KNOCK KNOCK

‘Guess what,’ yells Viddo. ‘Shira overdosed again!’ I am trying to rewrite this essay.
‘Did she now?’ I leave my gaze stuck on the page, gaze stuck on the page, stuck on page, finish this damn essay already.
‘Now you have to ask on what,’ says Vidoo, slumping on my bed and stirring all my papers, but I won’t let it unnerve me.
‘Antihistamines?’
‘Nope, keep guessing!’ she stretches her purple toes before my Organic Chemistry file.
Shira has been more of a pain than Vidoo, due to what might be some social retardation. She tends to overdose every other week, just to have somebody with her at the E.R.
‘Carbolith?’ That would be one mad heartache.
‘No!’ she giggles. ‘C’mon, c’mon! Guess!’
'Dunno, dude. Hamsters?'
'Vitamins!' she shrieks triumphantly, and topples over laughing.
'Get out!' I try to maintain a stern face. 'Where is she now?'
'Psych ward near Mevaseret or something,'
'Jesus.’

Eliana’s phone has a Crazy Frog waiting tone. Ah ding ding ding bing pssscht.
‘Howdy, girl!’
‘Hey Eliana. Heard about Shira?’
‘Where she at?’
‘On the red carpet to confinement.’
‘Boy. Say, Tom, wanna fax me her file? I’ll probably need to refer her.’
‘I can’t recall who’s her guardian,’ I say, suddenly nervous.
‘Nobody here. She’s gonna get shipped back.’
‘To Miami? She’d die.’ I’m certain. Our kids don’t last long once they leave Israel. This is why I adopted Vidoo.
‘Girl, you can’t take her in,’ says Eli. ‘She’s manic. Handle your own.’
‘Then we gotta secure her an overseas program,’ I say, mind racing.
‘I’ll research. Laters.’
Ba-bing.

Vidoo is not in the bedroom. She’s not on the beanbag, my favorite possession nicknamed Kojak. Nor on the stairs.
‘Vidoo?’ No reply. ‘Yo, wanna talk?’ I try the bathroom. I’ve removed all the locks, and getting used to record-timing my peeing. This is why I do not lock doors:
Vidoo, jammed behind the door, cutting above her nipple.
‘Hey chica,’ I say, and slide on the tiles beside her. She looks up, glassy-eyed. The whetting movement is growning fainter, but she’s still entranced.
‘They’ll detox her, and we’ll find her a program in the US, a good one. I’ll call Dr. Weasel.’ I ease my back against the tub, slowly placing my hand on her thigh. ‘Mad funny, vitamins. I mean, that’s just embarrassing.’
Vidoo sniffles. I look up: her gaze is conscious now, and teary. She drops the razor in my cupped palm. I reach over and hug her. She is so much taller than me, I am stunned and happy she’s my daughter
‘I’m sorry, girl. I’m so sorry.’
‘I hate that bitch,’ says Vidoo as I sit on her lap and sponge clean her scratches. ‘She used me and she’s so freaking dumb, attention-suicide.’
‘On vitamins,’ I remind her, and she giggles between sobs.
‘Let’s take a walk,’ I suggest. ‘Want to visit Eddie and the boys?’ He’s her current crush.

‘Yo women, wassup,’ calls MC Eddie from the rickety table tennis.
‘Hey gangsta,’ I greet, searching for Benny or Polo.
‘Heard about Shira?’ asks Vidoo.
‘What’s her deal?’
‘It’s a knock-knock joke. O.D.’
‘O.D. who?’
‘O.D. on vitamins.’
Benny snorts behind us, then switches expression to concern. I join him in his office.
‘I’ll call Weasel.’
‘You do that,’ he says, and shakes his head. ‘Vitamins!’
‘I’m gonna O.D. on humor one of these days,’ I inform him, feeling a dejected laughter rising.