Bless Me Father

Chapter Two
They teach you as a child that regardless of the situation, church is a salvation from the world. After all- we're always welcome in the house of the lord. Unless of coarse you were standing in the walls of St. Dominics that late afternoon. The tension could have been cut with a hacksaw, both strangers at a loss of words. I don't suppose I was much better- but really what is there to say when everyone's cards are on the table? Essentially that's how it all broke down. No words were even necisarry to feel the situation out. Imagine a puzzle with only two pieces. Pretty cut and dry. I knew their secret and they could see it clear as glass. What could be said? I left that cathedral- both hands in my pockets still just replaying all the things I'd come across. First thing that came to me- was denial. Not that I hadnt ever seen things scaling greater in comparrison to it, it was just alittle surreal. I needed to find normallicy between the chaos I always seemed to have swarming around me. You'll come to see my life is less than calm, and I am not a very stable person. So what's left after you're denied refuge to the one and only place where any denomination is welcome, the last hope for most?
Heroin of coarse. That final nail in a coffin that seemed to be my only comfort in life. My nearly condimmed apartment in the downtown area of town, served as sufficiant means to hide from reality, those decrepid four walls seemed to grow closer and closer to one another with every hit from that cold needle. Sometimes- regardless of the numerous junkies my place seemed to house, the slick pointed needle could make me feel a level of lonely- that i'd never felt before. The problem. And when your only comfort in things becomes a rig- you need a helping hand. Those same junkies I so idiotically let into my life were no more of a helping hand to me than dear father Rivers had been- turning me out into those same streets I'd come searching for shelter from.
"There's no more rigs.." An eerie kind of sentence to someone who enjoys the act of injecting things intervieniously. The room full of people seemed to get very still in front of me- as if each and everyone of them were clumbsily hanging on to everyone word I spoke. The five faces all looking to me as if I alone could save the world. A stupid thought- how could I be a leader to anyone when I couldn't even lead myself? Impossible. But I still played the part- some fearless leader with questions of his own I made. The blind leading the blide I'm afraid to say. No recollection of a life previous to the slums of addiction. "Relax..I'm going to go to walmart. I'll get more." A simple explaination to a crisis of the drug related kind. Five empty faces now taking on relaxed expressions. Like a lollipop to a toddler the comfort seemed to apease thier fiendish comments. Drugs are dumb- and self indulgent alot like sucking your thumb. I've come to that conclusion, and to live in a world that revolves around such a selfish pleasure is to simply admit you're too weak to go through the real world. I was weak- fearful inside of the truth, I believe anyway.
"Hey...Hey...while you're there...could you get some straws...the kind that bend on the end.." Paul's heavy voice asked me- a lazy, almost slurred tone spilling from his mouth as I sat at the house's one and only couch, tying my shoes. The brown 1970's style eyesore sat against the wall- stained and burned all over by the sick little cigarette purns that most everything else in the place was covered in as well. I guess that was expected though- part of a junkies luster is their complete lack of concern for life or material posessions. What did I care if there were holes in things, the entire place was one massive mistake.
"And...and um..." Chris' tiny animated voice called out as he began to pace the empty living room floor snapping his fingers repeatidly, the behaviorisms of a drug addict are some what amusing on the outside. Always predictable. I saw a face cross over his once deep in thought features- telling me that he'd remembered his request, as if a miracle. The man's short term memory was shot. "Matches- the uh, the long kind!" He told me- using his hands to demostrate the size he prefered. I couldn't help but laugh lightly at the sight, his slick bald head bobbing back and forth like some bobble head animal on a dashboard. A character, each one of those kids who saught refuge under that leaky roof with me, were all just that- characters. Each one affected differently by the use of such a powerful opiate.
"Yeah okay. No problem." I nod my head absent mindedly without really making too much of a note of either items. It wasn't that I didn't care of didn't feel like doing favors. It was just more than apparent to me I'd forget both requests by the time I'd managed to get out the door. I'm not sure what prompted me to volunteer for that journey, maybe it was more of that same devine fate that I spoke of earlier. The mear fact that I just got struck with the notion. Or maybe it was just me trying to cure the eternal itch. Always the concerned drug addict making sure to have a clean needle. Aren't I just something special? Drugs are like little monsters in your subconscious mind they can make you do something before your feeble addicted mind even realizes it. But what ever it was- I wished I'd of thought to bring a sweatshirt, the air made my skin goosebump over. I hated that town, one of those gutter cities full of wortheless streets and pathetic wastes. I guess thats irrelivant to the story now isnt it? Because it's not where I lived that is important, just who I met while I was there.
Walmart. The nauseating smiley face logoed white trash country club of a store, with it's ungodly blue polyester smocked employees and stale snack bars. Oh- how I loathed that place. But...they were the only place to buy such an unusual item at the early hours of the morning. Imagine that.
Momentarily as I strolled aimlessly through those isles- I debated on actually getting both Paul and Chris' requests. But the image of myself marching to the register clutching a box of 12 gage needles- crazy straws- and fire place matches, made me decide against it. The probability of that cashier thinking me to be a lunatic junkie was almost 100%, if it was alright with those two back at home- I'd much rather the cashier just think I was a junkie. Paul and Chris would just have to understand. That's another thing heroin addicts have going for them- thier calm- lazy behavior and actions. Nothing upsets them. Us. Nothing upsets US. With the exception of the last clean needle being used. Bringing us full circle to those miserable shiney isles. You never want to buy a box of rigs five minutes after walking into the store. for the fact that it's pretty distasteful to run to them and show how desperate to get high you are. So as I strolled through the vitamins and on to the Insulin section my palms began to itch. My eyes spotted them and as I snatched a box from the shelf it was like grease to a fire. My palm was twitching at the prospect of those digusting beauties. And this was my life. A few meaningless peolpe- scattered trips to stores at three in the morning, but no actual substance. Nothing.
Maybe that's why I'd decided to go to that church that day- the day I kept forcing from my mind. If you lost your faith over something like a drug, how is something so big going to affect you? Nothing was sacred obviously- and my suspicions were correct, there really was no good in the world.
The oblong boy bounced once as I tossed it down onto the checkout counter's black conveyer belt- intentionally aiming for the end of the belt- forcing the cashier to turn the belt on- moving the box to the register. Such cute games I love to play with those cheerful people in that store. But as I heard the conveyer belt click on- my eyes rose up to connect with a wide set of familiar orbs. Those distinct features- just frozen like a deer in the headlights of a car. His skin looked so pale- the color draining from his face. I think it's needless to say that he'd never hoped to see me again- after that day. But there it was again. That uncomfortable silence, like fog in the air. What a coincidence you'd probably say- but thats just it, that's the connection. Like I was simply suppose to see this boy, and he was suppose to see me. A set of chills ran down my spine- for some reason I felt the urge to hug him, the empty look his face held was like some hypnotic kryptonite. But I didn't dare say a word- how do you start a conversation that neither of the people really want to have. I guess he was asking those exact same questions in his mind because he kept his mouth shut raking the box across the scanner all the while eyeing the object as if it were a rotting corpse- a mix of curiosity and disgust, my favorite look of all. That look the non-users always seem to get. The barcode failed to make it's familiar beep and instantly he seemed to get frustrated raking it over again, and finally a third time before finally making a move to punch the barcode in himself. TAking the time for the first second to observe the plastic blue and white name tag on his smock. 'Joel'. I liked that name.
"$6.66." I spoke up in efforts to save him the trouble. You buy enough of something and you just keep a memory of what it costs, but it's funny- if you asked me the price of a gallon of gas, I couldn't tell you.
"What?" His tiny voice replied alittle confused- hand stopping in mid air. I smiled a sloppy smile pointing to the box.
"Six dollars...sixty six cents....that's how much it costs...joel." I the told him, actually using his name for the first time. It was nice to see a face and finally connect it to a name. He didn't quite know what to say, just gawking for a second before throwing the box into a thin plastic bag, punching a few buttons on the register. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it seemed as if he were scared. Of what I wasn't sure, but he just looked so frightened.
"$6.66." He repeated once the price had been confirmed- the irnoy of the price of such a sick item still makes me chuckle. Casually I flung my arm into my pants pocket to retrieve a wad of crinkled one dollar bills- slapping them down into his extended palm.
"It's okay ya know?" I told him- as if trying to feel out the waters between the two of us. But he never even brought his eyes to mine, shamed it would seem. But as he brough the bag up to toss in my direction- I caught hold of his wrist, forcing him into confrontation. "We know each others secrets now. I saw yours...and now...you see mine. So its okay." I explained to him while taking the bag, turning around to go back to my house.