Home Improvement
10:20

Crystal:
You're going to go inside with me and you're going to be good, or I'm going to tell your school that you ran away from me to skip classes.

Dryce:
Gee, how'd you know I was thinking about running away?

Instead of answering, she got out. I followed suit, only because at this point, it was easier just to go with the flow. Might as well "walk the path" for a while, if only to find out what traps lay in wait. The sky was grey, and my shadow was nowhere in sight.

We walked into Shady Acres, where the other inhabitants and their attendants were taking up space at lightning pace. That is to say, they were sitting completely still. Not two seconds in, Crystal takes out her long, black cigarette pen and starts to inhale... but stops, grabs it with both hands and snaps the device in half.

[CRAKK!!]

Dryce:
Grandma, what the hell?!

Crystal:
Haven't you heard? Smoking cigarettes is five times worse than smoking cigars. All the doctors say so. It causes lung inflammation and slows the development of the brain in kids, bats- uh, rats... and... teens... and provides a medium for ten times the nicotine exposure of cigarettes over a long period of dime. I mean, time.

Dryce:
(Utterly confused.) Are you having a stroke?

Crystal:
Of course it's true! I'm always right! Never question your elders, Dyke!

Dryce:
Is that another insult or did you just forget my name?

Crystal:
Don't talk back to me, lezbo.

Yep, it was an insult. Crystal takes me through the building. It's small, but there are a lot of changes after my last visit. What used to be a lonely TV room is now a fully-fledged library, with comfy armchairs and reading lamps. The board game table is no longer a sad piece of plastic on wires, but solid wood, with matching cushion-stools. Even the stained ceiling tiles have been replaced, and the windows are so clean you could eat off of them. I guess, if you like, slapped your food on the glass and just started licking it as it dripped downwards. Anyway, it was nice.

Crystal:
(Clapping, then whining with agony.) Delaney! I need some help here. Why are you never here when I REALLY need you?!

An attendant sped over from the next room. She had been sitting by the window having a break, and her smoky breath trailed behind her. She must have made old Crystal feel right at home when she first got here – guess I know who to thank for her episodes. Delaney looks haggard – blonde hair and tired eyes, dryer than a bone in the hot Sahara. The veins crawling all over her face are practically purple... just like Crystal's.

Delaney:
Yes, ma'am!

Crystal:
Please see to lunch. Today is grilled cheese and tomato soup, alright dear?

Delaney:
Sure thing, ma'am!

The woman's eyes were glossy but her movements were sharp, and lively. Crystal wasn't draining their bodies or their life force... more like, their independence, and their will to disagree with her. The other old folks, I noticed, have all been fitted with fresh, warm-looking clothes and had their hair shampooed. Crystal wasn't just using her pull with the attendants for herself... she was seeing that everyone was taken care of. I wondered what kind of treatment she must have first endured to need such a sense of control here. Their gaze followed me through the room, each of them looking hungry for attention. No... starved. One of the old ladies tries to hold my hand, but Crystal brushes her off for me.

Crystal:
Back here, come.

I followed wordlessly. I didn't want the umbrella hook on me again. Crystal took us back behind the building, where she'd had a greenhouse installed... with its own heater. It sat just off the porch, making use of an otherwise desolate yard.

Inside, she'd planted squash, tomatoes, eggplants, carrots and more. Still dirt for now, each one labeled neatly. Thornrose vines were climbing around the length of the whole structure, and hanging from the ceiling.

Crystal:
Did you know that some species of nightshade contain small amounts of nicotine?

Dryce:
...

Crystal:
What's your problem?

Dryce:
You said not to talk back.

Crystal:
Come off it, brat. Look around you, see what I've built here. You act like I'm some kind of criminal, but I'm like a grandparent to these grandparents. I have the connections, I make the deals, I get things done.

Dryce:
Was it so bad before?

Crystal:
It wasn't good. Very dull.

Dryce:
And now?

Crystal:
It'll do.

Overhead, dried leaves hung from a clothesline, slung from end to end of the enclosure. Held on by little wooden pins, lit upon by sunlight through semi-clear walls. They all smelled vaguely... pokey, if that makes sense. In a small cage, one plant produced a more significant odor. I mean, it stunk really bad. I reached out to touch it...

Crystal:
DON'T!! It's poisonous to touch.

I stop instantly - the sudden concern shocks me more than what she said.

Crystal:
That's a tobacco plant. You see what I've been doing?

Dryce:
I... yeah. You're trying to get people to quit smoking cigs by giving them 'rellos, and then to quit 'rellos by rolling their own cigarettes... with your product. Not just the kids at my school, but the other at-risk patients right here in your home. It's a chain of addiction that leads straight into your pocket, and frees up those rooms for the next batch of victims. Unless you die first.

Crystal:
I doubt it. And it's not so conspiratous as you're putting it... I just want to sell chewing tobacco, like the old days. Like I used to, in my father's shop. Nothing beats a dip when your life takes a dive.

Dryce:
You should put that in your commercials.

Crystal:
(Wistful.) Ah, yes, for only nine-ninety-nine, you can have the whole box...

Dryce:
What?

For the first time, it looked like Crystal was the one who was possessed. Something in her mind was walking her around on strings, like a puppet. Maybe she was hypnotized too? The others parted when she walked through them. Either way, they were hers.

She went to her room, and its immaculate bed. With a white canopy and soft-looking sheets, and a fluffy pillow. Her curtains were fully drawn, and her umbrella was snapped in half in the trash... just like her vaporizer. I became aware that my black hoodie and pants made me just another of her dark implements, and wondered if she'd do the same to me when I was done being useful. However, on the other end of the room, past the new vanity table and polished white mahogany wardrobe (still labeled), sat a smaller bed with black sheets and its own black canopy. For such a small room, every bit of space had a purpose. It was impressive, but the room across the hall was still just as under-furnished, drab, and full of cobwebs as it was last time. So there were limits to her generosity.

Crystal:
See if you can guess what I'm planning to do with you.

Dryce:
You want me to... come over on the weekends?

Crystal:
(Excited.) Close!! I want you to stay foreeeveerr. You're going to run product for me, doesn't that sound fun? Much better than school, bunch of useless hogwash. You'll learn math and science on the streets, like I did!

She giggled neurotically, and clasped her hands together under her chin. It was such an unearned, repulsive transition that I couldn't help but cringe.

Dryce:
That's, uhhh, okay. I already sleep at the dorms, and I wouldn't want Daisy to be wasting her money on rent just for me to stay here.

Crystal:
That's why I'm offering, dummy! Your dear big sister has so much to deal with, let alone your squirmy butt to keep warm and fed. So I offered to take care of you, here, and she said YES!!

Dryce:
(Horrified.) She... said what?!

Crystal:
Or at least she will, I think. I haven't asked yet. You know times are tough... and she can barely afford to keep herself in a bachelor suite. You're going to live here with me, and I'll pay for all of your expenses. I'll even drive you to school, every morning! In fact, I'm just about to call your school and let them know the good news.

Dryce:
You're gonna WHAT?!

She took a towel and went to the bathroom, which from a glance appeared to have been similarly remodeled. Lots of frilly white stuff: shower curtains, scrubbers, etc. Before she closed the door, she made a slow doors-closing motion with her hands to a nearby attendant. A well-shaved brown man in white responded, strong and muscular with an even temper – his nametag said "KAL". With his shaved head, he nodded, and locked the doors on every side. I watched helplessly, then ran quickly to the front doors. Delaney grabbed me while Kal locked them too.

Delaney:
Visiting hours are over, sweetie. Our long-term guests have to stay inside, so they don't get lost outside.

Dryce:
Look, I just turned thirteen today, okay? I'm nowhere near old enough to be here.

Delaney:
(Smiling and laughing vapidly.) Oh, Dryce. Be a good boy, now.

Kal:
We've been told about your new living arrangements, and we're so sorry to hear that your family has fallen on such hard times. Unfortunately, until you're just a little bit older, we can't let you go outside without supervision. Everything you need is in here: food, water, shelter, and bathrooms.

Dryce:
What if I have to go to school?!

Delaney:
Your grandma, the sweetheart that she is, told us all about your... (ahem) impairments. Your eyes, and your foot. Oh, and your cleft lip and pallette... great work on that surgery, by the way. Who's your doctor? I'm looking to get my nose done-

Dryce
(Angry.) Shut up.

I hadn't brought that up yet. That was the thing that made my face look like a baby spider on the day I was born... mandibles unfolding, all fresh from Hell. I hated thinking about it, and the scar down the middle of my upper lip. Not to mention the zipper scar along the roof of my mouth, and that one stupid bump never went away, no matter how much I tongued it. It was tongue-tie, too... and that unholy trinity of impairments made talking feel like a challenge every single day. The one thing I left out of every single transcript so far was my horrid lisp, an only minor improvement on the one I used to have... when I made 's' sounds with in the back of my throat. I'd never learned how to do it with my teeth yet, and I'd only had a single session with a speech therapist before Becker decided that was too expensive. Even today, I was still sounding like a four-year-old tryna say 'thistles'. It made me feel like a freak, and it made everyone think I was stupid. And they treated me that way, constantly. I clenched my fists, and got ready for a fight if at one wrong moment she came too close. She looked cautious now, and stood back a bit. Missed opportunity.

Delaney
(Tenuous.) Look, your grandmother obviously cares a lot about you. She gave us strict instructions that you can't leave without an escort – she doesn't want you getting eaten alive by the streets.

Kal:
Why don't you check out the library, champ? We heard so much about you, and how smart and mature you are... and how much you love reading.

Dryce:
(Deflating.) Yeah, but...

Their empty stares told me that this conversation was nearing a dead end. That was something I was unfortunately used to: being babied by everyone who was older than me. Doctors, nurses, checkup physicians. All trying to ascertain if their surgeries were working, if they'd made me feel "normal" yet. It wasn't that I blamed them for what I was born with, and the pain I go through because it'll never be completely fixed – my legs will always be uneven, and my feet will always hurt. My speech will never sound like everyone else's, so clear and concise it could make a bell ring at fifty yards. The way you speak that makes everyone listen to you, and give a damn what you have to say. So you don't end up sounding like me, the one who's always working twice as hard just to break even – who never knows what's the right thing to say, even if I do manage to say it right. It was nobody's fault but mine, for being born. And my mom's, for trying to drink me out of her womb. I'm surprised that between that, the junk food, the fountainful of diet soda, and the smoking, death didn't take. But I was lucky... one of my grandparents was a Freemason, or something. They had the charity to make me unhappen, so a real person could happen instead. And I wouldn't be here without it... I'd be in a hole, somewhere. Or in a vase, as a bag of powder, for yet another one of her very sad stories. The kind she'd tell at parties about me, and try to tag me in on the sympathy parade like I was gonna stop breathing without it. Actually, I wasn't breathing right now.
I realized I was seeing red and black, and figured out I was looking at the veins on the inside of my own eyes. I unscrunched them, took a cautious breath, and saw yellowish light and green carpet, with smoke-stained and peeling lavender walls. The atmosphere was dim, and the attendants were no more lively than the elders. For the first time, it occurred to me that the company of those other kids (that I complained so much about before) may have been part of the reason why I was doing so great; it was their energy and health that allowed me to thrive in the same way. Here, witherment was the norm. Death was swift approaching, and all signs of life surrounding would serve the sole purpose of prolonging its arrival. Not even the plants could absorb all that smoke, nor could the old folks who gave it off in the first place. I was always told that kids and young adults alike had a job to entertain and enlighten their grandparents, to keep them from turning to stone from neglect. I felt both pity and admiration for the attendants, until I remembered who locked me in here with the dry husks that demanded so much young blood. I turned to the reading room, picked out a random book, and sat in a green armchair. On the end table next to it, Delaney placed a hot chocolate with milk.

Dryce:
I'm lactose intolerant.

Delaney:
No, you're not. Be a good boy and drink your milk, so you can grow up big and strong! Here's a cookie.

Dryce:
And I'm vegan.

Visibly frustrated, her face reddened and she shoved a cookie into my mug so that the edges crumbled and it stuck inside like a square peg in a round hole. Then she sighed, and her shoulders dropped. She returned to the greeting desk, and watched me. I wanted to be angry some more, but I preferred to do that when I was laying back on my dorm futon at school.

Dryo:
(Dusting his hands off.) Alright, that's enough of that. Let's get out of here.