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Chapter 3

The next morning Xavier awoke later than usual. He lay in bed trying to remember what had changed, why he felt strangeness in the air. Then it dawned on him that Woodrow had returned. The whole family would be affected. He got out of bed and went to take a shower.

Once dressed, Xavier peered in on his brother. Thinking that Woodrow was asleep he crept closer to the bed. He stared into his face. Woodrow was only nineteen, almost twenty, but he looked much older because of his drug abuse. He'd been using since he was twelve years old.

Xavier gazed at the scrawny arm that had slipped from under the blanket that half covered Woodrow. There were sores all over. You could see where he'd stuck himself with a needle. Some were healed. Others still oozed. Xavier couldn't see a part that hadn't been poked. The disgust rose in his throat.

How could anyone do that to themselves? He wondered. Woodrow used to have it all. Why did he turn to drugs? He just couldn't understand.

"Man, you gay or something?" Xavier jumped when his brother spoke.

"I thought you were asleep," he said calmly, ignoring his brother's sarcastic remark.

"What you want?" Woodrow barked.

"Nothing. Just checking up on you. That's all." Xavier turned to leave.

"If you cared you'd get me something," Woodrow tossed at him.

"Something like what?" Xavier paused waiting for the answer he knew would come.

"Drugs. Any kind. Cocaine, crack, heroin," Woodrow pleaded.

"No way." Xavier headed for the door again.

"Wait. Please Mountie." He reverted back to the nickname he used to call Xavier. Xavier turned around again. "Please, I got to have just one more hit man. Please, don't leave me hanging."

"I said no," Xavier repeated more strongly. "I figured you'd be back after your money ran out. Just like a mangy dog. Back trying to scratch up another bone. Well, I hope you don't think I'm going to help you kill yourself. Nah bru!"

"If I want to die that should be my choice," Woodrow shot back.

"You need to stop getting high on crack and start getting high on life," Xavier advised.

"Oh, I come back after only four months and suddenly my brother's a preacher," Woodrow said sarcastically. "Check that out. My brother's a fucking preacher and he's trying to save my lost black ass." He laughed that wild laugh of his that soon turned into coughs. Xavier just looked on sadly, shook his head and left the room. He closed the door quietly behind him.

"Mountie wait," Woodrow yelled. "Wait a sec. I didn't mean it like that, brother. I need you, man. I need you to help me."

Xavier breathed deeply. His still had his hand on the knob. Should he go back into the room? His fingers turned the knob.

"No LaMount." His mother stood there.

"Ma." He looked at her, slightly startled. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it," she answered.

"Mama, I don't know what to do. Woodrow is sick and he needs to be placed in some kind of a treatment program."

"I know, but what can we do? That child isn't going anywhere willingly. You know that."

"There's not much we can do unless he asks for help. I'm afraid that as soon as he gets better, he's going right back to the streets." He shook his head. "There's nothing we can do, like you said." He exhaled. "Well, I have to go." He hugged his mother. "Don't want to be late for school. I'll see you later." He stared into her lovely face. "And don't worry yourself over Woodrow. We'll think of something. Okay?" She nodded.