She waited until sunset to make her way to the Cole district. It was a more reasonable time to do this. A more reasonable time to engage in such behavior. It was when the boys (and let’s be honest, some girls) came out of their dwellings and crash pads and made their way to the street to begin the sometimes frustrating search for their momentary state of euphoria. Around 8 would be about the right time to begin her night. She would eat an early supper. Maybe take a shower about 6:30 and then put on something a bit revealing. They always went for it and probably always would, at least for now. Their eyes would gaze back and forth, intentionally not making contact until finally their instinct gives in, and they focus on the 56-year-old mother of 2 sitting in her Mercedes-Benz making them an offer that sounds suspiciously good. To them, she wasn’t the real prize. She knew this. There were no delusions about what her value to the situation was. The prize was the fix, it was the powder in the nose or the needle in the arm. The smoke filling the lungs. The blast to the brain. These things are what convinced them to enter the black sedan. She knew it, but it didn’t perturb her in the least.
This crazy idea all started about 4 years ago on a scorching hot summer night. Her husband had passed 2 years earlier, it was cancer, of course. When was it not? The miserable bastard wouldn't spend 5 minutes without a cigarette resting between his lips, so it wasn't much of a surprise to anyone that knew him that his lungs had turned blacker than coal. So at the young age of 52 she found herself truly alone. The empty nest had just gotten a bit emptier.
One night she found herself on the wrong side of town after a dinner with a friend. Not a real friend, but someone who assumes widows should be taken pity upon and treated to a nice meal and conversation occasionally. Her husband did most of the driving, so her sense of the city was a bit off. Though she had been in the car has a passenger, she never found herself paying attention to the roads. And so here she was on the corner of 16th and Dodson Street trying to get a sense of the direction when she saw him. A boy? A man? It was hard to gauge when they're in that 20 something range. He was skinny but not sickly skinny, like a runner's build, but you knew the boy hadn't done any sort of real exercise in years, just a guy born into a healthy looking body but an unhealthy mind. She stared at him for a moment until his eyes reached hers, and then he began to walk towards the car. She was paralyzed, but it wasn't fear it was excitement, the anticipation of what was to happen next. Most of her nights were spent with a warm glass of wine and a Raymond Chandler story, but maybe this one would be different. She rolled down the window as the boy approached.
“I can tell you now that we're going through a drought,” he smiled, waiting for her to respond. But she didn't immediately because she wasn't quite sure what the sentence meant. He certainly wasn't here discussing the weather and even if he was, the city had plenty of rain in the past several months. She was so naive then, but it finally clicked after a moment. “I'm not here for that,” she said defensively, but then instantly apologized to the man, realizing that it could have sounded insulting. She figured he was standing on the corner looking to score some dope and seeing her in her car scanning the area, he assumed that the woman was on the hunt as well. It wasn't really realistic, but it was plausible. All kinds of people partake. Don’t let the movies and TV tell you different.
“I'm sorry, my mistake” he turned to walk away, but she called him back. The night couldn't end like this. It wasn't enough yet. Her senses were tingling and her hands shaking a bit, but she needed to scratch some sort of imaginary itch. She inquired about his assumption and yes it was true, as it turns out the need for self-medication was not just a desire of the young and irresponsible but also the older and totally stable. He had seen it before, a woman would drive up in her car and ask one of the boys to get her a bag, these boys weren't the sellers, but she would turn them into middle men just in-case. If there were any undercover cops or if the dealer had ulterior motives, this would be no concern for the woman resting comfortably on the leather seats of a sedan. They could simply drive off and lose the 50 bucks. It was an insurance that was well worth it compared to the alternative.
“So that's a thing” she spoke curiously.
“That's a thing” he confirmed.
At that point she could have thanked him for the insight and drove away, but it still wasn't enough, so she began inquiring. Where did the boy live? How long had he been doing this? And for god sakes, why? The answers could be very surprising at times. One would think of the generic story where a kid from an unsupportive or non-existing family gets hooked. It starts off as a weekend thing, but slowly begins to consume all hours of all the days of the week. The once daily routine of mundane living turns into a mission every day to hunt for the score, which ironically now gave them purpose and a reason to rise every day. This was the case for many, but not all. Sometimes
She would hear about the high-school football player who hurt their back and was prescribed painkillers. Once they were properly healed and the pill supply began to get lower, a panic would set in. It wasn't a “How could I go on in this pain?” panic, but a “How can I go on another day without this comfort?” panic. And being that a script from a Doc is a lot harder to get than a bag of Horse, the solution played itself out and also seemed inevitable for the most part. She rested her hand on the steering wheel, reminiscing about that first night. Although the excitement had weaned a bit, as it does with anything, she still managed to have some inside her. It was the anxiety and the butterflies dancing with one another.
While the conversation was dwindling to its conclusion, he had mentioned that he was going to go try another spot about 6 blocks away. The offer of a ride jumped out of her mouth uncontrollably. Still to this day she isn't sure if it was overall politeness or just wanting a little taste of danger in her night.
They had driven to the spot and the moment she pulled up she saw the grin form on the boy's face. This was a much more promising location, it seemed. He nodded at her and then hopped out of the car, making his way across the street, and began a conversation with a taller boy wearing a hooded sweatshirt and ripped jeans. After a few moments of talking and hand shaking, he returned to the car.
“Did you find what you needed,” she asked. He nodded and they drove off. That first night, she just dropped him off at the corner, and he gave her directions back home. It was just a testing phase to see how far she would go. They didn't start to come home with her until a few months later. It was a simple agreement, really. These young boys had a bed to sleep in and real food in exchange for some light housework and companionship. The companionship didn't always turn sexual, she didn't want to force anything that wasn't meant to be, but if they would stumble upon her at the right moment and had the thoughts and urges in them then she would let young men do what young men do.
There was never any promise of a long term arrangement, she let them know this from the beginning. A week or maybe 10 days at a time was all she would allow until she needed to wipe the slate clean again. The only exception was a young girl she brought home once. For some reason, this one stuck to her because she felt so bad that a beautiful female like her could fall into this trap. When the woman began bringing up methadone clinics and asking if her family missed her, that's when the girl bolted. She never saw the girl out again, so now a part of her hopes she struck a chord in the girl. Deep down she knew most likely she was just held up in an apartment with mattresses, and junkies lining the floors. The needle sticking out of her arm, in totally aquatics, swimming through her pain.
And so it went on like this for a few years. She would lure them in and then quickly say goodbye. It gave her some sort of purpose and drive. To be a Mother to these children again gave her a flash of youth. Her own children were already grown and needed no direction,. So occasionally they would call and give mom the update on how things were going, but it always felt obligatory on their end. She could hear it in their voices as they ran down the list of items to reveal. At this point it was routine, they required no direction or advice from Mother, but these did.
And now all this time later she found herself resting her hands on the leather steering wheel waiting for another one to come in to view. And that was the exact moment that he appeared. She waited until their eyes met, and he made his way to her car.
She pulled the car into the garage, and she pushed the button to make the door close. This was the safest way to get him into her house without any of the neighbors growing suspicious. They entered through the door, and she threw down her purse on the chair. “Make yourself at home... What did you say your name was again?”
“Tim,” he replied quietly, not knowing how to feel about his circumstances yet. When he approached the car he had suspected her to give him cash to pick up something for herself, but when she made an offer of a small bag and a place to stay he immediately hopped in the car. It wasn't until the moment they arrived at her home, he thought about how the situation felt a little out of place. It dawned on him that this could be some sort of police bust, but why bust the kid that didn't have anything?
This was her new way of doing things. At some point, she realized that she was becoming a taxi service for these boys. Driving back and forth and looking for a fresh supply had seemed time-consuming and just a little too dangerous. So one day she decided to purchase a large amount from a trusted boy, and now it's kept in the pantry of her home. This way drugs were never in the car and this could all be done in the privacy of her own home where no one could see them. She stepped out of the kitchen with the small baggie in her hand and wearing significantly less clothing. Her robe barely covered the red bra and panties on her body. His eyes wandered up and down, not noticing the small pouch she threw on his lap until her head nodded down bringing his attention to it.
“Oh.uh…thanks”
“No problem,” she said and smiled. They tell me it's good stuff. I wouldn’t know. Do you mind if I sit here and watch you?”
“No, that's fine,” he muttered, thinking that if she was going to keep feeding him then she could do anything she damn well pleased.
“Do you mind my attire,” she smiled.
“Not at all, ma'am,” he grinned.
She liked this word, ma'am. She hated it when it was coming from someone in retail or a waiter, but it fit in this scenario perfectly.
The boy poured a bit on the coffee table in front of him and then pulled a credit card from his pocket. Not an active one, of course, but one that he may have used to buy groceries in a different life.
“Let me guess. You don't like needles”
“No ma'am. The marks make it a little too obvious of what I'm getting myself into. I’d rather no one knows my business.”
She nods her head as he crouches down and begins to siphon the powder up his right nostril. His head snaps back up and his eyes bulge with pleasure. The question in every junkie's head immediately after a bump or a dose is, “Did I get it right?” And they would usually answer this without informing anyone that they were answering or even what the question was. “YES!!”
The exclamation poured out of his mouth. In most cases an addict isn’t aware that they actually say it, but with someone else around, sober and paying attention, then it can be brought to their attention.
“It's good I assume” she smiled at him, taking in his high. “I know it is…well not from first-hand experience, but I've heard you know.”
He smiled at her. She was his everything now. Anyone that could bring him to this point was a friend. All the hesitation and the awkwardness was now gone and replaced with confidence and an overall feeling of warmth.
He, of course, did not have the greatest relationship with his real mother. This was a common story among the creatures of the street. Very rarely did someone come from a loving, stable environment and choose to be a part of this.
Tim was somewhere in the 10th grade when it happened. A friend had a tiny bag full of white powder and was offering it up. Pot and alcohol were par for the course, but they were already wearing thin at that point. And not being 21 he had problems getting a hold of any booze. There was always playing the “hey mister” game, but that could be time-consuming and lead to someone calling the police. So he went with the new thing. It seemed pretty dreary in the movies, but he had an idea in his head that it was a bit of over romanticized, and its depiction was probably very unrealistic.
That first time, his friend used a needle and jabbed it into his vein. Within macro seconds of the thumb moving down and the drug in his bloodstream, he felt it. It was not a feeling of drunkenness, for sure. There was no false sense of security or any sort of dizziness. And it was definitely not like pot. Pot made his brain a bit fuzzy and also had the ability to make the teenager who already had a hyperactive mind think too much. This was neither of these. This was the solution. All the things that had irked him or kept him worried about his home life or just life in general were now gone. His brain stopped thinking, and he looked around the room, beginning to understand how precious and important life is. For the first time in a long time, he felt happy. He never considered the amount of time and energy it would take to make this feeling happen on a regular basis.
Her eyes stayed fixated on him as she moved closer to the couch. Her hands began to massage his back. First over the shirt and then under. The small kiss was planted on the back of his neck and his eyes closed.
They woke up in the bedroom a few hours later. His clothes were sprayed on the floor and beads of sweat were pouring down his face.
“Let me grab you a towel,” she disappeared in the bathroom. As she pulled one from the rack, she got a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes had grown a bit in the past couple months. She always had a youthful glow, but the light was dying a little every day. She dismissed her feelings and returned with the towel to slowly pat the young boy's head until it was dry.
“Thanks,” he said as he threw a cigarette into his mouth and lit it.
“Where is home?”
He thought about it for a minute, searching his heart for an answer. Tim had been all over the past couple years and to pin down one single solitary place and refer to it has home was not an easy task.
“Here for now”
“But where did you grow up?” She didn't want to dig too hard, but she did want to just make sure that this was not one of her neighbors kids. Although that would have made more sense to do before she let him into the house, and into her.
“Cleveland mostly. And then we came here 2 years ago”.
He hoped that would be sufficient and end her inquiries. If he had the kind of life that he would feel comfortable sharing, than he wouldn't be in the current situation.
“How about you? Any kids?” This wasn't an ideal question, but it took the focus off him for a moment. She wasn't so sure if she wanted to have this conversation herself now that it was down to her. Maybe getting too personal was neither of their strong suits.
“Yes two. But they're all grown up now.”
Hoping that would curb the conversation, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “So you don't mind that I am a bit grown up myself”.
He thought about her words for a moment. They were both aware of the situation, but neither of them had really made any attempt to acknowledge it. Possibly it was because neither of them really gave a damn. Not just about their current situation but about life in general. They had both reached the point of not caring what the world thought or what it wanted. Some might call that
selfish, but others like the two of them might refer to it has a true freedom, one in which most don't actually get to have.
He finally spoke up. “I'm okay with it if you are.”
She laughed as she turned the TV on. After scanning the channels a bit, she landed on a marathon of reruns of “The Rockford Files” and that is where they stayed for the rest of the afternoon.
Tim had been there for 2 weeks now. This was a bit of a milestone in her household. Her longest “guest” had stayed just over 10 days, and it was already days past the point of a worn out welcome. Tim’s presence was different. He did all the same things he was supposed to, (vacuum, fold laundry, load the dishwasher) but he moved through her life like a shadow. Never in the way, never overbearing, he knew just when to ask for things and how to accept the word no. He was a good student and a good son.
At this point, she wasn’t sure how to handle this. She didn’t want it to end, but the line had to be drawn somewhere. Her supply was running a bit low, and she knew once it was gone he would follow. She considered replenishing, but then how long would it be till he left. With a roof over his head, food in his stomach and all of his needs taken care of, why would he ever consider an exit.
He pulled up the bag of trash and carried it to the front door. He would usually set it on the step out front, and she would take it the rest of the way. He opened the door and was greeted with a curious smile.
“Well, Hello there,” the sparky feminine voice said. His eyes looked up to see a lady, earplugs in ears, pink sweatshirt wrapped around her waist, staring him down.
“And who might you be?”
“Tim,” he said, just loud enough to be audible.
Out of the kitchen, she came like a bolt of lighting. Her worst nightmare had revealed itself, and it was happening on her front porch in the form of a noisy neighbor named Betty. Thankfully, there were excuses and explanations prepared for this moment, along with some top-notch acting. “Betty, Hello, come in”
The confident tone was the first trick in hiding anything. The second trick is to pretend that you have nothing to hide. Betty by-passed Tim, who remained frozen and greeted her neighbor. “Thank you, Tim. You can leave it there for now and get started on the lawn in the back” Although he had no previous experience in any garden work, he knew the play that they were acting in, and he took on the role. He nodded his head and walked out to the back porch, hoping to mimic whatever the hell it was that a gardener would do.
“Who’s the kid?” Betty smirked.
With the answer waiting in the wings, she put on a grin and performed. “A service that I use. They send someone to help me with little things around the house.” Betty nodded, and she felt like she had pulled it off. It wasn’t so unbelievable that a widow might need some help, especially one that was almost going to be 60. He stayed outback, kneeling into a set of bushes and taking a peek now and then to see if she had left. Part of him thought maybe to just walk away. He wasn’t looking for any trouble, and he thought he would be doing her a favor. He was afraid that perhaps she was becoming a bit attached. Not to him specifically, but maybe just having company and someone to keep the bed warm. The problem was that he was too. What were really the options at this point? He had no desire to stand on those corners waiting for what he required and then later passing out with his back leaned up against a brick wall. There was always home, but he couldn’t show his face there again, not unless he wanted a lecture on life. Here he felt safe, there was no judgement and no one to tell him what path his life should be taking, and no one telling him whose lives he was hurting.
The voice rang out, “The coast is clear”
He breathed a sigh of relief. They both did. The moment had put things into perspective for the two. The moment Betty showed up, they both realized they were doing something that wasn’t necessarily wrong but not ideal civilized behavior. But who was really civilized anymore? Maybe what they had was the most innocent thing going on the block. They were honest to each other, which is more than what most couples could say. He had even started using a needle in front of her, knowing that no one around would be staring at the marks and then back up at him. ’I could use a drink after that one,” he nodded at that. She winked back at him and decided to try out an idea that had been bouncing around her head all day.
“You want to go out to eat tonight? Like a sit down dinner? I know a great place” She felt stupid and a bit ashamed the moment she finished talking. She waited patiently for the reply, knowing that this would probably be the moment when she would scare him off for good. But this didn’t happen. What did was what exactly played out in her fantasy scenario in her head. He looked up at her, smiled, and then started naming off his culinary preferences. “Italian is my absolute favorite, but if you’re not into that then Mexican is a close second followed by Vietnamese or Thai”
This delighted her. Her husband was a burger and fries guy, and only a burger and fries guy. When she wanted to go out to someplace nice, this usually translated to steak and potato, and she would usually end up eating some chicken dish.
“Italian it is. Now let’s see if we can’t find you some better clothes”
She waited till the sun was going down to leave the house. It took her that long to decide what to wear. She hadn't been out in quite a while. There was always lunch with a friend or the occasional coffee, but this was going to be an event, well at least from her perspective. She called Angelino's and made the reservation for 2 at 7 PM. It felt odd and dangerous. It was a Friday and the chances of running into someone she might have known weren't probable but very possible. She had quite the handful of excuses in the chamber. This afternoon's incident got her imagination going full swing. What if she said he was a local student that she had volunteered to help out with some tutoring and in exchange he helped her with housework. She saw the ads in the paper for that very same offer, and she had done some teaching in the past so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility, and wasn't that just the thing a lonely widow would do? She shoveled through her husband's old suits, holding them up to Tim as her head would shake one by one. The older the suit, the closer they got. Her husband died a bigger man, but it took him 50 years of working at it. The one that made a match was probably from his early 20s and would be considered out of style, but it seemed this younger generation embraced older trends, so Tim actually looked like he might have gone to the store and picked it out himself.
“Why did he save all these?”
“You're a bit too young to understand nostalgia,” she smiled.
They had ordered. He decided on the Sicilian Chicken dish and her the gnocchi in a red wine tomato sauce. The wine glass sat in front of her as she waited for the timing to be right. As it turned out, it was two sips in and 30 seconds after their order.
“So I think I have a bit of business to discuss,” his eyes widened as she spoke. “At the current rate of consumption, it would seem my supply will be empty in under 24 hours.” He nodded his head, already well aware of the situation.
“So what do we do from here?” he asked.
“Well, that's I don’t know myself. Look Tim, I like having you around and goddamn if I don't like having a young man keeping me warm in my bed, but I can't enable someone's habit for such a long stretch of time,” he nodded, fully understanding.
“I don't really have anywhere else to go”
“Is home so bad?” she knew it was a horrible question. Of course, it was. "Never mind that I said that”
Their meal came and they ate in total silence. Nothing to say really because what could the 2 of them possibly have in common. She was an older widow only a couple of years away from receiving social security and joining knitting clubs, and he was a young man, possibly not even eligible to buy a beer yet.
She showed up at his funeral wearing the same black dress that she wore to her husbands. Most people wore the sunglasses to shade their tears, but she decided that was a dishonest thing to do. To let the world see you cry is the most transparent thing to convey.
She found out by keeping her eyes on the obituary section. Because of her age, occasionally she would see old friends and high school classmates pop-up. She would read about how things turned out in their lives and who they were leaving behind. It gave her a little bit more appreciation for still being around.
He had been gone and out of her life for almost 3 months, and he was slowly inching out of her head. The 2 of them parted in a very casual way. She drove him to where they met, he thanked her and like a wild animal let loose in the jungle again he disappeared into the night. It wasn't ideal, but it couldn't be done any other way, but it didn't stop the tears from streaming down her
face. And now here the tears were again as she watched the body being slowly, carefully dropped into the 6-foot hole. She knew a few people might have wondered who she was and why she was there, but those questions were for the wake, in which she would not be attending. To this day, she blames herself a bit for what had happened to Tim. She, at one point, had total control of the boy's life. If she were half way responsible, she should have driven him to a detox clinic that night, but she knew he would probably would have hopped out of the car and ran. He was really going to do whatever he wanted to do with his life, didn't we just all do that anyway? He had exited the car and took a few steps before turning back to her. His face still had echos of a boy, but his demeanor was beginning to slightly look more mature. He had a stronger way of carrying himself than when she first saw him, slumped down hands in pocket on the sidewalk. “Thanks for everything, ma’am,” he said.
'You're welcome Tim”
“Maybe I…” looking around, his boyishness crept back in. “I'll see you around”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, holding back a tear.
She sat at her kitchen table, drinking a coffee and staring off out the window. The neighborhood was quiet except for the sounds of distant birds spontaneously chirping. She had nothing on the agenda today, nor tomorrow, All she had to do was waste the day in the big empty house where her former lover use to live.
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