Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Never fund an addict:
“So how many years has it been?”
Fucking Jimmy. The same witless look on his face as the last time he saw him. Front two teeth long gone, the stench of a 2-week bender was quite evident on his scent. Unpleasant as it was it never bothered him before. It was more of something that was put up with and lord knows he too at one time must’ve stunk up the ethos of those unfortunate to be around him.
“It’s been a while man…long enough to fucking know better.”
Jimmy snorted in his own distinctive fashion, tickled by the far too familiar relapse of most junkies. They had been compadres years ago. A time lost in the raising of his family, he no longer dabbled. But, she was gone now taking the two young ones with her. The drinking began soon after. At first it was a few beers at the bar. Then it turned into a few beers at home, but after awhile, the beer just did nothing for him. At that point it was nothing more than tropical Capri-Sun. So he beckoned his good friend Jack Daniels. A man of deep conviction Jack never let one forget the absolute joy he could bring into one’s darkest of days. The sleep came easier with the black and white bottle. The visions in his head slowly began to lose their realism and even these images slowly faded into the blackness. It was quite the plunge. 15 years sober. Some of it state funded, but clean nonetheless, the slippery slope was quite the easy one to find. After a few months drowned in the barley and rye, a thirst for the good stuff began to take hold of his good senses. Definitely not good for one’s good health, but he knew he could handle just one take. In moderation most anything can be a dream. The abuse was never a problem was it? It was the lack of nothing to do that made him an addict.
“You gonna hook that shit up or what Jimmy?”
“Well allow me to welcome you to my humble abode brother, first and foremost. Good to see you again. Back where you belong…”
Fuck the pleasantries; the very fact that he was in Jimmy’s “apartment” pushed the urge to the precipice. Even after all the years, the jonesing was still strong. Like the urge of a serial killer to blood-lust, the mere minutes of waiting began to feel like hours.
Jimmy slowly pulled out a small baggie opened it and slowly begin to tap, tap, tap it onto the most unseemly of spoons imaginable.
“Is that shit clean Jimmy?”
“Trust me my friend, in a few minutes it won’t even matter.”
Jimmy placed the spoon over a bunsen burner. Back in the day it was solely zippo lighters or whatever other burning apparatus existed in the moment. Jimmy had moved up, snagged from an underfunded chemistry department no doubt, but industrious nonetheless. As the cooking commenced, Jimmy reached over with his free hand and pulled a needle off the table and placed it too in the blue flame of the Bunsen burner. As the preparation began to wind down, the anticipation was palpable. Jimmy pulled his belt off and tied it to his own arm. Before realizing what was taking place, Jimmy quickly placed the needle in his own arm. The blood squirted back into the syringe before he pushed the plunger all the way down and collapsed on the filth riddled floor.
“Jimmy! What the fuck! What about me?”
“Fuck that man. You’re clean. Just cause the bitch left you doesn’t mean you need to end up where I’m at…”