TorturedJester
12-12-2003, 05:45 PM
At first I tried cocaine because I felt I was silently passing judgment on the crew by not using the drug of their choice and because they would pick at my spirit like I was a p.o.w. Withholding information. “ Come on Blue, do a line, just one ain’t going to hurt ya. Come-on, you might like it.” James insisted.
“ Nah, no thanks, I’m cool with my beer.”
“ What’s this, you too good for us now or something?”
“ Look, I just don’t feel like trying that ****, alright?”
Then someone else would take over the razzing reins. “ Just try one homie and if you don’t like it we’ll never bother you again.”
“ Alright. Only if you promise to shut the hell up with your nagging. Cut me up a line then.” I caved.
Most of the time when they’d offer, I’d decline and they’d leave me alone. “ That’s cool, its your loss, it just leaves more for us anyway.” End of story. But when they didn’t let-up and otherwise made me feel isolated and guilty, I’d shove their candy up my nose. Then I began to enjoy the euphoric effect. Soon I was pleading for it.
Although drug use didn’t start off on our list of indulgences, we quickly acquired a taste for the venom. I can’t even remember when I became addicted to the junk, only that soon alcohol began splitting ownership with cocaine on a daily basis until I too craved the powder: the few seconds of utopia, the stimulation of my brain cells, the sense of feeling like a lively human being and no longer a catatonic moron.
With a dollar bill rolled into a straw and a mirror to hold a mound of crystals, we’d gather anxious to partake in the narcotic feast.
Around the room it was passed, a long sniff, a head tilted back and eyes fluttered orgasmically. The cycle was repeated several times. After the first few lines were inhaled, my surrogate family would unwind and true colors would light up the room. Decorate conversation. Unveil savage personalities.
“Hurry-up homeboy, pass it over here.” Formerly timid James demanded.
“ Wait your freakin' turn bitch” Tony shot back.
Though the gang was naturally defensive and intolerant to begin with, coke made matters worse, but especially when the mound dwindled down to dust. Arguments and even fist fights would break-out over who would get the last lines, whether it should be broken into tiny lines to be shared by all or placed into a cigarette to smoke which we called coco puff.
The nights I declined, I’d watch as they’d grovel over scraps and I couldn’t help but think of jackals in the wild, recalling to mind that I too was once a scavenger. Worse yet coke only made me feel over-anxious and paranoid, like a guard dog with nothing to protect. So after watching the bickering continue and deciding that I didn’t like the fact that a drug could have such a strong hold on me, I quit for good, or at least until Eddie returned.
One weekend, soon after Eddie was released from youth camp, the group plotted to throw him a party. His parents left on vacation and foolishly left the entire house under Jokers’ supervision.
Immediately the crew began to spread the word on the street, hitting the phones and inviting every one we could think of, especially female strangers. By nightfall the entire backyard was infested with eager partygoers. We had three kegs chilling in a metal canister of ice and an eight ball of coke the gang had scored to be consumed at the after party.
The party was much livelier than we expected; everywhere you looked a teenaged beauty or gang member, or unfamiliar faces could be found laughing, drinking or dancing.
Marijuana smoke sweetened the air and caused the well-mannered crowd to raise the noise to a disturbing level. Wild-hearted spirits howled at the sky like wolves riled by the sight of a full moon. Even the young ladies loosened-up and flirted shamelessly with the males.
I was feeling depressed and guilty as usual, sitting alone in Eddies garage, drowning amongst airwaves of oldies crashing from his speakers. Another girlfriend had just dumped me for not spending enough time with her and too much with my friends. I knew she was right but I couldn’t even figure out what was wrong with me.
The rest of the party had grown extremely rowdy but instead of regulating the noise, the gang endorsed the uproar to spite the neighbors whom had already called the police three times.
In the corner of the yard a fight broke out between two men; I reached the scene in time to watch a skinny white guy being thrown into a rose bush. When we pulled him out his body was covered with thorns and blood.
I looked over towards the back porch and saw Tony, Richard and another guy leading a drunken chula into the house. I found Eddie laughing with a couple of girls from school and pulled him aside. Since it was his house I argued that he should come to the girls aid and remove them from his house. Eddie finally agreed and entered the house but didn’t return. I waited fro several minutes but knew that he had also given in to his flesh at the girl’s expense.
The police arrived for the fourth time and demanded we break-up the party or risk being arrested. Nobody wanted to comply because they knew if they drove away they would be arrested anyway for driving drunk. Instead, feeling trapped and courageous, the crowd began to riot; throwing cans at the cops and reaching for their weapons. The police didn’t know what to do; they refused to step through the gates.
Fortunately a diplomatic gangster forced his way through the crowd and pleaded for a chance to negotiate with the cops. He nearly got beaten himself by the mob but some how prevailed in calming down the partiers and soon the crowd dispersed. I’d later discover that Eddie had called the police himself the last time because we were running out of beer and the party was already starting to revolt.
After the last person passed through the gate, we filed into the house with a pile of dope. Tony had the duty of crushing the flakes into fine trails and as he went along with the task, the group watched intensely as if they were children being entertained at a magic show. I steadfastly declined not knowing what level of peer pressure I’d endure.
“ Aww, homes it’s my party, don’t flake on me now, not tonight. Anyway I didn’t want to mention it but I did do the time for all of us; the least you could do is help celebrate my freedom. Besides it’s only tweak o’clock, we have all night to party.”
After the mirror circulated a couple of times I vacuumed in my bitter enemy. Immediately, the old familiar feeling returned. Several lines later I was feeling like I had finished my second pot of coffee. This stuff is harsher than I remember and not as white, I remember thinking to myself.
When the mirror entered my hands again I inadvertently caught a glimpse of my reflection through the looking glass residue. My heart sank to my feet and I wanted to scream. The fact that I had relapsed made me angry and ashamed, so I gnawed at my tongue and lip until they bled. Then I dove into the drug with all of my weak defenseless heart.
By five o’clock I was chewing on the insides of my cheeks. The rest of the gang was doing the same. Hardly a word was spoken.
“ Holm-homes, p-put on dat t-tape.” Richard muttered to Tony. Every body busted-up at how lame he sounded and when Tony tried capping on him he only managed a few constipated grunts himself. Tears were streaming down our faces as we went about the business of playing poker, drinking beer and snorting lines.
Five o’clock crept in slowly. I peered around the room for the thousandth time and glanced over at the pictures of Eddie’s family sitting in a glass cabinet near other knickknacks and china plates posed proudly on display.
On the side of me sat an aluminum keg in a metal barrel filled with ice water. A few feet away a worn down baby grand piano. The scenery became etched in my mind and those inanimate objects must have been whispering my name because I kept responding with my eyes, over and over again.
We finally snorted the last line, exchanged handshakes and went into separate rooms to sleep. Except for me, I stayed alone on the couch to be alone with my angst. I was burnt-out but couldn’t convince my eyelids to remain closed. Instead I lay on my back and stared at a ceiling that taunted me with heavy breathing. My body felt old and decrepit, riddled with guilt in my bones, as if I were laying on my deathbed with gut-wrenching confessions. Then my world became an airtight closet. I couldn’t taste precious oxygen. I couldn’t catch a lung full of air and my chest felt like it was going to burst. It felt like I was being buried alive as an electric current registered through my chest. One shovel of dirt. Two. Three. All I could do was hiss in enough oxygen to survive. I tried never to expose a weakness to the rest of the group and was usually tough-minded but I had to moan for them to help me and when they responded I whispered to them both,” I think I’m dying.” I expected them to laugh or to shrug me off but they shocked me with sincere concern , which freaked me out even more. “ Man I knew we shouldn’t have given him that ****, he’s not as used to it as we are. I don’t know if he’s even tried it before.” I over heard Eddie tell Tony.
“ No **** man, if some thing happens to him, we’re in trouble.”
The two rushed me to the hospital and left me between electric sliding doors. My chest was pumped and I was given fluids intravenously. Afterwards I stayed awake for the next eight days, suffering; my eyes tasting colors, watching shadows shift on the walls like flickering holograms, listening to a front door sound like prison bars slammed. There was blood in my stool and symptoms mirroring pneumonia. After that night I quit the drug once and for all. I also turned my back on my so-called brothers for not telling me they had mixed the coke with meth and heroin and for dumping me at the hospital.
“ Nah, no thanks, I’m cool with my beer.”
“ What’s this, you too good for us now or something?”
“ Look, I just don’t feel like trying that ****, alright?”
Then someone else would take over the razzing reins. “ Just try one homie and if you don’t like it we’ll never bother you again.”
“ Alright. Only if you promise to shut the hell up with your nagging. Cut me up a line then.” I caved.
Most of the time when they’d offer, I’d decline and they’d leave me alone. “ That’s cool, its your loss, it just leaves more for us anyway.” End of story. But when they didn’t let-up and otherwise made me feel isolated and guilty, I’d shove their candy up my nose. Then I began to enjoy the euphoric effect. Soon I was pleading for it.
Although drug use didn’t start off on our list of indulgences, we quickly acquired a taste for the venom. I can’t even remember when I became addicted to the junk, only that soon alcohol began splitting ownership with cocaine on a daily basis until I too craved the powder: the few seconds of utopia, the stimulation of my brain cells, the sense of feeling like a lively human being and no longer a catatonic moron.
With a dollar bill rolled into a straw and a mirror to hold a mound of crystals, we’d gather anxious to partake in the narcotic feast.
Around the room it was passed, a long sniff, a head tilted back and eyes fluttered orgasmically. The cycle was repeated several times. After the first few lines were inhaled, my surrogate family would unwind and true colors would light up the room. Decorate conversation. Unveil savage personalities.
“Hurry-up homeboy, pass it over here.” Formerly timid James demanded.
“ Wait your freakin' turn bitch” Tony shot back.
Though the gang was naturally defensive and intolerant to begin with, coke made matters worse, but especially when the mound dwindled down to dust. Arguments and even fist fights would break-out over who would get the last lines, whether it should be broken into tiny lines to be shared by all or placed into a cigarette to smoke which we called coco puff.
The nights I declined, I’d watch as they’d grovel over scraps and I couldn’t help but think of jackals in the wild, recalling to mind that I too was once a scavenger. Worse yet coke only made me feel over-anxious and paranoid, like a guard dog with nothing to protect. So after watching the bickering continue and deciding that I didn’t like the fact that a drug could have such a strong hold on me, I quit for good, or at least until Eddie returned.
One weekend, soon after Eddie was released from youth camp, the group plotted to throw him a party. His parents left on vacation and foolishly left the entire house under Jokers’ supervision.
Immediately the crew began to spread the word on the street, hitting the phones and inviting every one we could think of, especially female strangers. By nightfall the entire backyard was infested with eager partygoers. We had three kegs chilling in a metal canister of ice and an eight ball of coke the gang had scored to be consumed at the after party.
The party was much livelier than we expected; everywhere you looked a teenaged beauty or gang member, or unfamiliar faces could be found laughing, drinking or dancing.
Marijuana smoke sweetened the air and caused the well-mannered crowd to raise the noise to a disturbing level. Wild-hearted spirits howled at the sky like wolves riled by the sight of a full moon. Even the young ladies loosened-up and flirted shamelessly with the males.
I was feeling depressed and guilty as usual, sitting alone in Eddies garage, drowning amongst airwaves of oldies crashing from his speakers. Another girlfriend had just dumped me for not spending enough time with her and too much with my friends. I knew she was right but I couldn’t even figure out what was wrong with me.
The rest of the party had grown extremely rowdy but instead of regulating the noise, the gang endorsed the uproar to spite the neighbors whom had already called the police three times.
In the corner of the yard a fight broke out between two men; I reached the scene in time to watch a skinny white guy being thrown into a rose bush. When we pulled him out his body was covered with thorns and blood.
I looked over towards the back porch and saw Tony, Richard and another guy leading a drunken chula into the house. I found Eddie laughing with a couple of girls from school and pulled him aside. Since it was his house I argued that he should come to the girls aid and remove them from his house. Eddie finally agreed and entered the house but didn’t return. I waited fro several minutes but knew that he had also given in to his flesh at the girl’s expense.
The police arrived for the fourth time and demanded we break-up the party or risk being arrested. Nobody wanted to comply because they knew if they drove away they would be arrested anyway for driving drunk. Instead, feeling trapped and courageous, the crowd began to riot; throwing cans at the cops and reaching for their weapons. The police didn’t know what to do; they refused to step through the gates.
Fortunately a diplomatic gangster forced his way through the crowd and pleaded for a chance to negotiate with the cops. He nearly got beaten himself by the mob but some how prevailed in calming down the partiers and soon the crowd dispersed. I’d later discover that Eddie had called the police himself the last time because we were running out of beer and the party was already starting to revolt.
After the last person passed through the gate, we filed into the house with a pile of dope. Tony had the duty of crushing the flakes into fine trails and as he went along with the task, the group watched intensely as if they were children being entertained at a magic show. I steadfastly declined not knowing what level of peer pressure I’d endure.
“ Aww, homes it’s my party, don’t flake on me now, not tonight. Anyway I didn’t want to mention it but I did do the time for all of us; the least you could do is help celebrate my freedom. Besides it’s only tweak o’clock, we have all night to party.”
After the mirror circulated a couple of times I vacuumed in my bitter enemy. Immediately, the old familiar feeling returned. Several lines later I was feeling like I had finished my second pot of coffee. This stuff is harsher than I remember and not as white, I remember thinking to myself.
When the mirror entered my hands again I inadvertently caught a glimpse of my reflection through the looking glass residue. My heart sank to my feet and I wanted to scream. The fact that I had relapsed made me angry and ashamed, so I gnawed at my tongue and lip until they bled. Then I dove into the drug with all of my weak defenseless heart.
By five o’clock I was chewing on the insides of my cheeks. The rest of the gang was doing the same. Hardly a word was spoken.
“ Holm-homes, p-put on dat t-tape.” Richard muttered to Tony. Every body busted-up at how lame he sounded and when Tony tried capping on him he only managed a few constipated grunts himself. Tears were streaming down our faces as we went about the business of playing poker, drinking beer and snorting lines.
Five o’clock crept in slowly. I peered around the room for the thousandth time and glanced over at the pictures of Eddie’s family sitting in a glass cabinet near other knickknacks and china plates posed proudly on display.
On the side of me sat an aluminum keg in a metal barrel filled with ice water. A few feet away a worn down baby grand piano. The scenery became etched in my mind and those inanimate objects must have been whispering my name because I kept responding with my eyes, over and over again.
We finally snorted the last line, exchanged handshakes and went into separate rooms to sleep. Except for me, I stayed alone on the couch to be alone with my angst. I was burnt-out but couldn’t convince my eyelids to remain closed. Instead I lay on my back and stared at a ceiling that taunted me with heavy breathing. My body felt old and decrepit, riddled with guilt in my bones, as if I were laying on my deathbed with gut-wrenching confessions. Then my world became an airtight closet. I couldn’t taste precious oxygen. I couldn’t catch a lung full of air and my chest felt like it was going to burst. It felt like I was being buried alive as an electric current registered through my chest. One shovel of dirt. Two. Three. All I could do was hiss in enough oxygen to survive. I tried never to expose a weakness to the rest of the group and was usually tough-minded but I had to moan for them to help me and when they responded I whispered to them both,” I think I’m dying.” I expected them to laugh or to shrug me off but they shocked me with sincere concern , which freaked me out even more. “ Man I knew we shouldn’t have given him that ****, he’s not as used to it as we are. I don’t know if he’s even tried it before.” I over heard Eddie tell Tony.
“ No **** man, if some thing happens to him, we’re in trouble.”
The two rushed me to the hospital and left me between electric sliding doors. My chest was pumped and I was given fluids intravenously. Afterwards I stayed awake for the next eight days, suffering; my eyes tasting colors, watching shadows shift on the walls like flickering holograms, listening to a front door sound like prison bars slammed. There was blood in my stool and symptoms mirroring pneumonia. After that night I quit the drug once and for all. I also turned my back on my so-called brothers for not telling me they had mixed the coke with meth and heroin and for dumping me at the hospital.