American Drug Addict: a memoir

by Brett Douglas

  The Wire Cutters

  I hobbled around with a cane for months. Since my mouth was wired shut, I lived on fluids and liquefied food. I lost 50 lbs. Mom tried to find food which tasted good after being pureed. On Thanksgiving, she liquefied turkey, dressing, and gravy. Although I drank it through my bound teeth and smiled, the concoction was disgusting. She discovered the only food I could stand to eat in liquid form was pureed hot and sour soup. My parents ate Chinese food for two months for my sake. I also loved chocolate milkshakes. Who doesn’t? Mom, concerned about my weight loss, put a dietary supplement called Ensure in my shake, but I wouldn’t drink it because that shit tastes like fertilizer. She swears to this day she only did it once, but I know better.

  The surgeon who repaired my jaw gave me a pair of wire cutters. I was told in case of an emergency, I could use them to open my mouth. I tossed them aside and forgot about them.

  After my leg had healed, I attempted to drive my car. Upon sitting in the driver’s seat for the first time in three months, I did something I had never done before. I did it instinctively as if it were a habit. Yet, this was the first time I’d ever done it.

  I fastened my seatbelt.

  You know what’s coming…

  Shit I Know To Be True

  1. Don’t give tube socks to children for Christmas… EVER

  2. A preoccupation with external appearances is sometimes used to hide something unattractive on the inside

  3. The closest we come to immortality is the positive legacy we are remembered by

  4. Those things that make us different, make us better

  5. All good things go bad eventually

  6. Do not moon cars in your own neighborhood

  7. Never eat in a restaurant where the cooks are laughing hysterically

  8. No matter how small the detail, never compromise yourself for love’s sake

  9. Sometimes, what seems like an insignificant decision can become a life changing event

  10. Always fasten your seatbelt, even on short trips

  Although I took safety measures while inside my car, I didn’t consider my personal safety outside. The first trip in my vehicle was to Chris’s house. His parents were out of town, and he was throwing a party. Today, the most popular drinking game is Beer Pong. Yet, when I was a teenager, the game of choice was Quarters. In case you’ve never heard of it, the object of the game is to bounce a quarter into a small glass. If you miss, you had to drink. Since everyone playing wanted to get drunk, I never understood the motivation to get the quarter in the glass. I hadn’t had a drink in months and wasn’t good at Quarters; I quickly became drunk and nauseous. I ran to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet, puking up the beer I had just drank. Since my teeth were bound together, the beer vomit filled my mouth, then started running out my nose. I couldn’t breathe. I suddenly remembered the wire cutters and understood the “emergency” the doctor had referred to. A rush of panic came over me as I realized I was drowning. As the beer spewed forth, the room went black. Just as I started to pass out, I managed to stop vomiting long enough to gasp a little air. After another round of terrifying heaves, I gained control of the gag reflex just as I started to fall unconscious. I didn’t drink alcohol for a long time after that.

  When the doctor unwired my mouth, he told me to continue eating pureed food for a week because my jaw wouldn’t completely open. He was correct. I could only open it a quarter of an inch and to do so caused considerable pain. But I refused to eat hot and sour soup one more day. When I got home, I ordered a Domino’s pizza. I had to cut each slice into small pieces, slide each one between my teeth, and chew it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. That pizza was the absolute best one I’ve ever eaten.

  The car that hit us was driven by a young man named Chris (not my friend, a different Chris), the son of a well-known attorney. He had been drinking earlier that evening and also died in the crash. The Pensacola News Journal ran a front-page story about the accident and the perils of drunk driving. The article was headed by a picture of Chris’ mom solemnly holding a photo of her dead son. The newspaper didn’t have the decency to mention Jeanine’s name. I was incensed. Chris murdered my best friend and was given sympathy.

  A short time later, I saw his mom on a local public access show discussing teenage drunk driving. I snatched up the phone and attempted to get through. I wanted to tell her Chris was burning in Hell where he belonged for killing my friend Jeanine. HER FUCKING NAME WAS JEANINE!

  Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. Mom, knowing why I kept calling the show, stopped me. She explained that whatever pain I was experiencing, Chris’s mom was feeling it on a scale that couldn’t compare. And, unlike my anguish, no amount of time will make hers diminish.

  I now have children. Two wonderful human beings exist because I gave Jeanine the front seat. If I had not done so, she would be celebrating her 48th birthday this year, and I would be a distant memory only my parents remembered. I now have a minuscule understanding of Chris’ mom’s pain and am so thankful I didn’t make that call.

  The red lights Burgess and I ran escaping the angry mailbox owner didn’t result in a crash. It was simply delayed three years. The car that hit us was going the same speed we were traveling when we flew through those intersections. When Karma plays her hand, the result can be nasty. Bunny and Burgess were permanently crippled due to the accident. Yet, as severe as my injuries were, I had no long-term effects after I healed. Once again, Karma’s bullet missed her target, although that shot was almost a bullseye. I mistook her inaccuracy for invincibility.

  The Pawn Shop

  Robert finally opened a pawn shop to go along with the safe that sat in our garage for the last ten years. The store was located on a busy highway north of Pensacola. Across the street was a large, undeveloped lot. Robert’s friend, Ronnie, had considerable experience in the pawn business and was hired to manage the store. He also had a drinking problem. Although hiring him seemed unwise, my father never made haphazard business decisions. He predicted Ronnie would eventually self-destruct and planned to learn as much as he could about the pawn business before that happened. I was hired to keep an eye on Ronnie. Much like the blind watching the blind.

  Under Ronnie’s supervision, I learned the basics of the pawn business. I also witnessed various ways to siphon money from the coffers. Just as Robert predicted, Ronnie’s drinking became a problem, and he was fired. I stepped into the role of manager. Robert hired Bill, a retired Navy man and close friend, to assist, and probably, keep an eye on me. I was nineteen-years-old, running a business I was unfamiliar with, being assisted by someone who was inherently lazy. Every dime Robert had was on the line. Needless to say, he was a little grumpy sometimes.

  Bill and I had to learn the pawn business on the fly. One of my first lessons came from a young lady holding a baby. She told me she needed to pawn a television so she could purchase diapers. In case you are unfamiliar with how a pawn shop works, the customer gives the shop collateral to borrow money against. Once the customer pays the money back, plus interest, the item of value is returned. The young lady requested an amount much higher than what we would have typically loaned. But I felt sorry for her and gave her what she asked for. When she left, I watched her drive to the liquor store next door. “Do they sell diapers at the liquor store?” I asked Bill.

  “Ya’ think she may have lied?” he laughed.

  Which brings us to…

  Shit I Know To Be True

  1. Don’t give tube socks to children for Christmas… EVER

  2. A preoccupation with external appearances is sometimes used to hide something unattractive on the inside

  3. The closest we come to immortality is the positive legacy we are remembered by

  4. Those things that make us different, make us better

  5. All good things go bad eventually

  6. Do not moon cars in your own neighborhood

  7. Never eat in a restaurant where the cooks are laughing hysterica
lly

  8. No matter how small the detail, never compromise yourself for love’s sake

  9. Sometimes, what seems like an insignificant decision can become a life changing event

  10. Always fasten your seatbelt, even on short trips

  11. Properly motivated, everybody lies

  The Happy Pills

  Sherri asked me to accompany her on a trip to Houston to purchase a large quantity of ecstasy, which was legal in Texas at the time. She made frequent trips there. I agreed to be at her house at 5:00 am the next morning.

  That same day, Paula invited me to her birthday celebration, which was held at her Aunt Deanne’s house. I took a gold necklace from the pawn shop, which was the first time I stole from the business. I wasn’t sure if I would get a moment alone with her, but if I did, I planned to do something out-of-character: ask her out on a date.

  I was pleased to find Paula’s slug of a boyfriend didn’t show up for the party. For the first time, I met her family, who would eventually become closer to me than my own. We partied all afternoon and into the evening. As a bonus, some of them enjoyed smoking marijuana. I had a great time.

  Later that night, Paula and I went to Sam’s, a popular nightclub. I gave her the necklace, and we kissed for the first time. She was a phenomenal kisser, a skill few people possess.

  Let’s briefly detour from the story to discuss…

  The Components of a Good Kiss

  Lips – Must be soft and moist but not wet. Nonexistent lips are difficult but can be compensated for. Lips that are dry, chapped, or covered with bloody sores are not conducive to a good kiss.

  Tongue – The body part most similar to a sexual organ. Each participant must use an equal amount. When one person overextends their tongue, the other person will retract theirs. The result is like being gagged by a tongue depressor.

  Saliva – Absolutely necessary for a sensual kiss. Without it, the kiss will have the sensation of licking sandpaper. Too much saliva, however, is not only unnecessary but can be a turnoff. If your partner must wipe spit off their face or clean saliva off the floor with a towel, you’re using too much.

  Mouth – The width of the mouth is vitally important. A mouth opened too wide is like kissing a whale’s vagina. A mouth not opened wide enough is like shoving your tongue between the tines of a fork. Both should be opened an equal amount.

  Length – One person will determine how long the kiss will last. If you feel your partner pull back, don’t lunge forward

  Teeth – Play no part in a kiss

  Come to think of it, these tips apply to blowjobs as well. Which means if your partner is a good kisser… well… I’m just saying.

  Anyway, back to the story...

  The next morning, Paula looked at the gold necklace. Oh, my God! Brett asked me out.

  Unbeknownst to her, at that very moment, I was sitting next to Sherri driving to Houston. The trip took sixteen hours round-trip. Since we had different tastes in music, we agreed to take turns controlling the radio. Sherri would play her music for an hour, then I would get an hour. I brought a large case filled with CDs. She brought one CD that had one song, “Silent Morning” by Noel, which reminded her of some body-builder douchebag she was in love with. The road trip consisted of a one-hour musical tapestry as varied as a Whiteman’s sampler, followed by one hour of the same song repeatedly played, like a phonograph needle stuck on a scratch. In other words, eight hours of variety and eight hours of the same shitty, ear piercing, bowel-irritating, soul torturing song. Once we scored the ecstasy and dropped a hit, her time wasn’t quite as bad, although it still felt longer than mine.

  Upon my return to Pensacola, I called Paula, and, much to my surprise, she didn’t hang up. We agreed to meet, along with her family and some friends, at Kevin’s, a bar on Pensacola Beach.

  While I was in Houston, Paula told Richard she was leaving him for me. She said that final visit was the only time in their relationship he demonstrated any interest in her. Funny how we don’t appreciate things until they’re gone.

  As we drove to Kevin’s, I handed her a tab of ecstasy. “Take this.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a happy pill.”

  “A happy pill?”

  “Trust me. You’ll be happy.”

  “My family is meeting us there. Will I be okay?” Paula asked.

  “Don’t worry. I have enough for them.”

  Neither Paula nor anyone in her crew had ever heard of ecstasy. But they certainly enjoyed it. Our first date was a drug-filled orgy of affection. We all laughed, hugged, fell on the floor, knocked over tables and chairs, and danced endlessly. In every nightclub, a group always exists that is visibly having more fun than anyone else, the one everyone wishes they were part of. On that night, we were that group. A truly epic evening.

  Afterward, Paula told me she had never experienced anything like ecstasy. She also said she had never dated anyone like me. At the time, I took that as a compliment. Paula meant it as one. In hindsight, her comment was actually a warning.

  Keith embraced my new relationship with great enthusiasm. Paula, Keith, and I, along with another friend, Bill, all dropped acid and went to the Red Garter, a local gay bar. At midnight, the club put on a drag show. The first drag queen was a 300-lb. behemoth who looked like a prize hog with makeup. Bill leaned over and said, “She comes to you in your nightmares.” We fell off our chairs laughing. Once again, we were the group having the most fun in the nightclub.

  In one night, Paula took acid for the first time, went to a gay bar for the first time, saw a drag show for the first time, and saw two men kissing for the first time, one of which was her boss, Keith. Twice in a row, a truly epic evening. At this point, I couldn’t chase her away with a shitty mop.

  Sherri wasn’t as enthusiastic as Keith about my new girlfriend. “Are you dating Paula?”

  “Yes.”

  “Honey, there something about her I don’t like.”

  “What are talking about?”

  “I’ve heard some things she’s said about you behind your back.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “She was bragging about your family’s business, the money and drugs you always seem to have. I think she’s using you.”

  “No, I don’t see that,” I said as if I could ever see such a thing.

  “Well, I know what she said, baby. Just watch your back,” Sherri said. She was so pretty and such a good friend.

  “You know I will.”

  Sherri was astute. The pawn shop was growing rapidly. A Walmart was built on the empty lot across the street, causing business to explode. The shop was requiring more of my time, but I still had the weekends to do as I pleased. I always had plenty of money and drugs. Cocaine and I parted ways, with ecstasy and acid taking her place. But the love of my life would return with a vengeance.

  The Purple Apartment

  Paula moved out of her parents’ house and, along with her friend, Donna, rented a one-bedroom apartment which was half of an older home that had been converted into a duplex. It had French doors at the entrance and purple walls. I spent so much time there, I eventually moved in. We never turned on the gas, so the stove didn’t work, and the house got cold in the winter. One evening, Paula made spaghetti prepared in an electric wok, which turned out to be the best I’d ever eaten.

  Our routine on the weekends was identical to the one Sherri, Lisa, Keith and I had before - trips to Victor’s Friday and Saturday night and a constant supply of weed, ecstasy, and acid. After forty-eight hours of partying, we slept Sunday away and were ready for work Monday morning.

  One evening, Paula’s friend, Micki, came by our apartment. She was short with curly black hair, a faintly ruddy complexion, a curvaceous figure, and a bubble butt. I was playing a video game and didn’t pay attention to her.

  A few weeks later, Paula and I went to New Orleans with some friends. After drinking all night, I left the group and was abandoned on Bourbon Street while eve
ryone else drove home. By happenstance, I saw Micki in Pat O’Brien’s, one of the most famous bars in New Orleans. I stayed an extra day and partied with her. That night, as we slept in a hotel, I woke up to her lying on top of me, naked. I didn’t fight it.

  Upon our return to Pensacola, she introduced me to cocaine’s mean little sister…

  Crack

  If you’ve never smoked crack and want to know what it’s like, have an orgasm, enjoy it for thirty seconds, then clamp a clothespin on your left testicle until you have the next one. If you’re female, replace the clothespin on the testicle with a hemostat on your left nipple.

  Micki took me to Escambia Arms, a housing project where most of the residents were indeed armed. We purchased crack from a random black guy on a street corner. Seemed easy enough.

  Whenever I had time, I bought crack, went to Micki’s apartment, smoked it and then had sex with her. Smoking cocaine affected me in a way snorting or injecting the substance didn’t. After the first hit, I got an erection. Any sexual reticence I suffered from disappeared. The shyness I typically felt around the opposite sex evaporated.

  I need to be clear on this point. I didn’t become a sexual predator. No matter how amped-up I was, I never made unwanted sexual advances. I’ve never understood why a rapist would want to have sex with a woman who was fighting back, vocally protesting, and visibly revolted. That person is a sociopath, which I am not. Pleasing a woman is the most arousing part of sex. Thus, she must be a willing participant. Smoking cocaine removed my inhibitions, allowing me to bluntly ask, “Would you like to have sex with me?” Sober Brett would never consider such a presumptuous move.