She' d been calling for a week now, not spoken to Mindy her best oldest friend. She was afraid for Mindy they grew up rough. The last time they did speak. She heard him in Mindy s voice It bothered her to see him again, in her mind, her dreams. He was always just to her left, right, or behind her in sprit, waiting to leap given any tragedy or joyous situation for that matter. Causing ultimate sorrow, permanent grief, irreversible damage, pain on her and others. She knew he had a passionate hatred of her in particular to others, she remembers all the fights shed had with him. How she d beat him, time and time again, so his hate was always lurking to pounce on her at any opportunity.
5bucks for a small coffee plus Tax the Cashier said in Starbucks as she sat down on this Cold Morning in NY. To gather her thoughts after the Long ass train ride from Atlanta Ga. before going to see Mindy in her old 57th St. walk up jeez its expensive here now. It s been a long time since she d been to the Apple. But The ATL. Was slow as Hell! But isn’t everywhere after being born an raised in THE N-Y-C ?
As much as she tried to put him out of her thoughts, he keep easing in nice an smooth. His forte comforting until he turns on you .Gentle as the Beauty of a Flower you trust him. Then he trips you forcing you to fall in tangled thorns of insecurity s Mistakes, regrets He then rips you to bloody shreds one breath at a time.
She remembered the first time he raped her youth, in an old beat up car that belonged to her best friend Mindy s boyfriend Junie. fresh out of Vietnam7 yrs. older than Mindy an her.At12 yrs. old all they knew was learning to dance the mashed potatoes, getting their hair corn rolled by Mindy s sister, the fish an chip joint, fibbing about their age with a broomstick microphone. The summer of 67 in the old Ford is when he met her a meeting shed never forget.
He must have enjoyed her innocence, hiding in a glassine bag like a white snake that was passed around from, Junie to Mindy to her for novelty. Snaking his way up their noses in a smoke like whiff down childish throats, a bitter poison. He made her vomit 6 times on the way to and from the Times Square movie their destination from Spanish Harlem that Saturday.
They all fought, fought hard like Junie in Vietnam to survive. All so sick from the
King (one of the names he had then) so sick the Monster movies with Peter
Cushing, Boris Karloff, wove into the 007. Movie, nauseating waves of
Technicolor dizzying celluloid images, running water colors. Sweat pouring into a rainy 42nd St. canvas. Mind swimming head pounding not remembering how they all got home.
You never forget when you meet him she thought. He always threatens you, but why now? Those memories coming back just to torture her? The second fight was at 19yrs.old having been on her own for 6yrs.a street kid. Who knew of gangs, pedophiles, hustling, running con games all the while juggling a relationship with him in a syringe, in Greenwich Village in the late 80s.CBGBs,Artists Keith Haring, Basquiat,555 Soul, Michael Roman, PNB were on the come up with other artists, writers. Musicians. Hoping she d find her own artistic voice. So she keep habitually inviting him in her being, her Soul. She didn t know to fear him. But there he was again putting his poison in social settings, Now called just D . Stealing dreams. Stamped glassine bags saying Elegante, Tiger, and Sweet Dreams. Unsuspecting names for pure Hell.
She worked at Pearl Paints at Canal St. When she allowed him to cultivate a Romance between them. She was called India then, those days she spent every dime on him. At 19 he keep whispering in her ear night after night it was all going to be Alright! on the streets wasn t so bad! Sleeping in doors, on strange floors just keep putting him in her arm he d say. His loyal solider she kept listening.
She walked up the old 6fl walk up. On 11th St. and ave A.A place called Paradise alley an old fashioned Shooting Gallery. Writers telling of their latest projects, actors speaking of their latest audition, Poets reading in the glow of candle light as the sleight of hand of heroin worked its fantasies. Heroin one hand is smooth lovingly stroking one. The other vicious strength of a thousand possessed serial killers the enemy of life crushing it like an egg, crushing it to powder.
As the White Lady would laugh in her flowing sheer gown her flowing blond hair waving her hands as if conjuring. More demons, depending how pure she was, most of the time she was snake charming Heroin mixing, giggling, dancing, pleasantly. Making whoever used her to forget how cold, how evil how numbingly perverse she could be always wanting to, having to chase the white Lady Cocaine.
The dark apt. Smelled like weeks of dirty socks, stale fried chicken stagnant imprisoned air from Burnt bloody spoons. A lone syringe or two were the room s sad sculpture. In corner of the apt with its bed a few chairs, an old sofa, some hoe was asleep on after a long night of flatbackin, stealing, shooting him in her jugular vein. Next to her at a small table with a silver tray measuring spoons, a small pile of cocaine and Heroin a glass of water and syringe with a tiny trail of blood fighting to the water s surface, lost as if gasping for air. Sat Frank a quiet man The owner of the Gallery.
This would be her second fight with D . It was brown then in tin foil. Not white in a Glassine bags smuggled in the body cavities of dead Vietnam soldiers. It was brown called Chinese rocks.
Drops of blood were on the floor of the bathroom, her 3rd attempt was ready to receive him she wasn t good at this bleeding all over. She had a bad habit of loosening the tie of her skinny arm veins after putting the entire Heroin shot in her hungry arm. It s always so quiet she thought no matter where she is when she got a hit. So it was all worth it. It s the silence that made her question. Is it going to be Heaven or Hell? Her heart pumped timidly questioning, waiting for the Sleight of hand of heroin.
It came much slower than usual slowly up her spineThen WHAM! A baseball bat in the back of the head. A sucker punch going down feeling gravity disappear tilting forward all she can see is her blood on the floor a Black Canvas. Get up. Get up. He’ s taking you down removing the needle from her arm with a jerk.He’ s taking you down.SHIT! Call frank she thought .FRANK!....Frank!...come here for a min. trying not expose panic in her voice.
Then Heroin backed off, maybe afraid of a pro a 60 yr. old addict Frank that knew all the tricks of the streets all the games of Heroin. In the ranks of pain since8yrs.old in the South Bronx Shining shoes for a tiny capsule of Scag . Frank slapped her in the face, as her teenage knees were buckling. Or was it the Heroin That Punched The hell out of her Head? Frank left the apt with India immediately at about 7pm.with his cut buddy Joey Walking from east to west to 39th St .under the pretense of casing out a camera store. Joey was one of Dr.Salks first cure of polio as a kid. So he walked with a limp, was short and the expression Beat with an Ugly stick was created with him in mind. He was smart as a Whip though a damn good burglar Frank would say, so it didn’t t alarm her nor did she question why they were leaving the house, she d always heard Frank say that. India could hardly hold her head up walking all over The Apple.
They walked miles till the sun made them question food or sleep. Chasing Heroin out of her system. She vomited, walked Vomited some more returning to the Shooting Gallery at 6am.exausted. Heroin lost a second fight with her. It was many years later that she put the puzzle together as to what really happened that night a fight for Life /Death. Unbeknown to her, the fight was getting Harder.
But why the thoughts of battles with him now at 32yrs old? She wondered, she felt he was near, as she stood up from the table at Starbucks ready to face the cold and the mystery of what is going on with Mindy her lifelong friend. For a microsecond she saw them both in 3rd grade in the public school yard running. Playing kickball smiling. Innocence. Then her eyes caught sight of the day s headlines. An actor another, fine artist Dead from an Overdose. The King doing his disastrous work. So many years since she had nightmares of the KING.
Now she understood why the horrible memories were coming back, he s near He s very close. Remembering the worst fight of all as she left Starbucks putting 2 bucks in the tip jar. Thinking Break a 20 dollar bill is like breaking a buck nothing left of it anymore. Walking on W. 57th.st. The cold jolted thoughts of that deep freeze cold winter night of the worst fight she d ever had with D The King, Smack, scag, Dope, Doo-G. Different generations called him different names but the damage is all the same. He takes over in so many different ways. A Lullaby that always ends tragically somehow.
Faring the bitter cold she tried to push the thoughts from her head that Heroin had robbed her childhood snatching years from her life, in an instant. So many excuses so many tragedy s she d given him to keep stepping in her life. When she was broke it was because she was a starving artist. When she had a few coins it was because she was Board and the people she hung around were a Drag . But none of it mattered at that last minute. When he wins and like the smell of blood, she s on his trail again her gut told her.
Well into a love hate relationship with Heroin sucking the marrow out of her preteen, teen, late Twenty s so swiftly all that was left were pockets full of empty excuses hollow lies to one s self. By that time late 20s she needed more income to feed The King with his Family of voracious Monkeys on her back. Asking a street guy she knew named Jake, to hook her up with a job. He wrestled his own Gorillas. Robbing dope dealers towering an even 6ft.7in. All muscle he got over well.
Especially with a Fake Police Badge around his neck. He turned India on to a place called the Pink Pussy cat in the theatre district. That he worked at as a bouncer a few times a week. He said don t let them catch you doing drugs, they ll fire you fo-sho . Sure she remembered thinking the kind of place you d need drugs the most. A feel here a feel there from strange perverted hands. She stopped her thoughts before they could go to past abuses, beatings with rapes starting at 7yrs old. Trying like hell to stop the Fights she d had with him, for so long the dizzying circle of Heroin, addiction, a word her Friends never ever used. She Plowed on. Snow up to her boot tops on w.57th St. Thoughts flooded in her head faster and faster the closer she got to her friend Mindy s house. Not able to push that sickening last fight she d had with the King out of her mind.
She’d worn a borrowed teddy, heels, Donna summer wig stating to the Boss That her so called cousin Jake the bouncer sent her .( It was a Mob Deep club a 100 Percent.) Got the green light from the 360lb.Greasy Mobster with gold chains from head to toe sitting at the bar then off to work. A place where Seedy men seemed to have money to spend. A step above guys that hung at the Off Track betting Joints or Grimy number holes. She laughed, told silly stories, pouted to play the game. The object was to get them to spend 200bucks for a bottle of near beer of swag Champaign for a hefty cut at the end of the night. But India worried she wouldn’t t be able to get any D by the time she got off work an back to the village to her little SRO apt. (single room occupancy) on St. Marks Place.
She was already starting to feel ill, near the end of the night .One wake up shot in the AM one at noon, now it s heading towards the wee hrs. Of the morning. Stomach turning, nose sniffling, Counting the minutes. Remembering what Jake
Said about no drugs, she held her composure as long as possible. Plus it s a Mob Joint too! Not only would she get fired but a beat down Just for disrespecting The Joint!
It won t be long now she feared until her Family of Greedy Monkeys on her back would break out kicking her in the stomach, she could feel them starting to wake up getting restless. Scratching her back. She got lucky this night though, two of her regular customers two Hasidim Men with their hats cocked to the side, their Payos flying to the music as they drank and had fun. Told jokes, tipping well a lot of fun. They came to party. Half hr. later a sigh of relief, a deep breath. Out the door, on to the frigid street with her backpack slung over her shoulder, back in her comfortable jeans an sneakers. Her identity returning as her stomach turned at 1am.
Theatre District still a buzz, not by tourists. But street hustlers. Stick up kids, Pimps, whores, wise guys. Creepy people on their night grind. Faces she d known. Been raised by as well as victimized by all her life. Racing across Houston St. to ave B to the Dominican Restaurant out of breath. India catch s Road Runner outside, a stamp India had been doing for about a month. The short kid with a gold
tooth, black leather bomber. 25 Auto in his waist blended in the night against the
black wall. Hey Baby Gimmie 4 Road runner. Ok mama you know you the last one of the night .I was jus bout to Close Ma. Before he could finish his last word she was gone, the night pulled him back into the black wall imprisoned until another fragmented soul sought comfort to be whole. She had to hurry. Wait too long the dope won t settle she will just throw it back up.(to long between fixes)
Finally she got to St. Marks Place all but shut down. Restaurants closed shop owners sweeping up as she quietly darted up to the 3rd floor where her room was. The room was smaller than a Prison cell. But had a sink, high ceilings and a community toilet in the hall. So she built a loft bed had a electric wok, and dorm sized fridge. Now all she can do is get her shaking hands on a glass of water.3 bags of dark brown Heroin hurried into the old silver spoon twisted black by abuse. Gently heating the mixture dropping a tiny ball of cotton in as the smell turned her stomach, she smacked her left arm sticking the needle in her deltoid muscle with the warmth rushing to her despair.
Exhaling hard a sigh of relief, relaxation, alone. After a few second she felt something crawling down her left arm. A dark Crimson trail of Blood .Realizing Shed hit a main vein. Instantly He started pushing her down from behind her with his hands around her neck, squeezing tighter not able to breath. One knee on the floor the chair going over with her. Vision blurred pushing down. Down with all the strength inside she said don t be seduced by him he s trying to kill you Get up don t let him take you down. Heart pounding slower straining to push what felt like a steel door off her back. All saliva in her mouth gone cotton.
Pulling herself up sweat pouring she starts running in place with all her might. Make it girl make it through this. Praying, begging all in one emotion to GOD. Keep it up. Keep running keep running in place. Fight! You ‘ve beat him before you can do it again!
She opened the old Tenement window a squeak and stiff rusted chain grumbled in protest from not being opened in so long. Breath. The
Freezing air entering her lungs. Air already a stranger Burning like freezer burn, Oxygen almost a memory in a matter of seconds thanks to him Heroin, The king, smack, Dope.
That was the last fight she d had with him. Now she knows why all of the
Nightmares and flashbacks have come to her as she walked up the broken steps of the rickety old 57th St. Building. Intercom broken she stands waiting in the colder than the street box between the outdoors and the inside hall. Rubbing her hands trying to warm them as a teen bounced through the door with backpack an headphones stuck to him, hardly noticing her as India slipped in the glass door up the rickety steps to Mindy s apt playing the music of years of creaking disrepair. Her stomach tightened as She knocked on the door, a few times calling Mindy s Name To no avail. Her hands balled tight as she loosened her right hand to turn the knob. The door seemed to open on its own. Sound of canned applause on a game show. He s been here. Whiff of Death circling the room a predator approaching India beckoning her to enter as her throat burned, eyes welling up for all the many friends lost. No need to enter she has felt as well as seen the carnage many times before. Now India knows why she s here in New York, all The Flash backs. Why he s been following her, disrupting her dreams. To remind her to never forget he s always around...
Carolyn Baxter Born In Harlem NYC. Lived In The Lower East Side. She is in
Numerous Anthology s is a Member of the Screen Actors Guild, The Writers
Guild, Poets and writers/ her book Prison Solitary and Other Free Government
Services a Collection of poetry is used with her short Stories in her second book Platinum Dreams Lead Reality to Teach Creative Writing in Colleges.She makes beats performing spoken word Lecturing at risk teens.
