fucking lame.”

“Drew, please? I don’t feel good.”

“Take the baby home, Drew. I thought you said she was cool?”

Another of Drew’s friends looks at me in a way that scares me.

“She’s not a baby,” he says, leaning forward and licking his lips. “How old are you? Sweet sixteen, maybe? Doesn’t look like a baby to me.”

My heart slams in my chest.

“Drew. Take me home. Now.”

He shoots a glance at his friend. “Yeah. Okay.”

He’d never invited me to spend time with his group after that. Partly I’m sure because he wasn’t blind to the implicit threat in his friend’s words, but maybe things would’ve been different if I’d been able to hold my own in that moment. Even if taking drugs wasn’t something I could do, or wanted to do, I wish I’d been savvy enough to fake interest so I could keep an eye on Drew. That way, like my uncle had said, I could’ve been there when he needed me the most.

But I wasn’t there. And I’ll work hard for the rest of my life trying to create beautiful, warm, welcoming spaces where people can find safe community to make amends for that failure to Drew, and to Danny. I’m not naive enough to believe I can save everyone, but if I make a difference for even a few people, it’ll be worth it. Grind through that scar tissue in whatever way works.

I’m about halfway through placing the garland when Vinny comes into the ballroom with one of the cocktail tables from the basement.

“What are you doing up there by yourself?” he asks. “That ladder is rickety as hell.”

I’m simultaneously pleased with his concern and annoyed at the condescension. Looking over my shoulder, I notice his eyes are glued to my ass. God bless yoga pants.

“I do this all the time,” I toss over my shoulder, turning back to the garland. He puts the table down and holds the ladder for me. I climb down and stand in front of it.

“Kieran almost broke his neck when he fell off that damn thing,” Vinny says. His voice is gruff.

It’s real sexy.

But seriously? Kieran?

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