Page 15 of Crank (Crank 1)

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it started with a court-ordered visit.

The judge had a God complex.

I guess for once she’s right.

Was it just last summer?

He started an avalanche.

My mom enjoys discussing

her daughter’s downhill slide.

It swallowed her whole.

I still wore pleated skirts, lipgloss.

Crooked bangs defined my style.

Could I have saved her?

My mom often outlines her first

marriage, its bitter amen. Interested?

I was too young, clueless.

I hadn’t seen Dad in eight years.

No calls. No cards. No presents.

He was a self-serving bastard.

My mom, warrior goddess, threw

down the gauntlet when he phoned.

He played the prodigal trump card.

I begged. Pouted. Plotted. Cajoled.

I was six again, adoring Daddy.

What the hell gave him that right?

My mom gave a detailed run-down

of his varied bad habits.

Contrite was not his style.

I promised. Swore. Crossed my heart.

Recited the D.A.R.E. pledge verbatim.

How could she love him so much?

My mom relented, kissed me

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