i woke late because it was my day off. slept until ten am. we were supposed to drive to jackson. visit a friend in the hospital. sixteen with a brain tumor. her parents are crackheads. she works days on end to pay her own medical bills. drinks a fifth a day. she is giving up now. but we didn't drive to jackson, she was already back. she drove herself to the hospital last night. a three hour drive to fix the feeling she had lost in the right side of her body. so we stayed home. talked about molestation. homosexuality. abortion. tarot cards. she asked me to go to her mom's house. she can't stand her mom. where is your dad. oh, she's not my maternal mom, or my stepmom. they both live somewhere else. this lady is just someone i know, and since i don't talk to my real family anymore, i call her mom. i can't stand her. but she has no one else. oh. i was confused. we drive to the trailer, which sports two large "beware of dog" signs. she tells me i will smell of dog by the time we leave. i had seven dogs once. i was bitten by a dog. it ripped my face off. look. see the scars? they're all around my left eye. entering the yard, and to my left is a tiny grave, surrounded by miniature plastic fencing, shoved into the ground. that was the chiwahwah. it was poisoned by the neighbor. upon opening the door, two giant dogs jump to greet us, barking and clawing. i like dogs, but not these dogs. they draw blood from my right arm. and keep jumping on me. no one does anything. we sit and talk. the mother apparently loves dolphins and santa. both are scattered all around the house. i picture her, in the store. out of the corner of her eye she sees it, a gaudy knick-knack incorporating a dolphin or santa. something she doesn't own. something so tacky and tasteless, she can't live without it. on her forearm is a tattoo. the most glorious tattoo i have ever laid eyes on. a dolphin, trailing a rainbow, holding a football. this woman is the most racist person i have ever met in my life. and the first to admit just how racist she truly is. we speak of a mutual friend who is white, dating a black man. the retort from mother, she oughta have er throat cut. you gotta sleep with yer own kind. ain't that right, megan. oh, but you already know that, cuz yer a yankee, and they don't do that up north. i sit, too baffled to even think of how to respond. my mind fills with a million reasons why that is false. she continues, i hate niggers first. no, wait, i hate mexicans first, then the niggers. i didn't used to be this way. they made me this way. thinking they's all high and mighty. better 'n me. but they's the laziest mother fuckers i ever seen. they don't do shit. at this point, i'm just taking it all in. what more can i do. the dogs jump on me, teeth baring tennis balls. the mother grabs a dogs nubby tail. hand touching its anus. the dogs begin humping. i am a sponge. somehow homosexuality comes up again. ain't none a my business what ya'll do in yer bedroom. i don't give a shit. i got queer friends. (now she looks at me) you can do whatever yah want in yer own bedroom. i ain't gonna judge. i realize she's talking to me, not at me. oh, she assumes i'm a lesbian.. maybe because i have such short hair, and am wearing a sports bra. i hate bras. her "daughter" chimes in, she's not gay mom. the mother stutters a bit, and says, i weren't sayin her was. because the grammar is just that great. i'm an ass. we sit for a while and watch old movies with judy garland. talk about katherine hepburn, how she's way better than audrey. sophia lauren. betty davis. ingrid bergman is my favourite. we leave. the mother gives me candy and a pack of cigarettes. i eat a waffle. and we sit in the diner for a few hours, while i give relationship advice to someone seven years my senior. deciding i want whiskey, i leave and travel to the coffee shop to secretly drink, while i write and smoke my free cigarettes. call my grandmother. call my aunt. call my brother. it's dark, so i drive back to her house. do my laundry for the first time in a month. watch tv. i hate tv. realize i am haggard. drink more whiskey. take some darvocet. downed with a swig of tough whiskey. just now kicking in. i feel detached from everything, mostly lonely, but content nonetheless. which may be the darvocets. the time is now 11:26, and i think to myself, that's my birthday. smoke the last cigarette of the day. and go to bed. with my warm body.