Read Online High Crime Area by Joyce Carol Oates - Free Book Online Page A

him again, and to make amends for her cowardice.)
    Getting high gave her clarity: she planned how she would seek out Joseph Mattia. Shutting her eyes she rehearsed driving to Trenton, fifteen miles from the village of Quaker Heights; exiting at the State Capitol exit, locating Tumbrel Street... None of the Mattias listed in the directory lived on Tumbrel Street in Trenton but Eduardo Mattia lived on Depot Avenue which was close by Tumbrel—(so Agnes had determined from a city map)—and there was Anthony Mattia on Seventh Street and E. L. Mattia—(a woman?)—on West State Street, also close by. A large family—the Mattias.
    In this neighborhood, she could make inquiries about “Joseph Mattia”—if she dared, she could go to one of the Mattia addresses, and introduce herself.
    Do you know Joseph Mattia? Is he a relative of yours?
    Joseph is a former student of mine who’d been very promising.
    Hello! My name is —
    Hello! I am a former teacher of Joseph Mattia.
    Her heart began pounding quickly, in this fantasy.
    Getting high was a dream. Waking was the fear.
    In the cavernous house the phone rang frequently. She pressed her hands over her ears.
    â€œNobody’s home! Leave me alone.”
    She had no obligation to pick up a ringing phone. She had no obligation to return email messages marked CONCERNED—or even to read them.
    Since getting high she was avoiding relatives, friends. They were dull “straight” people— getting high to them meant alcohol, if anything.
    Of course they would disapprove of her behavior. Her husband would disapprove. She could not bear them talking about her.
    Sometimes, the doorbell rang. Upstairs she went to see who it might be, noting the car in the driveway.
    Her sister called, left a message. Upsetting news about—who was it—the daughter—the niece, Kelsey—an arrest—or, had Kelsey fled arrest?—Agnes deleted the message without hearing the end.
    (Only vaguely could Agnes remember the young people who’d invaded her house—Kelsey’s friends Triste?—Randi?—the other, who’d looked at Agnes with the cold bemused eyes of a killer, she’d refused to acknowledge. If he went on to kill another hapless, foolish victim, what was that to her ?)
    Those visitors, importunate and “concerned”—she knew she must deflect them, to prevent them calling 911. She would make a telephone call and hurriedly leave a message saying that she was fine but wanted to be alone for a while; or, she would send a flurry of emails saying the same thing.
    Alone alone alone she wanted alone . Except for Joseph Mattia.
    Another time making a purchase from her musician-friend Zeke. And another time. And each time, the price was escalating.
    The third time, Agnes asked Zeke about this: the price of a Ziploc bag of “joints.” And with a shrug Zeke said, “It’s the market, Agnes. Supply and demand.”
    The reply was indifferent, even rude. Zeke did not seem to care about her.
    She was hurt. She was offended. Didn’t he respect Professor Krauss any longer? The way Agnes had rolled off his tongue, and not Professor Krauss .
    She would find someone else to supply her! Nonetheless, on this occasion, she paid.
    Her first drive to Tumbrel Street, Trenton. Five months, three weeks and two days after the call had come from the hospital summoning her, belatedly.
    Getting high gave her the courage. Strength flowing through her veins!
    In her expansive floating mood she knew to drive slowly—carefully. She smiled to think how embarrassing it would be, to be arrested by police for a D.U.I.—at her age.
    In the car she laughed aloud, thinking of this.
    The car radio was tuned now to the Trenton AM station. Blasting rap music, rock, high-decibel advertisements. Fat Joe. Young Jeezy. Ne-Yo. Tyga. Cash Out. She understood how such sound assailing her ears was an infusion of strength,