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’ve got to figure out a way to get out of here.   They may think they can keep me from leaving this house, even nailing shut my windows, but I will find a way out.  They can’t watch me all the time; after all, they do have to sleep.

At least I have the Internet and Facebook, even though they took my cell phone. I’m so angry that I want to scream.  I’ve got to get out of this prison they call home.

They are doing it for my own good.  How many times have I heard that?  Yeah right, all they are trying to do is control my life – keep me from having fun with my friends.   So what if I tend to miss curfew and so what that they found the little plastic bag hidden in the back of my sock drawer, its only cocaine.  My grades are decent, I don’t miss school, and so what’s the big deal?  It isn’t like I have a problem.

What were they doing snooping through my stuff anyway?  I’ll have to ask that the next time the prison warden allow me access to the rest of the prison – probably at dinnertime.

I’ve got to get out of this place, and when I do, I’m not coming back.  They are going too far with this madness.  I don’t have a problem; obviously they have the problem, locking me up like a common criminal, saying they are going to get me help.

I need a line and I need it NOW!! I’ve noticed my hands are shaking, and I’m starting to feel a little anxious.  This is what happens when you’re treated like a criminal by your parents, it makes you freak out.  A line would calm me down.  I know it would, it always does.  And they say it’s dangerous, addictive – HA!  If they only knew how much it had helped me through finals, preps for the SAT’s, and those endless college applications to get into one of the Ivy league schools that they were so intent on me going to, they would probably change their tune, but listening is something they won’t do.

I have an idea – I’ll message James, he’ll know what to do, how to break me out of these four walls that were once my bedroom, but have become my own personal prison.  He has the answer to everything, not to mention he’s always there when I need him.

Just as I knew he would, James comes through again.  He’s going to hide some coke beside the swing-set in the back yard, which means all I need to do is convince the prison guard that calls herself my mother that I need to get some fresh air.  Even if she sits beside me and observes every move I make, which I know she will, I know I can pick it up without her noticing.

I’ll message James and tell him to make sure he puts it in the grass at the base of the left swing leg, facing towards the back door, that way I won’t have to look for it, and I can drop something on the ground, and when I pick it up, grab the tiny bag to.  Mom will be none the wiser.

I’ll make sure he sends me enough to get me through this prison sentence, all while being the perfect son, and before you know it, I’ll be back in business.   I’m going to owe James big for this, but I don’t mind.

I feel better already, knowing that in less than an hour my little piece of heaven will be waiting below.   Now if I can get the parents to stop crying all the time and telling me that I have a problem, life will once again be good.

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