MelissaBaby
Wordy Bitch
- Joined
- Jun 8, 2017
- Posts
- 7,688
His name is Jimmy. He was a couple of years behind me at school, but in a town of 800 people, all the kids know each other. He was a skinny little dude, with bright blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair.
I didn't see him for a few years after I graduated. Then one day, I went to score some pills from one of my regular sources. There he was, several inches taller and not so skinny anymore, but I knew him immediately.
I was disappointed to see him there. Yes, I was there buying drugs too, but I was still in the time of my life when I could pretend to my self that I could handle them. I was dancing and I thought of them as an occupational necessity. Something to give me the energy to get through my shift, something else to bring me down afterward.
But Jimmy, that was different. He was a kid, he shouldn't be getting mixed up with drugs. Still, who was I to try to tell him a damn think about how to live his life?
I gave him my number and we would hang out once in a while. We'd go to McDonalds or Dunkin Donuts, then just walk around town. We would go sit by the river and share a joint. He never came on to me, but he would talk about how he wanted to come see me dance. He was too young to get in the club.
Life moved on and I lost track of him. I saw him one more time. I was walking home from the store and he pulled over and gave me a ride. He didn't look good. He had some Oxycontin and asked me if I wanted to get high with him. I told him that I was clean. He congratulated me and said he was thinking about going into rehab. We said we'd hang out again soon, but I moved away not long after and I did not see him again.
My Mom called today and asked me if I remembered Jimmy. I said that of course I did, and she told me that the talk was all over town. Jimmy had tried to get clean. He made it three weeks, then he bought a speedball.
He's in the hospital down in Portland, hooked up to a tangle of tubes and wires. There is no sign of brain activity. His father is driving in from somewhere out west. When he gets there, they will let Jimmy go.
My husband went out to a Superbowl party. I stayed home. I want to be alone. I am going to turn the lights down low and I am going to put on some music. The Beatles, I think. Jimmy loved the Beatles.
I'm going to dance for Jimmy.
I didn't see him for a few years after I graduated. Then one day, I went to score some pills from one of my regular sources. There he was, several inches taller and not so skinny anymore, but I knew him immediately.
I was disappointed to see him there. Yes, I was there buying drugs too, but I was still in the time of my life when I could pretend to my self that I could handle them. I was dancing and I thought of them as an occupational necessity. Something to give me the energy to get through my shift, something else to bring me down afterward.
But Jimmy, that was different. He was a kid, he shouldn't be getting mixed up with drugs. Still, who was I to try to tell him a damn think about how to live his life?
I gave him my number and we would hang out once in a while. We'd go to McDonalds or Dunkin Donuts, then just walk around town. We would go sit by the river and share a joint. He never came on to me, but he would talk about how he wanted to come see me dance. He was too young to get in the club.
Life moved on and I lost track of him. I saw him one more time. I was walking home from the store and he pulled over and gave me a ride. He didn't look good. He had some Oxycontin and asked me if I wanted to get high with him. I told him that I was clean. He congratulated me and said he was thinking about going into rehab. We said we'd hang out again soon, but I moved away not long after and I did not see him again.
My Mom called today and asked me if I remembered Jimmy. I said that of course I did, and she told me that the talk was all over town. Jimmy had tried to get clean. He made it three weeks, then he bought a speedball.
He's in the hospital down in Portland, hooked up to a tangle of tubes and wires. There is no sign of brain activity. His father is driving in from somewhere out west. When he gets there, they will let Jimmy go.
My husband went out to a Superbowl party. I stayed home. I want to be alone. I am going to turn the lights down low and I am going to put on some music. The Beatles, I think. Jimmy loved the Beatles.
I'm going to dance for Jimmy.
