Cemetery Street

1996 was an unremarkable year. Between my appointments with Krista and Facilitator's visits, I had ample opportunity to ponder where my life had been and where it was going. I was twenty-four and understood a mid-life crisis - I didn't have a trophy girlfriend or a red sports car: I was in love with a lesbian and was burdened with an orange beater. "Joy to the world," I toasted as 1996 faded and 1997 loomed on the horizon.

My father wasn't home, he was never home -he found a new home. The house was his in name; it's occupants Ellie and I; he all but moved in with Diane. They made a great couple. I sighed with the thought. Ellie answered with a tilt of her head, coaxing another treat from me.

"You're getting fat girlfriend," I said scratching behind her ears. Ellie was great company and other than our conflicting schedules she never bitched. She whined when it was time to do her business which always coincided with my next nap.

My mother's memory haunted me. She didn't attempt any contact. She was never mentioned in conversation unless I brought her up. "She doesn't care about my accident," I complained to Shannie.

"She doesn't know about your accident," Shannie reminded me.

"Maybe if she'd call she'd find out."

"She may as well be dead," Shannie said.

"Sometimes you're a cold-hearted bitch."

"It's not my job to pump sunshine up your ass."

"You're going to make one hell of a lawyer. You have the sensitivity."

As Christmas of '96 passed and the New Year was a sunrise away, my father, Diane, Shannie and I made the trip to Laurel Hill. The trip was unremarkable, other than it was the first time the four of us attended together. "We're one big happy family," I complained to Krista. "I never, ever, imagined being Shannie's step-brother. Jesus Fucking Christ, life sucks."

"I didn't know they're getting married," Krista chirped.

"They're not! Not that I know of." Our session fell into a rare silence. Krista let the silence stand. She knew my mind was racing.

"You know," I said breaking the silence. "My dad is reaping the ass I worked so hard to sew."

"You tried getting into Diane's pants?" Krista asked, amused.

"Christ, everyone's a comedian," I complained.

"I know what you mean but do you?" Krista asked.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I replied.

Krista returned my stare. She was a pro, I wished I had her composure. "I'm pissed. I'm really pissed! I spent years trying to get into Shannie's pants and just like that, my dad's banging Diane. Where's the justice?"