Cole and I didn't speak for at least a year or so after I had gotten him mixed up in my craziness. He was understandably upset with me, and I was irrationally resentful towards him for years to come. Who knows whatever became of Rick, and I am curious to know but these details will most likely forever remain a mystery to me. I was restless and having experienced a deeper sense of unrest and a new source of anxiety I resorted to using a needle to administer heroin. Robbie was in my class at Keller, I am sure I bought weed from him on one occasion a year or so prior, but I didn't know him very well until the day that he personally showed me how to shoot dope. Somehow I had been given the word that he had been involved with 'dope' (For the most part if I ever refer to dope it will mean heroin. It is a very broad term to mean any drug but for those with a preference it has a special meaning to those who are all specifically involved with the same drug. Meth heads that know other Meth heads will always know that when one in their crowd says 'dope', they mean Meth, and the same goes for Heroin. Using the word 'dope' referencing Heroin has a deeper roots than any other drug in history) for awhile now, and if I needed to score some 'dope', than Robbie was my guy.
Robbie picked me up from my house one afternoon. He sloppily maneuvered his little Mazda pick-up truck (yes, true to the stereotype, many people do own trucks in Texas) into my parent's driveway. He nearly hit the tree that sat splitting the middle of the first segment in two. Instead of cutting it down they paved concrete around it, it did seem to serve a purpose as a functional divider, giving two separate paths that quickly rejoined and lead up to the rest of the drive that led up to the garage. I was eagerly awaiting his arrival, perched by the front window I hurried out as soon as he rolled up. The spirit of addiction swam through the air and attached itself to my senses. It honed in on me, abetting this newly acquired nostalgia that I would from then on out associate with that pre-dope rush, simply experienced in the journey of scoring dope.
"Whats up Robbie... dude you want to smoke on the way out there?" I said as I pulled out a joint.
"Sure," he replied and then he just drove and we hit the joint for several minutes before I could no longer stand the grim silence.
"So how far into Ft Worth are we headed?"
"About thirty minutes at most, depending on traffic."
"Cool."
"We are just going to hit up my guy off Berry(a street in Ft. Worth wrought full of dope houses) where hes at right now."
"So hes at like a dope house?"
"Something like that, yea he is working the window at one of the spots that I know of."
"OK," I answered and felt like I was verging into a whole new realm of the drug culture right then.
"Im going to make a stop real quick up at my work, but its on the way."
"Yea man its whatever."
We stopped at a twenty-four-seven diner, Denny's, where he worked. I think he was hitting someone up for money because he had quite a habit at this point in time, and wanted to make the venture that we were trekking worthwhile. I was already donating ten bucks worth of dope for obtaining his services. However, who knows really what the heck we had stopped at his work for. After many years of being around the most random strange drug fueled addicts I realized that I would have to come to terms and accept that sometimes we would make some most ridiculous and senseless stops. It began to drizzle as I sat stoned staring into the abyss of the grey sky that surrounded. I lingered somewhat patient due to the weed I had just smoked, lounging outside of Denny's in his truck, waiting and hoping for him to promptly return from completing whatever task he was trying to accomplish inside. I was caught in deep anticipation of what this new drug indulgence would be like. Would I be rocketed into a drug induced orgasm? Little could my young mind comprehend how detrimental of an impact these 'adventerous' choices would have on my life.
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