Date: Fri, 3 Nov 2006 18:47:42 -0600
From: James Clark <niftywriterjc@hotmail.com>
Subject: Rave Boy- Chapter Nine

"What fires burn the heart?
From which god did these agonies start?
Our cobwebs strung from death to death
Are too thin.  Our lies the greatest sin.

I will hold you child not yet born
And tell you not to forget,
But not to know.
You will soon be dense with memory
And your memory dense with souls.
What fires burn the heart?
From which god did these agonies start?

I hold you child not yet born
Yet I am not your god.
Ask me not to stop the pain.
These lies I'll offer,

You need not gain.
I cannot tell you how or why.
I can only teach you
That this world calls for you to cry."
- Christopher Rice

      "Here, just hold the flame right under the glass and twist it real
slow... yeah, that's it.  Now breathe in really slow.  Nah, too fast, slow
down... there ya go."  Blue-cap gave me instructions and corrected the
angle of the pipe for me.  Nearly two weeks had passed since Jonathan and
I'd had sex, and things just didn't feel right.
      Of course, this is nothing new for me.  When have I ever felt right?
The difference is that I'd never taken an offer to do crystal
methamphetamine before.
      Oh, so you're gonna freak on me, now?  Can't be caught reading about
a meth-head?  Yeah, fuck you too then.
      I was already a skinny boy before.  Now nearly a week of doing shit
had shrunken me even more.  Somehow, I didn't mind it though.  I loved the
feel of sharp hipbones against denim jeans.  My stomach felt delightfully
taut.  Every time I hit meth, I felt completely energized, ready, and
alert.  It was a wonderful feeling, and it chewed me up and spit me out.
      I'd gone without it long enough to crash out once after staying up
for an entire week.  By the end of the week, I felt like I was running on
air.  I don't know how to describe it except for feeling... pure,
empty... there aren't words for it.  But when I didn't get anymore... I
slept all weekend, earning strange looks from my mother when I left the
house Monday afternoon.  I was glad school was still out, or I'd have had
some serious trouble trying to wake up that morning.
      I went down the road to Blue-cap's house.  Yeah, he had a name, but I
keep forgetting it.  I took a hundred bucks with me, too, knowing what I
wanted and not even kidding myself about it.
      Sadly, though, when I got there, Blue-cap informed me that he was
fresh out, and wouldn't have any more until the next day.  However... there
was a beautiful, powdery, white substance on the glass table in his room.
So I dropped fifty bucks and he loaded me up with a little baggie of coke.
      I got home about an hour later, and my family was all out, kids at
daycare and mom at work.  I sat on the couch in the living room after
grabbing a razor blade from the toolbox in the utility room, and proceeded
to make a tidy little line of powdery goodness.
      Then, I thought twice.  What the fuck am I doing?  I was a druggie
before, but now I'm in the precursor stages to becoming a crackhead.  I
felt so guilty looking at the powder in front of me, so I turned the TV on
while I mulled it over in my head, placing the baggie containing a really
nice remaining portion of the drug in my pocket beside the razor blade.
      I was so deep in thought, considering what I was doing, and really
thinking about giving up shit (meth, for you people who don't know the
vocab) and everything else, that I didn't hear the front door open behind
me.  Jonathan had come in the door, and he walked around the side of the
couch, looking sternly at me.
      "Joey, you're not doing what I think you are, right?" he asked, tone
deadly serious.  My heart did some weird skipping a few beats thing, and
tears piled up in the corners of my eyes.
      "I'm..." and I simply trailed off, unable to put together a thought
coherent enough to adequately explain the situation.  I was angry at Jon
for not coming to see me.  I was angry at myself for letting it get to me
this much.  I was regretting having sex with the guy I loved, and
everything hurt a lot right now.  I'm assuming part of it was the meth's
fault, taking me from bright and shiny to despairingly depressed.
      "Well, you're not gonna do this shit around me, damn it." He said,
and strode quickly toward the table.  He leaned down, and my eyes went wide
as I realized what he was about to do.  I jumped up to stop him, but it was
too late.  Jon bent down and blew as hard as he could, scattering the line
to all four corners of my living room.
      "GODDAMNIT, JONATHAN!  You stupid fuck!" I screamed at him, tears
gone.  I wasn't even sad now, I was completely angry.  Nothing but
unadulterated rage flew through my system, and I struck him across the face
with my right fist as hard as I could.
      The moment I did it, I regretted it.  I saw him, as if in slow
motion, stumble back and trip, falling over the table and landing on the
remote, causing the TV to turn off and his leg to get caught between the
table and couch.  Neither one of us moved.  I was stunned at what I'd done,
and Jon stared at me openmouthed as blood trickled down almost to his
collarbone before he moved to wipe it away.
      Jon stood up silently, and limped toward the front door.  As it
closed behind him, I let out a scream into a pillow beside me.  I still
wasn't really sad.  Surprised, yes, but I was so fucking mad it was
unimaginable.  I thought of all the things he'd done that annoyed me.  I
thought of how he hadn't called after he fucked my brains out.  I thought
of how he didn't even have the decency to get in touch with me.
      And I snorted a line of the powdery white substance from the baggie.
Let me tell you, coke makes you feel like you are God.  It is an amazing
roller coaster ride to heaven, and I felt so wonderful it melted away the
stress and annoyance of the past moments.
      In about fifteen minutes though, it had already faded almost
completely away, and I found myself picking up my straw in preparation to
snort another line.
      Who needed Jonathan?  I mean, fuck that bastard.  The first thing he
did was come in and act high and mighty with me.  He didn't hug me, tell me
he missed me, or anything.  He made me feel like shit instead, and not the
good kind.  Wait, Jonathan had limped out.  Strange thing was that he had
limped with the opposite leg that had gotten stuck between the table and
couch.
      "Shit!" I mumbled to myself. That meant something had happened to
him.  I suddenly felt horrible again for realizing it.  I strode slowly
into the kitchen to get a glass of water, which would hopefully clear the
strange taste from the back of my throat.  I looked in the fridge, and
almost immediately closed it.  I hadn't had an appetite for days, and this
had just made it worse.
      I knew I had to do something.  But, it just felt so wrong that I
would have to do anything, so unfair, like the world was shoving everything
down into my lap to deal with, and I shouldn't HAVE to.  My name is Joey,
not Jesus, and I'm only a sixteen year old kid.
      "Fuck!" I hissed as I yanked my hand out of my pocket.  My forefinger
was bleeding where it had slipped against the razor blade.  Yeah, I'm a
sixteen year old kid, alright.  A sixteen year old kid playing with adult
shit.
      I picked up the phone and dialed Jon's number.  One ring... two
rings... three rings... six... eight... ten... answering machine.  Damn it
all to hell.  I snorted the remainder of what was on the table in the
living room to get rid of the evidence, stored all my paraphernalia in my
lockbox in my room, and left the house in a rush to find Jon.  I had to
find out what was going on, and apologize for what I'd done.  I still
couldn't believe I had hit him.
      After a few minutes of walking (quite briskly because of the coke), I
knocked on his door.  I stood around, shuffling my feet, until a man who
looked to be in his late forties answered.  He was a really huge guy,
probably six feet, four or five inches tall, and a couple hundred pounds
easy.
      "Can I help you?" he asked gruffly.
      "Um, is Jonathan home?" I asked.
      "No, he isn't." the man replied, and promptly shut the door in my
face.  I was appalled at my first meeting of Jon's father.  I knew the man
was a bastard, but I didn't know how much of one he was.  And I was more
sure now than ever that Jon's limp had been caused by that son of a bitch.
      I walked slowly on the way back home.  I passed some little kid
playing in their yard, and wondered if I had been like that when I was
little.  I wondered if he would grow up to be like me.  Would his life be
as difficult as mine or Jon's?  Would his dad beat him, or would he start
smoking meth and doing coke?
      I found myself turning on the road that lead to Mary Lou Clark's
house.  I walked down it without really realizing it, and only hesitated in
front of her house.  I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the
familiar southern twang from behind me.
      "I thought ya'd come see me today.  Didn't get enough the other day,
didja?  Or is it that ya didn't do what I told ya ter do?  Told ya get
everything straightened out, not add to it, child.  Ya's in some shit now,
I see."  Mary Lou told me, her eyes locked on mine without a smile.  "Well,
don't none of that matter right now.  Get on inside, boy, its hotter than
all get out today."
      I followed her, and walked slowly into her home for the second time.
I resumed my seat on the same couch as before, and she took out her deck of
cards.  She handed them to me, and nodded.
      "Ya know what to do already, don't make me tell ya again." She said
firmly.  "And, it's gonna cost ya ten dollars next time ya come see me.  I
can't be doin' all these freebies, gotta make a livin' somehow."
      "Yes ma'am." I said quietly.  I shuffled the cards for her, and
handed them back.  She took them from my hand, looked at them, then looked
back at me.
      Then, Mary Lou Clark promptly hurled the entire deck at my face.
      "What's wrong with ya, child?!  Have ya lost ya ever-lovin' mind?!
There's a boy what loves ya, and needs ya as much as ya need him, and yer
out spendin' ya money on the kinda thing that's in ya pocket right now?!  I
toldja once, and I ain't gonna keep on tellin' ya!  GET YER LIFE
STRAIGHTENED OUT, BOY!  Quit worryin' my poor heart to death with all these
stupid things ya been doin'!  Take care of yer honey, and don't be doin' no
stupid shit!" She screamed at me.  My eyes were wide with shock, and I
didn't know what to say to her.
      "But, I, you, we, and then... but how did you know?!" I asked
frantically.  She looked at me like I had just asked the stupidest question
she'd ever heard.
      "It's `cause I'm a fuckin' psychic, ya dimwitted young'un.  Now give
me one of those nasty little menthols you young folk smoke till I get off
my fat old ass an' get to the store."
      I quickly handed her a cigarette, and held my lighter for her, then
lit my own.  We sat in silence for a moment, me absorbing the meaning of
her chewing out, and her making funny faces with every hit of the
cigarette.  Finally, I opened my mouth.
      "So, what do I do?" I asked her, eyes staring at the floor.
      "If I were you, young man, I'd go straight ter apologizin' to him.
That boy's worth a lot more than ya give him credit, sometimes." She said.
"And tell me this, why the hell do you young'uns smoke these menthols?  If
smokes is death in a box, then these are just quicker death in a box."
      I shrugged, and replied "They taste better."  Mary Lou shrugged, and
smiled.
      "I don't mean to make you feel bad.  You worry me, that's all.  I
worry about pretty much everybody what comes in here.  Just you worry me a
lot more than the usual customer."
      "Thanks Ms. Clark" I told her, standing up.  She stood up too, and
gave me a brief hug.
      "Get out my house, young'un, and you do what I told you to do.  Come
back iffin ya need me."
      "I will, thanks a lot." I told her, smiling, and waved as I closed
the door behind me.
      As I made my way home, I thought about what she'd said, and how right
she was.  I decided that I would follow her advice, since she obviously
knew well what she was talking about, even in that southern gabble of hers.
      So, with that in mind, as I stepped into my driveway, I tossed the
baggie at the bank of trees at the edge of my yard, ridding myself of it.
I stepped in the house, and kicked off my shoes.  I was so tired it was
unreal.  I headed straight for my bed, and by the time my head hit the
pillow, I was out.  My dreams that night consisted of me hitting Jonathan
in the face, and watching him blow that line of coke off the table over and
over.
      I woke up the next morning around nine, thinking of how nice it would
be to have something to make me feel a little less muggy, bogged down, and
sad.  A little wouldn't hurt.  I could always quit when I wanted to, it was
just that I wanted it right now.  And I really deserved it, since I had a
lot to do.  Yeah, that was it, I deserved it.
      So, at around nine fifteen that morning, I stepped outside and began
rifling through the bushes and grass, looking desperately for the little
baggie full of white powder.



Yeah, it was a relatively short chapter, but more is coming soon.  If you'd
like it to come sooner, check out www.gayauthors.org, and see what's up
there.  The newest chapter will be posted there before, sometimes long
before, it comes to Nifty, so that's the best place to catch Rave Boy.  Any
comments can be directed to niftywriterjc@hotmail.com, so thanks and I hope
ya keep reading.