The Beginning of the End, Part VII

In the beginning, it really was no big deal. I still kept working my nine-to-five at the local bank, and Kevin seemed to be doing well with his “free publication” business he had with Glenn. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to change.

We started frequenting O’Brien’s less and less, and started hanging out more and more with Tom and Kathy at their house, getting high. In some recess of my mind, I realized that these people were impossibly far off my list of “people to hang out with,” but eventually I stopped caring. I thought I was better than them, since I still had a job, was more educated, had a good family, and didn’t NEED to get high every day. I examined Kathy’s drawn-out face and gray teeth, and it gave me the chills. SHE was bad. She would literally shake as she lit her pipe, and would sometimes smoke every hit in succession until it was all gone, then just sit in a corner and “tweak.” Not me. NEVER me, I swore to myself. This was just for fun, not a life plan. Although there was no doubt I loved the rush I felt whenever I felt that smoke flowing into my lungs.

I never asked Kevin where he was getting the drugs, and he never offered. Until the day he took me to a local bar called P’s (can’t use the real name – it’s still there). It was a real hole-in-the-wall kind of bar, right next to the bus terminal, and it was frequented by mostly old drunks and young punks, depending on the time of day. A real beer and shot joint, with a jukebox and dartboard and not much else. The owner was an old guy named Sam (again, not his real name) who took one look at me and knew I was in the wrong place. He greeted Kevin, got him a drink, and asked me what I would like. I ordered a Lite and smiled nervously at my surroundings. Sam got me my beer and went back to socializing with some regulars at the end of the bar.

Kevin eventually got up and started talking to a younger bald guy near the end of the bar, leaving me instructions to wait until he came back. Sam took this opportunity to approach me.

“Honey, what’s your name?” he asked kindly.

“Dasi,” I replied nervously.

“Well, Dasi,” he said conspiratorially, “you DO realize that this is NOT the kind of place you should be hanging around in, don’t you? And your boyfriend over there…” he gestured towards Kevin, “nice guy, but…” He shrugged, and gave a sad smile.

I looked over at Kevin, who was animatedly talking to the bald guy. The bald guy wasn’t even looking at him, really, just stared straight ahead and drank his beer, nodding every now and then. Then I looked back at Sam. He had his back to me and was restocking the cooler. For some reason, I knew Sam meant well, maybe even had a daughter of his own, but I also knew that it didn’t matter. At this point, there was no one in the world who could convince me to leave Kevin.

I looked back to where Kevin was, and was startled to realize that he was gone. The stool that the bald guy had been sitting on was empty as well, but there were two half full beer bottles in front of each vacant space. Based on this and this alone, I figured that they would be back. I mean, Kevin would NEVER waste a half-full beer.

My theory was right, and it wasn’t long before they both came in from the back. Bald guy sat down, but Kevin just grabbed his beer and walked up to me. “Mission accomplished,” he stated with a grin. “Finish your beer, we’re going to party.”

As I drank the last of my Lite, I saw Sam watching me. I stood up and gave him a little smile and a wave, and he waved back. It was odd to see such a nice man running a bar like P’s. Then again, it was odd for a nice girl like me to be there, too. Kevin and I went back to his place and he produced a baggie full of white powder. I watched as he cooked it in front of me for the first time, amazed at the process. It looked ridiculously easy, yet complicated at the same time. Funny thing is, I never did try cooking it myself. Ever.

Once we got a good rush going, Kevin told me all about the bald guy, whose name was Aaron. He was bald because he had cancer, you see, and dealing drugs was how he paid for his chemo. To this day, I am not sure if Aaron or Kevin made up that story, but of course naïve as I was, I bought the story and figured we’d better buy a lot more so he didn’t die. But not that night. Because I felt good enough, and I had my boyfriend, and all was well.

I spent the night at his place, and in the morning he got a call. It was the police – apparently Glenn had been arrested while supposedly making deliveries in the van registered to Kevin. They wanted to know if it was stolen, because when they arrested Glenn he was shooting heroin in the back of the van, surrounded by thousands of magazines that had never been delivered. Kevin told them that no, it hadn’t been stolen, but he was certainly unaware of his friend’s habit. Then he asked if he could use my car to go to the station.

Of course, I said yes, and even offered to drive, but he said he would just go alone. I asked him if he knew Glenn was shooting heroin, because THAT really freaked me out, and he looked at me strangely and replied, “Well, he’s a Vietnam vet, Dasi, they do these things.” Then he left.

I sat there alone in Kevin’s place thinking about it. Did that justify using heroin? With a NEEDLE? All I knew was that I would NEVER use a needle – the whole idea of it gave me the chills. Smoking a little was way different. I felt a little sorry for Glenn, but was angry at him too. From the way things looked, he hadn’t been delivering the papers at all, and who knew if Kevin would be able to get the van back now? With a sigh, I laid back down on the bed and closed my eyes, figuring I’d just take a little nap until Kevin came back with the whole story…