arbitrary conclusions
clues
These things start off simply enough …….and then something happens. Sixty dollars in
my pocket, the sun is long gone and 11pm is rapidly approaching. The intense chill
of a December eve in northern Georgia has me searching out my mistress alcohol.
I slide into a deserted speakeasy on Jackson St., black-lit
decadence and the smell of crushed cigarettes, I'm home. "Gin and tonic
please…sapphire if you have it." The currency exchange is seamless and the tip
is gratuitous. Ice to my lips and fire to my throat, "Ahhhhhhhh, very nice." I lay
my black fedora on the bar and turn instinctively to see Mr. Bergman walking
through the door. I flip him a flaccid gesture of greeting, and turn back to my
drink. "How goes it chief?" "Aw, not bad, what are you up to?" He inquires.
"You're looking at it." I slide my hand into my pocket and with a click
ignition-I light a cigarette. "Kind of dead tonight, eh?" "Yeah, it is…nice
though…for a change." I agree with him as he orders a vodka drink…poor gent.
Idle conversation and several more gin drinks become unbearable and I decide to
split. "Take it easy man, try to stay out of the lock-down this new years" I say
mockingly as I slip my hat back on. "Uh, yeah, if anyone is in danger it's you!"
He laughs.
Fuck it's really cold. Athens is desolate tonight, not a soul wandering the streets.
Once again, I'm alone. I cross over to Clayton, trying to decide if another drink in
another pub will quench this fire I have to do something…..ANYTHING
interesting…before I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes on this day. I
hear the distant drone of trains…it reminds me of home, nestled appropriately on
the 'wrong side' of the [four] tracks…and then it flashes like post-nuclear
neon……
Heroin.
My earlier attempt to score had been met with "yeah, I'll call you if I hear
something…." Not good enough. She never calls when she says she will. It's
been four hours, and a quick payphone visit home reveals that she still hasn't
called. Fuckfuckfuck, I slam the phone down. The slight wind runs liquid
nitrogen cooled razors across my bare neck. And then it
happens………..Kevin…my last hope, and probably the first route I should
have taken. I slip into the little green car and make serious tracks to Oconee,
flipping through a few red lights. Seems like even the police are on vacation this
week.
knockknockknock….
"Hey what's going on?"
"Not much, you going down for a bang this eve'?"
"As a matter I was on my way to do just that"
perfect. When it comes to addiction, formality and small talk always take a
backseat to need….creation of instant repoire`…and destruction of trite niceties
bullshit conversation-when all you really want to know is…
"…are you holding?"
"No, but come with me, I've got a sure thing lined up."
He's happy to see me-they always are-it's my lot in life-a member of the
foulest species in written history-that everyone's always happy to see…and
won't leave alone.
Out the door into his silver automobile of foreign proportions, made specifically
for the wee people. An unfortunate re-hash of 'violator' glory-days oozes
contemptuously from his front speakers, and only his front speakers, like the
whine of a depressed giraffe who's slit her wrists, a beautiful neck is a terrible
thing to possess. Time is racing through me as it does from time to time, and my
hands begin to shake in anticipation…"how's the new job?" after 10 minutes I
feebly attempt to make conversation.
"Not bad, beats the Rock. I'm making better money now, but it's consistently
busier." He replies…the look on his face is a familiar one, and I remember that
he and I are beneath the same spell of addiction and neither of us cares much for
the idleness of chit-chat…I resign to stop speaking. We slide down a backstreet
facing a decrepit set of railroad tracks that are engulfed by mighty kudzu vine
when our sun is closest to the earth. Now it stands proud-cold-steel-grey,
earthen kudzu appendages woven between its ties, sleeping the coma of winter
vegetation. The long gravel driveway ends beside square house with a single
bulb illuminating a dilapidated three-step porch. There are no insects chancing
death, buzzing around this bulb. This house reeks of decay, stasis, and
contentedness with its NOTHING-saturated existence. We step out of Kevin's
car and join four other hungry souls waitingwaitingwaiting. I pull my hat further
down on my head and button my suit jacket. Fumbling to retrieve a cigarette, I
hear our death sentence…"Johnny is out, he left a not on the door saying he's be
back shortly." The green-haired character lays the hatchet -nice and icy-
on our necks….
Fuck.
"FUCK!!!" Kevin bellows. Kevin's thin, sick body bellows…to be more accurate.
I don't have time for this, nor do I have the patience…yes I do, all the time in the
world. Kevin and I take a seat in his car to keep warm. The green-haired kid
keeps his position on Kevin's hood, perhaps happy to have a new place to sit, to
pass the time, or at least feel as if it is passing. When you are waiting, any new
stimuli is welcome. It's an indication that time hasn't frozen around you entirely.
"I can't believe we're sitting here, I'm fucking freezing." Kevin spurts out,
shivering. "Yes you can. You know that if you leave you will sit around your
house shaking and you'll be back in this same spot within fifteen minutes…we
came here for a reason, we'd come back again and again." He nods in
acknowledgement and continues to face forward singin' to himself…"all I ever
wanted, all I ever needed"…how disgusting, but how appropriate.
An hour trickles by, nanosecond by nanosecond.
Trickling like a breathing cadaver's clogged morphine drip.
Headlights illuminate the dashboard.
"He's here."
"Fucker."
We step out of the car inching, with our hands in our pockets, towards Johnny's
car; surrounded by the other fools participating in this exercise in patience and
pain. We all follow Johnny and his girlfriend and their two leeches, dismal….the
lot of us. Light switches are flipped, Kevin introduces me…"Johnny, this is
Henry."
"Nice to meet you Johnny."
He was sizing me up for the length of my habit; he licked his lips------
-this one's new, he'll be back again and again-
"Yeah, you too. Okay….."
he's a good dealer, I can smell his greed, he'd always be there for me…
"…this is the deal. I only have three bags."
"Three bags, or only three bags to sell?" one chap chimes in bitterly.
"None of your fucking business. Looks like you don't get to find out, take a
hike." The thirty-ish, sunken man shuffles to the door muttering Russian
profanities. That's something you don't hear every day. We need two of the
three bags. I go to move, but this is Kevin's man, he belongs to him, it's not my
place. Kevin hesitates, and someone picks up two, Kevin slips the money in
Johnny's hand for the third. What the fuck?" I think to myself "that was a
clear-cut auctioneer's warning, jump while you can. I'd have had the money in his
hand before he finished his sentence……but I am the outside man here, and over
anxiousness is never rewarded. We take the bag into the bathroom, no time to
lose. "Sorry man, we'll have to split it, he told me on the phone that he had
plenty. I know where we can score some more tonight, we'll just tide ourselves
over with half a shot." Kevin's a real stand-up character. He has a much deeper
set of issues with H than I do, he could easily have taken the bag and had me
wait…
I wouldn't have argued.
He needs it more than I do.
I hand him my rig.
I tap the bubbles out-the sound of my fingernail against the plastic raises my
pulse. The ecstasy is waiting….almost there, almost home-I slide my leather
belt from its loops and wrap it forcefully…sensually…around the upper part of
my bicep-perusing the veiny terrain of my forearm with my index finger,
coming to rest an inch below my elbow joint-a firm ripe starving vessel surges
-threatening to to divide its fleshly armor-
"…. that's the one"
the needle slides effortlessly through the skin-steel invasion-tiny red clouds fill
the tip of the syringe-I depress the plunger-a wave of abusive pleasure rolls
through every cell of my body…washing each nerve with the shiver of unbridled
-pure- opiate delight.
My knees buckle slightly and the belt drops to the floor clinking dully against the
plastic linoleum surface. "uuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh" a moaning sigh escapes
my pursed lips. My head snaps back slowly rolling a half circle before toppling
end over end in slow motion down my spine landing effortlessly in the crimson
plush of the floor mat…
lying content…
eyes rolled back…
enthralled with my own senses.
In love with my nervous system.
I regain the illusion of composure, close my gaping mouth, roll my head to its
resting position on my shoulders and slide the needle out…such a heart
-wrenching experience.
Reality flashes into perspective as I hear the spasming esophagus of a vomiting
woman behind the shower curtain. "Kev," I'm barely able to mutter "let's split."
Back into the evening air. I wish I had waited to 'hit'. The frigid air is slicing
through my euphoria mercilessly. I collect myself into a neat little package and
firmly plant myself in the passenger seat of Kev's automobile. "Okay" he blurts
"all we have to do is run down Kaitlyn. She's supposed to score tonight. We'll
stake out the bar for an hour or so, see if she pops in." I'm not even interested in
nodding to acknowledge him at this juncture. Slipping down Prince Ave. to hull
St. I realize that I'm going to have to deal with people. People who expect me to
listen to and laugh at their asinine anecdotes….dimshadowyblank eyesockets
mouthing the proverbs of marionettes. We park near the Smoker's Den and
button up for the two-block trek to the Engine Room.
The red neon -"ENGINE ROOM"-is blistering. I am afraid to pass through
these glass doors into the land of the living. The angel Gabriel greets us at the
door…
…how appropriate.
"HENRY! Where 'ya been, man?" "Here and there, laying low you could say."
pause pause pause pause pause pause pause pause pause pause pause pause pause
"Well, good to see you henry!" He pats me on the shoulder. Gabe's a good kid; I
just don't care right now. Gabe, you seen Kaitlyn tonight?" "No, she hasn't been
in tonight."
fuck.
The Engine Room is essentially a very wide hallway. The floor is concrete. The
bar lines the left wall, and the right is lined with cafeteria style booths. Pool in
the back, but it's usually occupied ferociously by kids I wouldn't want to meet in
a dark alley, and their street-walkin' girlfriends. "Sorry that shit went down that
way man, let me buy you a drink." Kevin can't stop apologizing….and I'm not
complaining. "Sure, gin and tonic…sapphire please." I slip into an empty booth
and slouch, trying to protect myself from the ear-grating music reverberating off
all six surfaces of this concrete cavern…
and god forbid I make eye contact with anyone.
Kevin sits across from me and sets my drink on the table. I reach for it in
desperation, taking half of it in one drink. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Yeah, don't
worry about me, worry about Kate." I can feel perspiration forming on my
forehead. "What's the gig man, is she gonna show?" "Well, Kaitlyn told me she
would meet me here, I just hope she has enough on her. She's a good girl, she'll
show." Kevin apologizes for Kate day in and day out, but we both know she
probably won't show at all.
There is an incredibly long silence as I take down the rest of my drink. I slide out
of the booth, and order a shot of knob creek, and another gin…..on the rocks.
After all, it's gonna be a
l
o
n
g
night.
Why is someone shoving me?
"Wake man, you okay?"
I crack my eyelids.
Kev, Kate, and some chap I don't know are standing above me.
"I'm fine…what's the score?"
"Let's get something to eat, shall we gentlemen?"
I could tell by the way every other word in her sentence was a muttered gesture
that she had scored-taken it home-hit her bag-and then tried to figure out a
way to pay us all back…and hitting the other two bags. Obviously she couldn't
think of a way, so she's selling it to us. The privileged ones.
The dash for the door was nauseating, but the air gouged through my stupor and
slammed me face first into reality. I began involuntarily shaking.
"Fuck it's cold."
I button up and pull my hat low. According to the banter ahead of me, I:
Came back to the table after three more shots of whiskey, and another gin…as a
chaser… -leaning from the bar toward our booth, my trajectory being such that
I bridged the 11 foot gap and nestled myself snugly in my seat-pulled out a
cigarette-lit it-carried on a half-hour conversation about the implications of
cellularly constructed organic hardrives-tipped my hat-asked to be "excused
for a moment" and took an hour long nap.
The inside of the all nite diner is blindingly lit…white-white-white-red-white.
The same type of faux hipster décor everyone and their grandparents are trying to
cash in on. The staff is primarily members of a group I compassionately refer to
as the 'punk-rock syndicate'. Between fifteen and thirty members, depending on
how cold it is outside. They are for the most part homeless, squatting, or living
communally in the same house. It's alarming how many of them are trust fund
babies. Actually it's more than a little frustrating, but to each their own. I have
nothing against them per se.
I can see them comin'…
Which is how I like people…
If I see 'em first, they don't see me.
I am decidedly not hungry. Not that I ever am. But tonight eating sounded every
bit as repulsive as its name implies-mastication. digestion. Toothy grins gnawing at
innards, deep-fired, sautéed, ala carte`, vegetarian, you name it, people will shove down
their throats. Watching this bizarre social ritual begins to make me nauseous again.
There's a tap on my shoulder, I spin my head left to see Kev sliding me a spoon and a tiny
plastic bag. I'm certain me eyes are wide in horror after being ripped from the surreal
observation of this three AM feeding frenzy, but I manage to whisper "thank you" gutturally.
I immediately rise and begin the long walk to the restroom…my hands beginning to shake in
anticipation…perspiration forming in the palms of my hands. Someone says something to me on
the way back, but it only registers as an intrusion to my holy quest. The white light begins
to dim as I reach the back hallway--the off-white door of the restroom seeming further and
further away as I approach…sinking into the wall…sinking…I stop to regain perspective and
realize I am one half-inch from drilling my nose into the steel door. Fuck, I need a shot.
I enter the dark icebox and search along a grimy wall for a light switch. The fluorescent
bulbs pause--flicker--pause--flicker--pause--pause--and light. The door slams shut under my
left hand and I take a long deep look at myself in the cracked, graffiti-ridden mirror.
I splash cold water on my face, and for the first time see the grey solid texture of my flesh.
There is no time to lose.
I run a few drops of h2o into the spoon--tear open the bag with my teeth--dump it's contents
into the water--stir-stir-stir--[cream in my coffee] until the powder is dissolved--fish for
the syringe in my pocket--remove the cap--insert the needle into the solution--pull the plunger back--
loading the bullet into the chamber. As I slap my sweaty arm I am greeted by a family of starving
veins, all vying for the honor of carrying this poison--slide the needle home…
!!!KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!!!
"GIVE ME A SEC, WILL 'YA?!?!"
I hear a faint grumbling just outside the door and my paranoia escalates. "What the fuck am I doing?"
I depress the plunger and my question is answered as I flatten against the wall behind me. The color
of my flesh returns and the nausea is a bitter memory. I splash more water on my face…tidy up…and
re-join the living. The surreal pain of the diner has transformed into a bright-fuzzy-discordant-landscape.
I navigate the tables and walk out the door. No need to say goodbye, I have what I want, I have all I need
…for now.
arbitrary conclusions
clues