Apartment Life

After finding out about my grandmother’s passing from that lady on the Blue line platform, I turned back for the west side. I remember a feeling coming over me, a dullness, a flat, worn out sensation that told me that I was burned up. Finished. But still, the grief, sadness, and need to once again numb it all out weighed everything. I couldn’t handle life or myself anymore. I needed to get some dope, pronto. I was broke, and thought that if I plead my case to my dealer he would spot me a few bags. I walked all the way from Homan and the Eisenhower to Ohio street. It took almost an hour. Broken, lost, and sick I made my way to the old abandoned Lincoln that my guys used as shelter from the cold while peddling their nickles and dimes. I tapped on the window, and my guy waved me into the vehicle. I jumped into the backseat and did my best to explain what had happened and explain my desperation to my dealer. He was a tough sell. I had spent thousands and thousands of dollars with this guy, but trying to get a couple free sacks off of him was like pulling teeth. Dope dealers suck. It took me like fifteen minutes of begging, but he finally handed me two bags of heroin and two bags of crack. Forty dollars I now owed him, and I knew it was going to be a while before I could pay him back. I hopped out of the car and made my way for the abandoned apartment building across the street. With my bags wrapped in tissue paper and placed safely between my cheeks, I set out on the one block trek toward my favorite using place. And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as I am about halfway there, I can already feel the blast as it leaves my lungs, feel the hot brown liquid flowing, there they are- the jump outs. They did not hesitate to surround me, at gun point. All the usual questions. The threats. The shakedown. They cuff me, pull my pockets inside out, and slap me around. They sit me down on the curb and run my info. My shoes are removed, my socks. Hands go down my pants, and every single inch of my body is checked, except for where I had my bags. The whole ordeal lasted maybe ten minutes and once they were satisfied by my lies of “I got ripped off”, and “I don’t have anything man” they turned me loose. I stopped at a bus stop and waited on a bench for them to lose interest in me and take off around the corner. I ran down the alley, around the garage, and up the stairs. I was greeted by moans, and laughter. I enter through the back door, third floor of the building and see a couple of local corner boys sitting on an old couch, with one of their partners standing in the middle of the room, with a white girl in front of him on her knees. “Oh my bad fellas”( I knew them) “I didn’t know y’all were up here man.” “You all good steve!” “You can use the bedroom over there.” “Alright man, appreciate it bro.” “Hey, try some of this shit out!” And he handed me a black bag with about 20 dollars worth of crack inside.”This is what’s got this little bitch so turned out, so it must be good.” I took the bag and made my way to the bedroom. I sat down and took my coat off and got my supplies ready. I took my first blast from the black bag the man had just given me. I continued working on that batch of crack for about 25 minutes and got my heroin out and ready to go. The moans and laughter then gave way to the young girl crying, and a ruckus breaking out in the other room. A whole lot of cussing and fighting. I could hear the girl being slapped around, I’m not exactly sure what was happening, I was not about to walk in there and risk being shot. I jabbed the needle down into my sweet spot in my left arm, and my head dropped down into my lap. Total blackness. I’m not sure how much time passed, but sometime later I was woken up by someone shaking me, nudging me on the shoulder and shaking me awake. It was the girl. She had obviously been crying. “Hey, Steve right?” “Yeah.” “Hey do you think I could get a hit from you?” I was still coming to from my nod, and looked her over, she had to be at least 8 months pregnant. I did my best without saying anything to let her know that I noticed the large pregnant belly she had. “I’m not keeping it anyway. I got pregnant by a dope dealer on the south side.” I was so disgusted, for her, and for this situation I had once again found myself in. The life I was living. I shook a couple bright white stones into my palm, raked them into the pyrex pipe I was smoking out of, and handed it to the pregnant young girl.

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