Cocaine Addiction

I could hear the deafening noise of people arguing bitterly. Loud heated conversations were more than my ears could handle. People whose voices were awfully familiar made shouts of unutterable words. Banging on walls and surrounding metallic clutter added to the noise. It was a situation I was glad I didn’t have to handle. Then suddenly, a heavy blow went landing with a deafening bang on the only warming place we knew. General chaos and commotion ensued as people ran in all directions. The adjacent cartoned and newspaper houses caught fire. More chaos as some tried to put out the fire. The air became dense with smoke and the natural daily stench of our neighborhood did not make things any better.

Then, out of nowhere, a brain-shuttering wail of sirens was more than audible. That was the last thing this closely knit fraternity would desire. The sound of heavy-engine vehicles could be heard approaching. Now the activities changed from putting off the fire to running for dear life. Law enforcers had been the fraternity’s dangerous enemy and even the little ones had been taught that. People were bumping on each other as they ran to find a safe hide out. Others were being trampled on after tripping on the clutter.

I could hear the sound of someone shouting instructions. I edged over and saw a huge, heavily dressed man dragging a heavy dark hose. The yellow flames were getting closer and closer and it was getting warmer and warmer. Then suddenly I realized that there was no more noise and everyone seemed to have disappeared. Then the hushed voices behind alerted me of the presence of intruders in my hideout. I quickly moved away from them and found myself another haven.

I saw it, neatly packaged in a clear plastic bag. I could hardly believe my luck. He must have dropped it accidentally while freeing. I carefully opened the wrapping and gave myself a generous helping. The feeling was comparable to no other. The heat was becoming more and more unbearable. I had to move. I tried to crawl but my foot was stuck. As I bent over to free it, something heavy knocked my head. Gradual darkness fell over me.

I woke up in a funny smelling brightly lit room. My head hurt so badly.  I could feel the ache in my whole body as my eyes followed the visible parts of my body, all covered in bandages. I could hear a concerned voice talking about me. I was only thirteen, having been hooked on cocaine for as long as I can remember.

I had not known of any other world other than my street family. The kind nurse offered to help me clean up, go to school and make something of myself. I now have an opportunity to dream, where do I start? How do I help my street family?

I’m walking up the steps to the second floor of a seedy motel located in one of the darker parts of town.  You are almost certain of the clientele whom are staying in the rooms of this motel.  Not much lighting surrounds me and there is a grungy smell in the humid air; it has been a hot summer and I am sure this place has seen good business. The motel clerk asks no questions, as you can rent rooms by the hour, and for him this is a regular occurrence seeing a broke down man trailed by a strung out whore.

I opened the door to the room and was pushed back by the smell of body odor, knowing that the room as not seen a thorough cleaning and was likely rented multiple times today.  The prostitute followed behind me keeping a safe distance, but she knew I had the cash and the drugs to get us through the weekend, so instinctively she would follow me in.  This girl was no different, she needed to support her drug habit and her regular ‘johns’ would be guys like me; family men with money and jobs, no longer caring what happens to me.  I hadn’t seen my wife and kids in over a week and I was barley running my business, or what was left of it.

There was nothing to the room, one twin bed up against the wall, a broken television, and one lamp on a small table with a chair next to it.  Fortunately in this room the air conditioner was working, but that wouldn’t take care of the smell lingering in the room.  Everything in the room was a dark brown color, mainly due from all the cigarette smoke, which masked a lot of the smells coming from the carpet and the bed. The hooker took a seat on the bed and started fiddling in her purse.  She made it look like she was looking for smokes, but was giving herself reassurance the mace was within reaching distance.

I made my way into the bathroom, there was no shower curtain, and that bathroom had not been cleaned since the last occupants, there were used condoms floating in the toilette, along with cigarette butts.  No syringes, tinfoil, brillo, or drug residues anywhere; the room was likely used by a man getting his lunchtime fix with one of the local hookers in the area.  These girls had their regulars and this would be the spot to meet, as it was temporary place to disappear that ironically enough everybody knew about.  I lit up my first hit of crack in the bathroom and I could hear the woman prepping lines on the table.  I got the rush I needed and then prepped my next hit and walked back into the other room.  The hooker was sucking back lines on the table, and I knew at this rate, I would be making another call to my dealer before the night was out.