Post by somethingwicked on Jan 27, 2021 21:13:30 GMT -5
“Clap clap clap”
Go the hands of the monkeys as they sit on their cold metal folding chairs that haven’t been made in a century. Sat in a circle like some terrible version of kindergarten for shitty adults or a crèche like some nutter in an office might use. I look upon these sad bastard faces and it makes me very sad but still not as sad as they look. So many decent looking people lost in a circle of jerking verbally, hoping to save someone else while also hoping someone else will save them. A good solid reality check for all of them would simply be to whisper that no one is worth saving and no one gives a fuck to save you. One guy in particular gets my attention. He’s thin but built and he’s got a really nice haircut, if you like the 1950’s spousal abuse and don’t mind racism. #blacklivesmatter I think to myself as this man genuinely looks to represent the opposite. It’s his turn to talk and he’s as smart as he is handsome, which is to say, not at all. But he looks like a good one. Hell, maybe even a great one.
He shares about how long he’s been clean and how hard it is and everyone nods their puppy dog eyed bobble heads in an effort to make it about them. ‘I agree because i also have blah blah blahed my balls with cocaine and so sad.’ Addicts always need to make it about them. That’s why they’re addicts.
He’s finally finished speaking and I look to the next one, who is looking back at me, silently. We have ourselves a cute little staring contest and before long I realize 3 things. 1, they are all looking at me. 2, Someone is speaking directly to me, and 3, I have pulled out a cigarette and lit it without realizing. The voice speaking to me is trying to aware me of this and now I’ve got to respond. Of course I do. Fucking addicts.
“Sir, you can’t smoke in here.” The voice says, bellowing from some fat guy who looks like the dad from that show I hate. “Please put that out.”
“I’m sorry ‘bout that. Feel the fool.” I say with a smile and pinch it out. My fingers are used to it and while it makes the others uneasy it’s less of a pain and more of a sensation. If that ain’t the title of my biography. “I was lost in the moment, forgot where we was.”
“Well, if you’re having a hard time, I’m sure no one would mind you going ahead of them.” Aw he’s nice. I’ll have to keep that in mind. The nice ones you can play with way longer than the mean ones. Mean ones see a handshake as a threat. Nice ones will catch you shagging their mum and ask if you’re ok and all that.
“Well, I guess I could. It’s just...sorry, I’m trying to remember where we are. I...I have so many vices I’m never sure which one we’re talking about, moment to moment. This is...NA?”
“Yes, sir.” Some fuckbeard says, bothering me with his existence. He’s got the look of a man who knows what his earwax tastes like and resists getting after it for awhile so he gets a good chunk to chew on. I smile tho. I thank him silently with a nod and this little wave thing I do. I feel my lips pucker as I try to express myself. I tell them my truth. I tell them that I moved to the area recently, and that I’ve got about 3 months clean. They all clap and I do the head nod thing again, this time with more wave than nod. I tell them how my father was a good man, but he died early, and how his sister raised me when she fell in love with my mom. Both died before my 14th birthday, so I went to live with my grandparents. That’s how I discovered pills. They all nod, as they’ve heard stories like this before. I am not special. I am the next number in the sequence. Before I know it I am done and they are clapping. Of course they clap because I’ve just spat back the same shite I’ve heard in circles like this all over. They don’t question it because it validates them, I find. ‘It aint me fault’ they’ll say. ‘Its me upbringing.’ I get up to fetch a cup of their shite free coffee and buzz cut McMaga is picking out cookies, being very careful to touch each and all with his grubby fingers.
“I know this goes against the rules…” I whisper while leaning into him, putting my finger on his chest. “But I recognize you.”
“You do?” He says, wondering where he’d know someone like me from. I expect he’s running through a lot of the situations. He doesn’t think he’s slept with me, that much is clear. Guy like him sleeping with a guy like me, he’d fucking off himself front and center. These chimps would still do a round of applause. How brave and such.
“You used to buy from Danny B over in Edison, right? I was out there, that’s where I saw you.”
“Nope. I used to buy from Stevie out by the group home in Evers.”
“Wait, maybe that’s were. Stevie sold pills only? Piecemeal?”
“Nah man. Stevie sold everything. He had the massive connect. He could get you anything.” He winked at me like he was taught to wink at moments that made him seem like a fucking crept up toucher.
“Oh. My bad. You must have one of those faces. Actually, now that i look. You look like me brother. Lost him when I was lil’ i did. He got shot here.” I reach out and touch his chest and he almost leaps back. I legit believe if I told him he was gay now, he’d believe it. Just a simple touch from another man? You’re gay as a rabbit, love. He does have one of those faces tho, but the kind of face you wanna slap with a motor. What he doesn’t have is his cellphone because I fucking lifted it, as I touched his chest. People always pay attention to exactly what you want them to.
I head outside and light my snuffed cigarette and unlock his phone using a trick that a trick once showed me. She was a good woman but a bad person and more often than not she was stealing more than anyone knew until it was too late. I rush through his contacts and find Stevie. Addicts. Always prepared. Like fucking high as kites Boy Scouts. I memorize the number like some fucking boomer cunt and throw the phone in the trash. I hear foot steps and pull it out, masking my face with my best confused look. It’s Spikey head O’racism and he’s shocked to see me with his phone. So I tell him my truth.
“Someone threw out a phone? Who does that?”
“That’s mine” he says, shocking me. “You just found it in there?”
“Yeah. Rummaging for hotel room money.”
“Well, let me give you a couple bucks for finding it.” He goes to reach into his back pocket, but unless it reaches to my pocket, he isn’t gonna find his wallet there. Why make him sad?
“No. Don’t. I don’t do charity. If you hadn’t come out I would’ve just sold it. Can’t take a reward for that.”
“Ok. Mighty honest if you. Thanks again.” He says as he walks to his hick-up truck. I wave when he looks back at me and I flick my cigarette at this small statue of a woman with her hands together and head over to my hatchback. I’ve got to call Stevie and spend this bitch fool’s money on something better than coffee and cookies
Stevie lives in a two bedroom apartment but I can tell by the shape of the place he’s not much interested by anything save for his bathroom and his couch. Stevie is three things. He is orca fat. His stomach spills out over the waistband of his basketball shorts, and one of his testicals is slipping out of the legs, but I’m not here for his pieces, I'm here for some peace. He is garbage smelly. His stench mixes with the ethnic food in the hallway and it isn’t until you’re inside that you realize the food was doing you a favor. But lastly, he is sugar sweet. He offers me a drink and I ask for a bottle of water. Unlike every other head-the-ball in the states, he doesn’t take the piss on me accent. He just gives it, and gets to work. He lines up all his products like a high class whore house and tells me the prices. I hand him all the cash shitty o’mannigan had in his Velcro fucking wallet. Of which had a condom and pics of his kids. Like if he gave a fuck about his kids why would he keep his dealer on speed dial? Anyway I hand him the money and tell him to “say when.”
I take some Adderall, some Duocaine, some Klonopin, some Librium, and some Xanax because fuck it. I also grab some Ketamine, some Darvon, and some Sonata, the pill not the car. I also take some sleeping pills he has for future use. He gives me some weed for free to even shit out like I need that kinda negative thinking.
And that’s when I see her. She’s standing there,her dark hair soaked and glistening from sweat. Her face lit up by the flash of a billion little stars held captive inside people’s phones. She is glorious, so much in fact that tears fill my eyes. She’s got a handful of man and she’s giving the bad kind of jerk, just like I imagined she would.
“You alright?” He asks, genuinely concerned as he sits there, smelling like death, fat as a bloated corpse. I shake my head yes. “You never saw her before? She used to be around. She just came back.” He asks, and I cover my mouth as I begin to sob. My legs buckle and I sit on them as I hit the floor. I hold myself as I’ve always done and gather my strength, and speak my truth.
“I have.” I say, still gasping for air. My chest feeling tight and loose at the same time. I wipe the tears away and notice how alike our hands are as she holds hers up in front of her. I take a deep break and again, speak my truth. “That’s my sister.”