I’m not sure if she’s so glad to see my sister, who comes home—comes, that is, to my parents’ house in Tucson—on a sort of early-release program, a furlough from jail which is intended to prepare her for life on the outside. She’s been dosed with Antabuse and released on my parents’ recognizance; it seems surreal that she’s not allowed to visit her children, who Jerry’s keeping away from her back in Memphis, but she is allowed to bring with her a girlfriend from prison, Jenny, a lean, wiry butch with a fine but nonetheless pronounced black mustache. My parents are wildly uncomfortable, the household fairly athrum with alarm. I don’t see much of my sister, since I quickly scope out that it’s another good time to get lost, though I love when she tells me about how to survive in jail. The best tip is to ask frequently for a psychiatric evaluation; tell them you think you’re losing it. When they give you the word association test, employ the following responses: Red = blood, Black = murder, Green = money, and then the clincher, White = ghost. “White = ghost” will get you a nice rest in the infirmary any time.

The official purpose of the visit is for Sally to check out jobs, look for an apartment, start to get set up so she can go back to the parole board and make a good case. But she and Jenny are ready for some fun, too, and thus ensues a bitter evening’s comedy.

My parents head out to a fancy Mexican restaurant, La Fuente; I’m invited, but I attempt not to go anywhere with them now, since I know what will happen, and I’m right: my mother has too many whiskey sours, sings with the mariachis, gets offended by the waiter, feels too full after the meal, and decides she’s going to stretch out and take a nap on the restaurant floor. Meanwhile, Sally and Jenny have been out to some clubs, and they’ve decided, why not, they’ll bring someone home, a pretty Latina, and just as they’re all proceeding to have a little party in the living room, who comes home but the parents, fresh from a scene with the restaurant staff. Horror and pyrotechnics; good thing I am safely away, drawing comix with Bill, hanging out with Dino and listening to the Rolling Stones, but once I’m home the shock waves are still reverberating. Sally’s packed off back to jail, and that woman—well, we don’t plan any further mention of her name.