tierney carbone, three | cb

one of the first things people say when they hear you've lost a loved one is that at least you'll always have the memory of them. truth is, i think there probably were a lot more back when it first happened, but at this point i've stolen too much of my mom's vodka and too much of my dad's weed to have held on to all of it. honestly, the less i remember, the less it hurts in the first place. but i still have about four or five really good memories of reagan. my favorite to think of is the time when she gave me twenty bucks to not rat her out when i caught her sneaking out in the middle of the night. it wasn't really even anything special, just one of the few times where she- much older than i- realized i held some kind of power over her and was forced to treat me like an equal. which i was obsessed with as a child, for some reason: being treated the same as adults. reagan was usually pretty good at reminding me i was nothing more than a snot-nosed kindergartner or so at the time, so it was particularly hilarious to me to see her willing to pull money she probably worked extra hard to take out of mom's purse just to keep me quiet. priceless.

my worst memory of her is when she left. well, i guess the absolute worst is when she died, obviously, but when she left it really sucked there for a while. now that i'm older- only a year younger than she was when she passed- i totally see why she needed to leave. obviously, our parents are shit. as much as it sucks that she was kind of the only thing taking care of me most of the time and then she was just suddenly gone, it was also really fucking shitty that she was being expected to take care of her own brother while both of her parents sat there and rotted. especially when she was still dealing with high school on top of it all. shit, i've run away four times this year alone, and i don't gotta take care of no one except myself. i couldn't even imagine the stress of dealing with a fucking child on top of that.

last time i saw mom she was smoking a cigarette in a foldout chair, and she looked at me, and then she looked at the bag slung over my shoulder, and she rolled her eyes and smirked.

"keep actin' like her, tear. you'll end up just like she did."

dad wasn't around, so i didn't have to worry about it coming to blows when i stopped dead in my tracks and turned around to face her.

"at least i wouldn't have to deal with you if i did."

and then i left! been gone ever since, sleeping on a friend's couch and hiding under the window when my dad comes by every week or so looking for me. it's isn't great, but it's what i've got, so... ya know.