You lose bowel control. You defecate on yourself. You lay in
your own filth, you own waste and try and sleep. But, sleep escapes you. Your mind is broken, but still manages to
focus enough to keep you awake and in distress.
A wave of chills overtakes you, teeth chattering, bone
numbing chills. Your sheets, already
soiled, are soaked in your sweat. They
stick to you. Your sense of smell,
unlike the rest of your body, still works.
You smell the odors, the stomach acid, the piss and shit, and the waves
of nausea roll over you once more.
For three days he’d felt like this. All he had to eat or drink had been
Ensure. The nurse sent him one twice a
day to make sure he had some nutrition.
He felt so bad he’d give them away, trade them for a Hershey’s bar. God he craved sugar!
He started out in the drunk tank but was so ill they sent
him up to medical. Two more days and
they had to let him go. He hoped he
could make it two more days.
His body craved it. This wasn’t psychological; his body was in
spasms and convulsions. All the other
guys with their crack and crystal meth had not idea. He really needed it. Heroin was the best, or worst.
Less than 48 hours to go.
If he didn’t die, he’d be back out and his craving relieved. 48 more hours. It sounded like a lifetime.
“Feelin better?”
“A little.”
“You can’t keep using.
You came close this time.”
He’d had conversations like this before. Well meaning nurses telling him the fix would
kill him. He knew they were right. He also knew he never felt such peace, such
comfort as he did when he shot up.
He’d tried them all:
alcohol, weed, powder, crack, crystal meth, oxycontin, you name it. None of them gave him the high heroin did. His body craved it. Coming off H was like nothing he’d ever
experienced. He needed more. His body screamed for another fix. This time, however, he bought purer black tar
than he was used to. It almost killed
him. He slowly walked back the corridor
to his room. Discharge in four more
hours.
The release was easy.
Sign three or four sheets, collect your possessions and head back
out. For David, that entailed a worn
wallet with $7.00, a state issued ID card, a library card, and a few folded
scraps of paper with names such as “Tooky” and “B-dot” on them with cell
numbers and a cheap track phone he bought at Walmart.
His clothes had been washed, but they still looked
dirty. Sweat stain outlines appeared on
the t-shirt, his jeans tattered and torn.
He felt much like the jeans looked, ragged and ready for the trash
heap. He surely didn’t look like the
blonde, blue-eyed 23 year old college grad he in fact was. He looked aged, worn out.
He’d barely eaten the past few days. But, detox at the jail clinic was
limited. Four days they could hold you,
then back out on your own.
David craved heroin.
His body physically wanted an injection.
The thoughts of that euphoric feeling flashed throughout his mind.
“I can’t; too soon, too weak”, he muttered under his breath
as he headed down the block, away from the jail.
He knew all it would take was a call to “Tooky”. He’d need more money. He had that at his apartment and a needle.
As he walked along the sidewalk he noticed a small
diner. Two signs, “Side Street Diner”
and “Eat” glowed against an awning overtop the doorway. He stopped.
A sign on the door said “Breakfast Special – Blueberry Pancakes, Bacon,
Coffee $3.99”.
“That sounds delicious.
I’ll eat and then call Tooky.”
David opened the door and walked in. It was small, a counter with maybe ten red
vinyl stools around it and another eight booths on the wall. It was empty except for the gray-haired black
woman behind the counter.
“Come in honey. We’re
open. Morning crowd already came and
went.”
David sat down at the counter. The woman set down a napkin, utensils and
heavy white coffee mug.
“Know what you want?”
“The blueberry pancakes, and coffee.”
“Comin right up.
Name’s Aretha sweetie. If you
need a refill, just shout out.”
With that, she poured piping hot coffee into the mug and
headed toward the kitchen. David noticed
she was whistling. He recognized the
tune but couldn’t recall the name. He’d
heard the song before, he was sure of that.
He sat holding the cup, feeling the steam press against his
face. He hadn’t noticed, but Aretha had
come back from the kitchen. Standing
before him she held a platter size white plate.
He saw pancakes stacked five high, covered in berries. Slices of bacon piled one on top of each other,
hung along the edge.
“You looked like you could really use a good meal”, Aretha
said with a laugh.
“You also look like you could use a friend. Smile sweetie. He’s watchin’ you.”
David looked at the platter of food, then up at Aretha. She had a kind face, round, wrinkled. But, her eyes were clear and sweet and for
just a moment David felt safe looking at her.
“Smells great. Tell
him this is perfect, just what I needed.
Must be a good short order cook to worry about me enjoying the
food.”
“Abe? He don’t care
if you like his food or not. I’m talkin
about ‘Him’ [Aretha let out a hearty laugh], and He sees you.”
With that, she turned and headed back to the kitchen leaving
David with more questions. “Who’s she
talking about” he wondered as he scooped up a huge fork full of pancakes and
berries.
The pancakes tasted even better than they smelled. The bacon, crisp and with a hint of grease,
crunched as he bit down. David couldn’t
remember when he enjoyed a meal more.
David continued with pancakes and sips of the still hot
coffee. For those few moments he had
forgotten about his cravings or the call he was preparing to make.
“Need more coffee sweetie?”
Aretha stood in front of him, coffee pot in her left hand,
the book in the right. He noticed gold
lettering on the black cover.
“You’re reading the Bible”, he said out loud.
“Course I am; everyday.
You know the Word?”
“Uh no, I just wondered what you were reading. “
“Saved my life really did.
Y’ought to try it sometime.
Brought me home from drugs; gave me my life back.”
David lifted his head.
He saw Aretha’s eyes. They were
big and brown and clear. She looked back
at him and he felt her kindness and warmth in her stare.
“He gives strength to
the weary.”
“What?” David lifted
his head back up and looked directly at Aretha again.
“Isaiah 40 sweetie.
It starts with ‘Comfort my people’, and ends with God giving us the
power to soar on wings like eagles’; you know, overcome whatever’s weighing us
down. It’s beautiful and powerful. I’m not preachin’ to you. I’ve been there. I know.”
With that, she poured David more coffee and headed toward
the kitchen. David sat there. Aretha’s words hung in the air. He was dealing with so much crap and
pain. The heroin had taken a toll. He was barely hanging on to his apartment,
his life. He’d almost died last time,
yet here he was thinking about getting high again.
He heard the whistling then saw her come back through the
kitchen door. He wasn’t sure what he
should do, but he knew something had to change.
He didn’t want to be sick again, didn’t want to die. He was eaten up inside with pain. The heroin eased it, but it always came back.
“Can you really promise this will solve my problems?” David pointed to the open Bible on the end of
the counter.
“Read Isaiah 40, then we’ll talk. I’ve got as much time as you need.”
Aretha handed him her worn Bible.
David began to read.
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