hi my name is evan

[The Mason]

but you crawled beneath my veins and now i don’t care

OCT

“And this new job… it pays you well?”

“Mmhm.”

“How well?”

“Mmm. Well enough. I don’t have to ride a bus. I don’t have to transfer phone calls in some hot, disgusting, moldy room…”

“And you do not have to cut coupons like a clocharde I hope?”

Scoff. “I mean, I’m never gonna stop clipping coupons. You should try it.”

Scoff back. “I am okay.”

“If you’re gonna do the American dream thing, you have to lean pretty much all the way into it.”

The older woman chuckles on the other end of the line. Mariama can hear the faucet running while her mother scrubs dishes in the sink in the background. Every small clink and boop is amplified in Sanou Adebowale’s large and old-fashioned Baton Rouge kitchen. Even twelve-hundred miles away, Mari can picture the honey oak cabinets, the bronzed West African-style wallpaper, the pots and pans hanging over the island; everything bathed in golden light from the late autumn sunrise.

“All this free time away from studies and still no time to visit your poor old parents, hm?” Sanou continues lightheartedly in the thick Guinean accent that hadn’t dissipated a bit over eighteen years’ time. “We must be even more boring than your father imagined. I blame him. Clearly.”

Mari laughs aloud, back pressed against the counter. “If I could afford to be there every month with you and Papa, I would. Mo would too.”

There it was: she’d thrown her older brother’s name out there, albeit with a wince, biting down on her lip during the predictable seconds of silence that followed.

“I am just glad you are enjoying yourself,” Sanou says quietly, “but I want to know more about this job. This boss. What do you do? Who is he?”

Mari sighs softly under her breath. She guides one foot down the back of her heel, sliding one of the tennis shoes to the floor, before following suit with the other, idly contemplating her next words in her head-- trying her best to forge an answer that her mother wouldn’t deem pour les pauvres.

“I do a little bit of everything, I guess. I… handle the budgeting for his promotional materials and marketing… I handle his scheduling… I uhh…” Cue the executive decision to omit “sometimes I cook food, clean the house, and watch his kids.” Christ’s sake, how would that sound to a woman like her mother in the year of our lord 2019?

“Who is he?” Sanou repeats.

Mari couldn’t even help it-- her eyes basically rolled themselves. She could barely part her lips to speak his name without fighting back a heavy sigh.

APRIL

“My name is Evan. And I’m kind of--”

“Ahem.”

Dre swiftly cut this Evan character off. A rookie mistake. In her three weeks in Narcotics Anonymous, Mari had seen every newcomer do the same thing before speaking. A speaker was designated by passing a stuffed version of Jack-Jack to whomever raised his or her hand. Dre was a sucker for tradition. It was admirable, but a little annoying. Mari decided some time ago that she hated predictability.

The older woman who’d been speaking moments before Evan offers the doll to him with a small smile.

Evan does not want the effing Jack-Jack. Mari found she could empathize.

“I’m good, man,” Evan mutters.

“It’s the rule,” Dre insists. A longtime friend of Harrison and the organizer of the N.A. group, he gives Envi a look that impressively combines warmth with sternness.

Evan sighs softly. “It’s alright. I’ll just stand up.”

“No. Amber, please hand Jack-Jack to our new friend, Evan.”

“I don’t--”

“I swear to God.”

“Fine. Fine.”

Evan takes a breath and begrudgingly accepts the stuffed doll into his hands, lowering himself back into the seat as he continues.

“...thank you, Dre. My name is Evan. And. Uh. I am an addict.”

With more energy than the group probably had any right to have, a chorus responds with “Hi, Evan” loudly and clearly. Not outrageously loud, but apparently loud enough to startle the newcomer, whose eyes dart out into the semicircle of eleven as he speaks.

“I guess I have been for a long time,” Evan continues. “I dunno. I didn’t look at it that way at first so it’s kinda… cloudy… exactly how long. And it wasn’t like always. I got hurt a lot, doing what I do. So I got prescribed painkillers and stuff like that. I took it as I needed it, I think, for a while. Maybe for that first year of my career it was innocent. Then I broke my arm. That was probably… I dunno… ten years ago now. I think that’s when I stopped taking the medicine as prescribed and I was just eating it like candy.”

One of the eleven, Mari looks at Evan curiously. She’d met him somewhere before-- she knows that. He’d been presented as important, at least in the context. But who really remembers. She was probably rolling her fucking face off.

“I convinced myself I wasn’t addicted or anything because I would go through these long periods, you know, where I wasn’t using. I spent a lot of time away from wrestling in 2009 and I don’t think I so much as took a Tylenol for months and months. Told myself I didn’t need… whatever. But I was always thinking about it. Always like, patting myself on the back for being clean, but it was always kind of on my mind in this weird way. I didn’t get it. So… I went back to wrestling with this new attitude; new outlook, new everything. And I was doing well for a while, but we were on the road almost every single week for months and months. It wore on me. So eventually I…”

Wrestling. Of course. Mohammed had dragged her to one of those shows, just a weekend prior, though it felt like centuries ago. Dre was the whole reason they got backstage. The event would’ve been mind-numbing had Mari been coherent, but alas, she wasn’t.

“...and I was snorting it by that point. And I was associating it with, like, everyday stuff. I would form habits out of it. Like-- if I was gonna eat a certain meal, I would take a bump. If I was gonna watch a certain TV show I would take a bump. I would make up all these excuses to keep using, and my doctor really didn’t care. Not to throw him under the bus, but he would give me anything I asked for. So there was a year where it was really…”

His eyes drift over her. It must’ve been the fourth or fifth time. Mari keeps her eyes locked on him, waiting for the recognition to click in his head. But maybe it never does. For moments, his words just fade into the background as she focuses her gaze on him, silent… staring.

“...so I try to do yoga now. I mean, I guess that helps--”

Mari grows impatient.

“How long did you say you were clean?” Mari asks.

“Mari,” Dre mumbles, shooting her a look of disapproval, which is met with a hard shrug from the twenty-one-year old.

“Um. Tomorrow will be two weeks,” Evan replies.

“Which is completely fine,” Dre adds, eyes still narrowed at Mari before he sets his gaze back on his friend. “A lot of people found their way here before day two. We’re not here to compete.” His eyes drift to Mari once more. “Right?”

57 MINUTES LATER

Evan whistles to himself, making his way across the parking lot, tossing his keys from hand to hand, making his way toward the black Ram parked on the far end.

“Can I get a ride?”

Evan stops whistling. He grips his keys in his left hand, turning curiously, narrowing his eyes at the woman that approaches. He recognized her from inside-- that much is evident behind his eyes. But it never goes beyond that. She can tell. Mari sighs in disappointment.

“We met. Remember?”

“Mmm. Yeah. We just in there. Mari, right?”

She nods a little. “Before that.”

Evan smiles faintly, taking a small step forward. “I’m super curious about accents, so I feel like I would remember that.” He raises a brow. “And you really shouldn’t ask strange men for rides and stuff. Have some semblance of survival instincts.”

“Are you strange?” Mari counters.

“Wha-- no,” Evan stammers. “That’s not the point.”

“I just want a ride. You’re probably driving through Downtown, right?”

“I’m-- I-- I’m busy,” Evan mutters, rubbing at one of his eyes with a sigh. “How did you get here?”

“Uber. It’s kind of expensive,” Mari adds. “And I’m kind of between cars right now.”

“Ah.” Evan laughs slightly under his breath. “So I’m probably not the first guy you’ve flagged down for a ride tonight then. Won’t be the last. Goodnight. And good luck.”

With that, Evan turns on his heel and begins to make his way back to the truck parked on the far side of the lot. Until.

“You lied,” she states.

Evan stops in his tracks, rolling his eyes. He turns himself toward the inconvenient stranger once again.

“What?” he asks tiredly.

“You lied to the circle,” Mari continues, being the one to step forward this time, arms crossed casually over her chest. “You said tomorrow makes two weeks.”

Evan doesn’t move, but he keeps focused on Mari as she takes another step closer. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Last weekend. I didn’t have it all together when we were inside but I remember it now. My brother was so excited to meet you. He brought me along to one of your shows. In hindsight, I think he was killing two birds with one stone, trying to get Dre to convince me to come to these meetings, but… we met you. And I think you were a little beat up. So you excused yourself. You went away for a sec, came back, eyes were bloodshot… glassy… you had some good shit. That’s all I could think about that whole time.”

Evan stares at Mari in silence. One of the parking lot lamps had flickered out and faded, as it tended to do, leaving Evan shrouded in darkness.

“It wasn’t two weeks ago,” Mari goes on. “So you lied.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” Evan says softly.

“I think I do.”

Evan watches her until she strides forward again, now standing just inches away from him. Cherries. That scent wafted up into his nostrils. There was no chance he could forget it if he tried.

“What do you want?” Evan demands.

Mari shrugs.

“I just want a ride.”

MIDNIGHT

SLAM!

“OH--!”

Evan cries out, partially from the pain-- partially from the shock of his flesh hitting the ice-cold stainless steel of the fridge. He tries to shout something, but Mari’s lips crush against his, stifling whatever he thought he was going to say. His eyes widen in shock, but open eyes are decidedly inappropriate. He squeezes them shut, allowing Mari’s fingers to travel up past his chest… past his collarbone… past his-- no-- around his neck. Eyes are back open.

“Wha--aaaghh--nnnnn… mmmff…”

“Where’s the bedroom?” Mari demands.

Evan struggles to regain control of his lips. “Um… up… stairs… look, I really think--”

“Upstairs.”

Evan allows himself to be pulled away from the fridge by his arm, toward the winding staircase leading to the bedroom.

TWO MINUTES, TWELVE SECONDS LATER

“Wooooooo…”

Evan fans himself, pulling the blanket up to his chest. He beams from ear to ear, clearly proud of himself.

“That was-- how was th-- was that good for you?” Evan asks breathlessly.

Mari stares blankly up at the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

“Good lord in heaven,” Evan mumbles, curling up into a ball under the blanket. “Feel like I just ran a marathon.”

“Believe it was a sprint,” Mari states.

She rubs at her eyes for a moment before sitting upright, pushing the blanket away from herself with one hand, dragging her free hand along the side of the bed, blindly feeling for her discarded t-shirt.

“Have you got any weed?” Mari asks.

“Mmmmhm.” Evan tiredly gestures somewhere in the room. Mari makes it a point to follow his finger exactly-- pushing herself off the bed as her eyes adjust to the darkness, revealing the shape of the dresser.

With a small groan, she pulls herself to her feet, striding across the carpet until the reaches the dresser. She feels around the top of it until she finds the lamp, pulling the brass string on it, filling the room with a dim, soft light. She pulls open the top drawer, sighing in relief as she spots the bright green nugs in a Mason jar, positioned next to a black-and-red glass pipe.

“So, you’re in town for a while then?” Mari asks as she pulls the jar out onto the dresser top.

She doesn’t receive a response. Instead, she hears the soft snoring of Evan behind her. Mari turns, shooting a look of surprise toward the bed, but sure enough, Evan has turned onto his stomach, sprawled across the top of the bed, unconscious just as quickly as he… did most things.

“Well.” Mari closes the dresser drawer.

* * * * *

Mari tugs open the door of the medicine cabinet.

Fucking A.

Halcion, roxanol, percacets, oxycontin, codeine… what the

“...actual fuck…”

It was like winning the lottery. It was like a fucking pharmacy. It was like it was too good to be true.

She closes the door of the cabinet and takes a deep breath, gripping the edges of the sink. Eyes squeezed shut, she feels her shoulders shaking… feels her lips tightening into this grin. She can barely contain the laughter, but she tries. By the grace of God apparently, the moment passes. She falls silent. She takes another breath and looks up into the mirror, back at clean, clear eyes.

And then she reopens the medicine cabinet.

OCT

“What is this? What kind of movie collection is this? What the fuck is Julian Donkey-Boy?”

Mari ignores the rambling of Taylor Olney, instead focusing her attention on the Real Housewives of Dallas replay on the television screen.

“I don’t wanna watch Three’s Company.” Taylor carelessly casts the case aside. “Don’t wanna watch Twin fucking Peaks.” Toss. “Don’t wa-- what the fuck is Cop Rock? How old is old is your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Friend? Ish?” Taylor pries.

Mari sighs. “We have exactly one hundred thirty-two seconds of romantic history to speak of.” Not that we should discuss it. “Pretty sure he’s already mad in love with a co-worker.”

“Ooooh. Which one? I know wrestlers.”

“Kumiko? Kamiko?”

“Fujiko?”

“Ricky is who I’m thinking of.” Mari narrows her eyes, deep in thought. “No-- no. You’re right. Fujiko sounds right.”

“Well, whoever he’s in love with-- I hope he doesn’t bring them here and show them this fucking miserable movie collection,” Taylor complains.

“It’s almost like you didn’t have to subject yourself to this,” Mari mumbles sarcastically. “Almost like you have your own house and mundane movie collection to talk shit about.” A small huff. “Oh. Wait.”

“Ew, Mari, why the smartass attitude? We agreed we were gonna have a girls’ night. I made margaritaaaaas. You made me drink them by myself…”

“I told you before you brought them that you were gonna be drinking alone,” Mari says, dryly.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you meant it.” Taylor rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the floor, slapping her hands against her thighs to get Mari’s attention. “Let’s go out somewhere. Let’s go see a late movie. Or at least watch a different channel, uuugh. Isn’t Evan on TV tonight? Why aren’t you watching that?”

“Not my thing.”

“Then let’s gooo. Don’t be so boring.”

Mari groans, grabbing the remote off of the arm of the couch and switching the television off. “Fine. Getting stuffy in here anyway.”

“Thank you.” Taylor clasps her hands together, making a dramatic display of her gratitude as Mari climbs to her feet.

BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.

Mari turns, reaching for her phone without taking a glance at the screen. It’s nearing the ten o’clock hour, so without doubt, it’s bound to be her mother, calling to wish her a goodnight. She holds the phone to her ear, almost instinctively yawning as she answers.

“Hello?”

Taylor takes a seat on the ottoman, pulling her shoes onto her feet, while simultaneously doing her best to avoid eavesdropping on her best friend’s mundane familial chattering.

“...oh, god. What-- when?”

Taylor’s eyes shoot up. Seems juicy enough to warrant eavesdropping.

“No, I’m still in Maryland. I-- no, I wasn’t watching. You know I wasn’t watching. Don’t try to make me feel like shit. Just…”

Mari rubs at her eyes with her free hand, pacing back and forth as the person on the other line speaks quickly and loudly.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Send me all the information.” Pause. “Please.” And then as if being forced to say it, “thank you.”

Mari allows the call to end. She lowers the phone, bringing it close to her chest. Silence falls over the room. Taylor looks at her curiously. As ten, maybe eleven seconds go by, it becomes clear that Mari isn’t going to say anything on her own. Taylor down toward her laces, going about tying them as she speaks.

“What’s up? Is that about Evan?”

Mari doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. In her peripherals, Taylor can see that she’s staring straight ahead, trapped in thought.

“Is he okay?” Taylor asks, rising to her feet.

Mari shakes her head. “No.”

Taylor looks down, making peace with the fact that they’re not gonna catch that late movie.

“I have to go to Birmingham,” Mari says. “That’s where he is.”

Taylor nods slowly. “Okay.” She sits back down on the ottoman and looks up at Mari. “Let’s get two red eye tickets then. I’m not spending my week off stuck here alone.”

Mari makes her way toward the stairs without following up. “I need to grab some things.”

* * * * *

Mari looks at her reflection on the mirror that separates her from the medicine cabinet. Her eyes are as hazy as they’d ever been. Her heart is pounding as fast as it ever was.

She reaches up, yanking open the cabinet door, eyes clamped shut as she does so.

She opens them again, staring at the orange bottles lined ahead of her. At this point, she’d learned to identify them by shape and color at half a glance, like small, individual candies. She didn’t even apply names to them anymore unless she had to do. Pink. Blue. White. Meant all the same to her.

“Pink,” she mumbles softly.

She pulls the bottle from the cabinet and pushes the door shut, expertly avoiding having to look back at herself through the glass. She turns, letting her eyes fall closed once more.

“Evan, what the fuck did you do?”

She scoffs, shaking her head before making her way out of the bathroom. She kneels down, dropping the bottle into her bag before standing upright, slinging it over her shoulder. Mari walks down the stairs, eyes meeting Taylor’s as she approaches the bottom. Taylor has her own bag dangling from her hand, looking at Mari with a hesitant smile.

“Ready?” Taylor asks.

“No,” Mari replies.

And with that, she marches past her friend and out the front door. Taylor shrugs, grabbing her car keys from off the table, following behind Mari without another word.