Social Themes
I couldn't swallow, I couldn't talk. When I got scared like this, a hand came up from inside and grabbed all the words out of my mouth. My dad started coming toward me and everything went into slow motion. I tried to run into the kitchen, but every step seemed to take five minutes. So I grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of me. My dad picked it up and threw it across the room. Then he grabbed my arm.
"Stupid," he hissed. "No good. Nothing."
He opens his hand, and there's this little plastic bag of powder. White powder. He reaches into his pocket again and pulls out a short straw. "Voila," he says. "Care for a toot?"
I stare at the cocaine, and while part of my brain wants to say, "No, jerk, get out," another voice inside me is saying, "Why not?"
