Scars from a Memoir by Marni Mann

know who to talk to about getting Sunshine admitted. After I told Tiffany the whole story, she said she'd call me right back.
    Sunshine and Mark were smoking cigarettes when I returned. He handed me the pack and I lit one up. Just as I fired up my secondone, the phone rang. Tiffany said they had a bed, but it wasn't in the detox wing. Sunshine would have to detox in one of the main wings, which meant they would assign her a nurse to help her get through withdrawal. And her being dope sick would really piss off her roommate. I told her that didn't matter as long as they could admit her tonight. She said to get there as fast as we could.
    I hung up the phone and looked at Mark. “Can you drive us?”
    “Right now?” Sunshine asked. “I need one more hit first.”
    I reached for her hand. “Your last one almost killed you.”
    “Then I'm not going,” she said, yanking her fingers out of my grip.
    “You're going,” I said.
    “Not unless I can shoot up. I need to say good-bye.”
    I couldn't get needles in prison, so I'd snorted a bag of dope the night before I was released and then went to rehab in the morning. It was a final good-bye, like Sunshine said.
    “Fine. One last nod.”
    “Wait, what? You can't be serious,” Mark said.
    “If that's what it takes to get her to come with us, I'm dead serious. It's better than the alternative.” I acknowledged Sunshine. Her head was drooping, and white foam had dried on her dirty cheeks.
    Mark's eyes told me he wanted to argue, but he nodded and said, “You're right.”
    “Do you have some, or do we need to stop?” I asked.
    She tapped her bag. “Got just enough.”
    My hands started to feel numb; I squeezed my fingers into fists. My mouth watered.
    “I can't…” I swallowed. “Mark, I can't be with her when she does it.”
    Mark helped Sunshine to her feet. He folded up her blanket and slung her bag over his shoulder. “What's your phone number?” I gave it to him, and he put it in his phone. “I'll call you when she's done.” They both walked to his car.
    I leaned against the apartment building and pictured Sunshine in the backseat. I'd shot up with her so many times that I knew her routine. She'd take the packets of dope from her purse and then a bottle of water, spoon, needle, cotton ball, and lighter, and put it all on the seat next to her. She'd dump the packets onto the spoon and add in a little water. The lighter would heat it, and she'd drop in thecotton ball once the mixture was hot. The tip of the needle would suck up the liquid, and while she looked for a vein, she'd put the chamber between her lips. Her fingers would tap different spots on her arm. When she found one, she'd slide the tip into her skin and pull back on the plunger to make sure she'd hit a vein, and blood would trickle into the chamber. The rush would set in as soon as the needle was empty.
    The packets of powder, the nod, and the rush were all so close. Its flavor was on my tongue; its euphoria was in my veins. I turned in the opposite direction Mark had taken Sunshine, and my feet began to move. I couldn't stop them. I didn't want to.
    As I got to the corner, only a block from the train station, Claire's voice echoed in my head. She was telling me to turn around. Damn , I thought. I was so close; I couldn't turn back. The best high of my life was waiting for me in Roxbury. I hadn't used in so long that the rush would blow my mind. I wanted to cross the street, but there were too many cars. I reached up and pushed the button on the light post, again and again, as if pushing it repeatedly would make the light change faster.
    The light turned yellow, and as I stepped onto the crosswalk, a glimmer caught my eye: the ring Claire's son had given to me when she died. It fit perfectly on my finger, just like it had on hers. Her comforting voice kept repeating, “Turn around.”
    Claire had been my invisible roommate while I was in prison. I had never spoken to her—I only listened—but I