Unburying Hope Read Free Page B

Department of
Motor Vehicles to change her address to her new apartment, and seen angry
people, but no plexiglas.   She’d
seen angry people at the Post Office, but no plexiglas.   So why here?  
    Nowadays, anyone could make an online payment
or set up a payment plan on a laptop.   The people who wandered through these doors at 8 am had no computers,
couldn’t call because their phones had been turned off and were more ashamed
than angry.   They’d get in close to
the window and, even though every single person in line was in the same
predicament, not one raised their voice enough to yell through the squawk box, their
ears attuned instead to hear if the people in line behind them were listening.
    “I am freaked out by the drug wars going on,”
Frank said, the morning newspaper open on his lap under his worktable.
    “Don’t read that stuff, it’ll just make you
crazy,” Celeste said, “and you’re no fun when you’re crazy.”
    “I’m serious, Celeste.   You can’t shove your head in the sand
anymore.”   He tapped his finger on
an article.   “It ain’t heroin or
crack, now it’s meth.   Last night,
they found the head of some bastard in the old theater my dad took me to when
we’d come to Detroit to visit my grandma.   It was sitting in the front middle seat staring at the stage.   The body was up on stage in a
chair.”   He shivered.   “I used to watch indie films there, it
was one of those majestic old places with thirty foot curtains and filigree all
over the walls.   The place closed
about five years ago.   The whole
neighborhood is a crack den.   Or it
was, until the outposts of the Mexican drug cartel came to D-town.   How weird.”
    “You don’t have to worry about that, Frank.”
    “We do, because it’s made from household
cleaners and cough medicine.   Meth
is a white trash drug.   Anyone can
make it in his or her garage.   They
mess with chemicals that are like bombs and they’re high when they’re mixing
the stuff, so it’s really dangerous. ”
    “Why are you worried about it?   It’s not like you’re going to see it
anywhere that we hang out.”
    “There’s some kind of phantom bombing in these
places, no one knows what the hell is going on anymore.   And that means we have to be careful
when we’re wandering between bars at night.”
    “You sound like you think there are UFOs.”
    “No.   Bombs go off but nothing explodes.”
    “Like it kills people but not buildings?”
    “No, nothing happens.   A huge explosion happens but no one
dies and the building isn’t destroyed.   So the freaked out druggies think there’s some invisible poison in the
air, since they can’t see any damage.   Just what we need, a bunch of terrified tweakers.   How will we tell the difference between
them and the drunks waddling home?”
    “I don’t understand,” Celeste said.
    “The danger is that meth has always been made
by one or two people for their own use.   It’s crazy addictive, it destroys your face, your teeth get all corroded
and they break off.”
    “Well, that’s sad,” Celeste said.   “But you’d never use meth, not after
you spent all that money on your teeth bleaching.”   She reached over and opened Frank’s mouth.
    “Hey, I’m not your horse,” he snapped, then
opened his mouth wide to show off his teeth.   “See, totally worth it and I didn’t just do the front eight
teeth.   I’m too vain to do
drugs.   You know I quit cigs
because I didn’t want leathery skin,” he looked pointedly at Jeannie who was
putting her lighter and half empty pack of cigarettes back in her purse.  
    Jeanne rolled her eyes at him, “Hey, at least
I’m married.”
    “Non sequitur,” he sneered, “And since when is
that a plus?   But seriously,
they’re killing now in our own neighborhood.   No more late night jogs home.”
    “You go running at night?” Jeannie asked.
    “Oh, honey, you have so much to learn,” Frank
said