Deviations Read Online Free Page B

looked the most hostile. One guy,
twenty-eight or thirty, looked like a typical Breaking & Entering. Some
Chinese characters on the insides of both his arms. The tattoo guy probably
told him it says courage or freedom or some horseshit like that.
More likely, it says asshole. Grungy jeans and running shoes, untied, no
socks. Greasy hair down to the faded Marlboro t-t-shirtshirt that he got free
for a carton’s worth of coupons. Five packs is enough to hook you, then five
more, just to be safe. For a four-dollar t-shirt carrying an ad for the product
there’s a pretty good chance is going to kill you. In other words, he was a
real brainiac. His expression was hardass, based on all his life wisdom. Just
because I didn’t say those four damn words.
    A woman my age. I’d never busted her, but ten-to-one
she’s got a long string of convictions for possession. Just recreational, not
with intent to sell. Some of the guys who’d crashed in her doublewide, they
might’ve been dealers, but she had no idea, honest. Ratty sweatshirt and gym-gray
K-Mart stretch pants that weren’t doing much to hide that volleyball in front. A
screaming red dye job with a good two inches of gray roots. Blotchy skin,
couple teeth gone. She was giving me the tough-love look, like we were sisters.
Saying you might’ve started out a little better, but here we are, together in
the senior-center basement. We’re just the same, her eyes are saying. Hell no,
we’re not.
    The older ones were showing a little less attitude.
A Vietnam-era guy, his scalp a checkerboard of liver spots, a silver fringe tied
back in a puny ponytail, a big gold hoop ring in his left ear. The USMC on his bicep
was pale now, but the purple dragon with blood-dripping teeth on his forearm was
recent. All in all, a pitiful package, but his eyes were kind. They said it’s
good that you’re here. You’ll start where you have to start.
    Next to him, a sixty-year-old woman in wool
slacks, cable-knit sweater, professional hair. Looked like she works for United
Way in fundraising, has a place in the California desert for when we start our
seven-month winter. She smiled at me—not a hostile smile like she’s figured me
out and I’m wasting everybody’s time. More like she’s been where I am. It will
come when it’s ready. You’re welcome here anyway.
    A guy wearing a three-piece suit, pinstripe, five-hundred
bucks, easy. Silk tie, blue and reds, maybe a little short of a hundred.
Oxblood loafers. With tassels, for God’s sake. Where did he even buy those
things? He looked mid-fifties, dark brown hair, thick, going gray. Long, strong
face leading down to a tough-guy jaw. Thing that stood out was his blue eyes,
not Paul Newman but even lighter. Icy. He looked like the kind of dad you’d
love if he wanted to teach you how to fish but hate if he wanted to teach you a
lesson.
    He held a steady gaze at me after I said my name. I
almost recognized his face. I knew I’d seen him before, but I’ve seen a lot of
men in their fifties. His expression said, Can’t you do anything right?
    No, sir, I guess I can’t. If I could, I wouldn’t
be here now, would I?
    Everyone was looking at me. Asses fidgeted in
chairs; throats cleared; eyebrows lifted. I realized I hadn’t said anything in
a while. I didn’t know how long: a few seconds, a couple of minutes, an hour
and a half. Apparently, “Hi, my name is Karen”—with or without the next four
words—wasn’t good enough for this group. They could cut me some slack; this was
my first puke party.
    The words started coming. “I was thinking about
what I was going to say. Earlier today. But I didn’t come up with much. It’s
not that nothing’s happened to me. I mean, if you’re forty-two, something must’ve
happened. But I couldn’t pinpoint anything that would help you understand what
happened. That would, you know, explain how I … how I created this opportunity
to talk with you today.
    “My life was pretty nice for a long