Jesse

Memory: 3

………

Two years ago. One year working for the boss. For Black.

Now like the cracked, white walls of the Smokehouse I am a part of this place, a part of the ghosts of these faces. Ty. Jo. J. Seth. Fay. Tom Boy. And me D Boy.

In these walls I am not Jesse. Jesse is not here. Jesse? Jesse, who? Never heard of him.

I don't know where he is, where he goes when I am here. But I don't care. I don't care anymore.

I need money.

I need friends.

I need something to keep me going.

Keep me distracted, just to make it through another day.

I see a haze. I breathe the haze. It takes my brain. Comforts me. In a circle we all sit and smoke weed, first.

Our glazed over, pink eyes. This is life. This is what I have chosen, for the time being.

Clouds of smoke, swirl—become alive. The breathing. In. Then out. In. Then out.

Fay passes the bong to me.

Take the lighter. Flick it on. Quickly light. Quickly cover. Quickly release, then cover again. Quickly breathe in. Keep breathing. Suck it all in. The invigorating taste. The lust of more. The sex of smoke that strangles. The smiling. The laughing. Fay can't stop giggling. This isn't her. She won't fucking shut up.

"HEY EVERYONE LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!" She is twirling around now, dancing, singing annoyingly.

"Shut the fuck up," someone says. It is Ty.

There is stumbling. Fay trips, falls into Tom Boy's lap. They are both laughing now, together. Shaking. Trembling with laughter. J is jealous.

Exhale. Pass the bong to Seth beside me.

"Damn you Tom Boy!" Joann shouts. "You drank the last of Hennessey!" She was somewhere in the closet of a kitchen.

Time passes. Drip. Drip. Drip. Joann has left on the water faucet.

The clock ticks. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I look for the clock. There is none. There has never been a clock.

We now strap on the rubber bands. "Fuck yeah!" someone shouts.

Joann checks the tautness of her with her teeth. Always need to check. The veins need to show for the needle.

The syringe shakes as my hand shakes. Need to do this. Must do this. Need to forget. Must forget.

Just this once.

No more, after.

Stick the needle in. Push. Feel the unbelievable satisfaction.

We shoot the heroin. We are quiet except for Joann. She throws her head back, moaning with absolute euphoria. She is in rapture. Possessed by ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. She imagines that something else with a point has purged her. As always. The moaning intensifies. The sweat drenches. We are lying on the floor, except for Jo, who oscillates herself with passion. Breathing hard.

The ceiling swirls. We see different lights. Someone won't shut up talking. Tom Boy. It's him; he gets hyper. Someone yells shut the fuck up. But then we are all lost. Each in our world.

Her scream echoes. She has reached her climax. Her unbelievable orgasm. The silence stings the air. Then the sweaty quiet settles.

The black overtakes, and consumes.

Much later, during then night, I leave with the money hidden. Always hidden.