I left Sam sleeping and headed downstairs. He is usually silent in the mornings, the snoring has stopped.
I opened the back door and Buddy came straight inside. He didn’t look at me, as if to say, Oh really that time already, I just need a few more hours, like he often does. I sat in the dark with Buddy, just by the light of the laptop screen.
I brewed coffee.
Sam came downstairs, asking for his coffee, which I had prepared and which was sitting right next to me.
“Here you are honey, I made it just for you.”
He headed upstairs to shower, he doesn’t eat breakfast so regularly. He’ll eat breakfast with me, but I hadn’t got to the point yet.
Buddy and I waved Sam good bye from the front gate.
I cleaned the kitchen, first up. All done. All clean, by 9am. My world is sparkling, that is out of the way. At least my life was clean, if nothing else. I needed cigarettes. I started heading to the milk bar, but I stopped myself and thought of my mum. Funny the things you think.
“Why wouldn’t you go to the cheaper shop?” I could hear my mother’s voice. “So it is a little bit further, then you’d get your exercise done at the same time.”
Dad thought I was lazy.
I went inside and changed into jeans and hid my laptop, the supermarket needed a proper outfit, where the milk bar could be done in socks and sandals. I headed in the opposite direction towards Woollies. I have no income. This time it is different, I don’t currently have any income? No rent, like in the old days. It is just Sam and I. A longer walk would allow me to ponder this question? Do I bite the bullet and rent out my two spare bedrooms and resign myself to living on a drastically reduced, but regular income? And I could do as I pleased. It is an attractive idea. We’d have to live with people, though? One thing for sure though, I have to learn not to throw money away.
I did the washing.
Sam messaged to ask if I had called South Yarra.
I called South Yarra. No go. Still waiting on someone or other. He couldn’t guarantee anything today.
I didn’t really care, much. Or, at least, I didn’t feel anything. There you go, I gave it a shot, but I couldn’t get it. It has been ruined, I know that, they have played around with the ingredients, as David told me, and now they put GHB, or something, in it. The upshot is that it doesn’t do what it used to do, the dirty, pervy, sexy, filthy mind thing is gone. I feel like it is a waste of time now a days. Gone is the filthy thought process, which is what I loved about it so much. I could think of anything and anyone and I’d have a filthy, Technicolor fantasy. I loved it. Nobody was off limits. No scenario was too taboo. Just delicious, unadulterated filth.
There was a flurry of messages backwards and forwards between Sam and I. What could we do? Who else could we call? Is there any way? My boyfriend is cute.
So, I text Dante. Who do you contact when all else falls through – when you don’t really care, but your boyfriend does – the bitch with the habit. I’ve heard all the rumours about everyone who are so concerned about him, so Dante it was. The rest, pretty much, have grown up and given recreational drugs away, for the most part. You know, just Easter and Xmas now. Rumour is that Dante has got a meth habit a mile wide, so chances were that he’d be getting something for the long weekend. It is not rocket science.
Was I wrong to facilitate his habit?
Yes, he could organise it, tonight. (Sam will still only do it on Friday night of a long weekend. Saturday is too late for him. He has to go to work) Dante called a bit later and said he’d be over at 4.15pm.
There was a flurry of commands from Sam after that for me to get everything organised.
I was slow getting my shit together, as though I was worn out by the high tension negotiating that had been going on. I did tattslotto, got money, bought the usual supplies. The compulsory Up & Go the meal substitute drink on which I had been know to live for how many days? No matter if it is the last thing I want, at meal time we’d always down a big glass, no matter what the visuals were doing, or how lost in the space time continuum we, actually, were. I got schnitzels and salad for the preceding meal.
Dante arrived at 4.15 sharp, actually, earlier. He looked quite thin, with brushed back, cap-like hair and large sunglasses that he didn’t take off.
I wanted three points, which was one point over what Sam had instructed me to get. It was a long weekend and two points seemed pretty miserable, I guess I was being hopeful that it would be good… and there’d be a night’s worth left over for me at Easter when Sam headed home to visit his family. Dante said, “If you give me four hundred, you’ll get five points.”
Done.
He’d be back in half an hour with the goods. Then the phone call came, as Dante is want to do when collecting drugs, they weren’t answering their phone, he was going home to chill, then he’d try again.
Sam got home and there were no supplies, bitch!
“Call him. Call him,” Sam repeated. “You can call him now,” Sam would say not long after his previous reminder. He kept bringing the conversation back to call Dante.
Dante called at 8pm to say he was still having no luck. “Do you want me to keep trying, or bring the money back?”
“Keep trying.”
Dante called at 9pm to say the eagle had landed. He arrived not long after. The sunglasses were gone, it was evening. He had that toughened, tight expression, of a regular drug user, like his body fat was at zero and he was dehydrated.
He sat in the lounge room and packed his pipe as soon as he could, he said he’d been hanging out for it all day. A cloud of smoke rose above him.
Sam and I look at each other.
Dante made himself comfortable at one end of the coffee table, seemingly looking at his phone most of the time. He puffed away, one, two, three, more times on his pipe.
The conversation died out, so our focus was drawn to Fifty Minutes to Disaster. (It seemed ominous) Dante seemed to be in another world. I wasn’t sure if he was texting on his phone, or pretending to.
It is not unprecedented with Dante, there was the peeling of the skin from his forehead incident, after which he had to wear bandanas for months. And the first boy friend and all that black leather strapping that lead to his HIV sero conversion years after everyone else had perfected not getting infected.
Then he said he had to go. He said getting up was difficult for him now, he appeared to struggle getting to his feet. He did though.
He had left by 9.25pm.
We were upstairs by 9.30pm.
I never felt anything from the crystal. It is official, “they” have ruined crystal meth, boo hoo. I knew they had. It happened about a year and half ago. Damn them! The dirty mind, it has gone. It was the only reason I enjoyed it, other than that, nothing much. Sam and I used to lock each other away and watch porn for days without a second thought. We’d disappear from this world to the next, we’d slide from fantasy to fantasy as if no time had passed, as if we’d slipped through the back of the wardrobe. We’d connect to each other making up one long dirty narrative, for twenty four hours and we’d telepathically share the same filthy dream for hours and hours. It lingered, it lasted, it kept playing in our subconscious until we’d head back to it for another twenty four hours, easily.
I loved the ache when we stopped. Walking around the house, as if wounded. Grunt. Shuffle. Grunt. Shuffle. “What?”
“What did you say?”
I loved the hyper elevated eyesight in between, where every detail in a room was seemingly picked out on it’s individual line-string dimension. The world practically became an architectural drawing.
I loved the dark, light, dark, light and possibly dark again, on a good long weekend.
Today, I felt nothing. Well, I did, of course, but not the WHOOSH! not the KERZAM! Not the FFFFFFFFF!
I wondered what Dante was taking? How much? It’s pointless. To keep taking that, must be like a crying child rattling on the gates of the closed circus, desperate, but never getting in.
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