She Tried to Make Him Go to Rehab

"Get your shit together, Ricky!" Emily practically shouted at the ne'er-do-well boyfriend, a pipe by his side, his head to the side, practically comatose. She'd had it -- the move from the redneck white trash neighborhood to the ghetto, the constantly being on the edge of eviction. She almost wanted to go back to her mom, to plead for leniency. But she still had a bit of pride, even after all this.

He looked at her vacantly with glassy eyes, and she knew she probably wouldn't get through to him. But she tried, holding his hand, pleading with him to get help. Rehab, AA, anything at this point. But he just stared, and how much of what she said was penetrating him was difficult to say.

She went out to the porch, the sultry night air suffocating her. She looked down the road, seeing a strong, fit Black teen playing ball, dominating his opposition. Maybe ... she thought. Maybe it was time to consider options.