I didn"t even say good-bye, just slammed the door and went to check the mailbox.
I figured I"d better keep checking it until my report card arrived.
It wasn"t there. But something a whole lot better was-two letters from Citibank.
Inside one was Mom"s new credit card.
Inside the other was a PIN.
I Did Think Twice
about using that Visa, maybe even three or four times.
But it was just so easy, like fate had mailed it directly to me.
Mom wouldn"t miss it for weeks.
And then I would deny ever having laid eyes on the thing.
Robyn gave me a ride to meet Roberto. He didn"t look near as scary as he really was.
The buy was a piece of cake.
Except for one thing.
Roberto wouldn"t deal less than half-ounce quant.i.ties. That much, straight from the source, was relatively cheap. And Visa paid for it.
I didn"t need it all, of course.
The plan was to sell some, so my own stash would be free.
Every dealer thinks that until their nose gets busy.
That"s what I became that day. A dealer.
I had just taken a very big step up in the hierarchy of the monster.
I Became an Instant Celebrity
out on The Avenue.
The crank was superb.
And I, being new to the deal, didn"t know enough to cut it.
I sold it like I bought it-rich, yellow, moist, and stinky.
I offed the half, went back for more, offed that, too.
My friends were happy.
Roberto was happy- enough to front me even more.
And I was nonstop wired.
Nonstop tired.
I needed more and more just to get through the day.
More and more just to feel okay.
Who knows how much I"d be doing now?
Who knows how much money I might have made?
Who knows if I would have smoked up all the profits?
Who knows if I would have ended up in prison-or worse?
But one morning in early November, I woke up and the moment I got up, I heaved until I hurt.
It might have been the flu or a bad reaction to Mom"s sloppy Joes.
But it wasn"t.
Clear Blue Easy
I Went Through
the next few days pretty much like a zombie.
People wanted crank.
I sold it to them.
Teachers wanted homework.
I gave it to them.
Jake wanted to razz me.
I let him.
Mom wanted to know what was wrong.
I had nothing to say.
The monster called to me too.
For once, I refused to answer.
Friday night, I crawled into bed, sank way, way low.
Submerged myself in a world of watery dreams: Tears. An ocean of tears.
And a baby, a boy, afloat in that salty sea.
He cried out to me.
Could I swim away solo?
Would I drown saving him?
Sat.u.r.day
I spent the day: Throwing up.
Sweating speed.
Shivering.
Shaking.
Tingling all over.
And otherwise fighting the symptoms of withdrawal.
Sunday I spent the day: Throwing up.
Sweating speed.
Off-balance.
Confused.
Weeping.
Tumbling end over end, deeper and deeper into the throes of depression.
Monday I spent the day: Throwing up.
Eating.
Emotional.
Dazed.
Lost.
Alone.
Finally, I went to the pay phone and made two calls. One to Planned Parenthood. The other to Chase.
My Appointment Was at Two