American Drug Addict: a memoir

by Brett Douglas

  After a few calls, I got in touch with his wife. “Is Jerry there?” I asked.

  “No, who tha’ hell is this?”

  “This is Brett. Jerry was supposed to start framing my house this morning.”

  “Who?” She sounded hungover.

  “Brett. I need to speak to Jerry.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Well, I need to speak to him.”

  “About what?” She obviously wasn’t listening. I felt like I was stuck in an Abbott and Costello routine.

  “About the construction job he was supposed to start this morning. I have thousands of dollars’ worth of materials and no framer,” I replied, enunciating my words with a slight pause between each one.

  “Oh yeah, he’s in jail.”

  “JAIL?!” Blood rushed to my head. “I spoke to him last night.” Silence on the end of the line. Apparently, this human cinder block needed more information. “I spoke to him around eight last night. Between then and six this morning he got arrested? All he had to do was go to sleep.”

  “I’ll have him call you when he gets out.” I hung up before she asked for bail money.

  I had an $8,000 pile of lumber sitting on a vacant lot and didn’t even own a hammer. If the materials sat there too long, someone could steal them. Also, Robert had found a tenant for the house we were currently living in. I only had two months to finish. With all these real problems, my only concern was Paula relishing in my failure. My dominant worry was her having this debacle to wield like a weapon the rest of our married life. I had a mental image of her lying on her deathbed, pulling me closer and uttering her final words, “Remember when you thought you could build a house? he he he...”

  The motivating force in my life was not based on what was right or wrong, good or bad, or the correct course of action. I only wanted to keep my father and wife happy, goals I could never seem to accomplish. I would do anything to achieve this end. I no longer told them the truth or my honest opinion, but rather what I thought they wanted to hear. This coping mechanism was not a conscious decision, and I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I was constantly defending myself, explaining my actions, and justifying my decisions, usually with some degree of dishonesty, a daily reminder of my insignificance regarding my own life.

  After spending an hour trying to come up with a solution on my own, I was forced to do the unthinkable. I called Robert. “I have a problem.”

  “Let me guess. Jerry didn’t show up.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You always have to anticipate other people’s fuck-ups.”

  That deserves repeating.

  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

  11. Properly motivated, everybody lies

  12. Never have a bachelor party the night before your wedding

  13. Always anticipate other people’s potential fuck-ups

  Robert suggested a carpenter named Kenny, who took on the project for considerably more money than Jerry had quoted, but I had no choice. Within days, the frame of our new home was being erected.

  Jerry eventually called me. “I’m ready to start framing.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I ran into a problem.”

  “Well, too bad. I’ve already hired someone else.”

  “What do you mean? I was counting on that money,” he yelled. This turd sandwich was actually angry with me.

  “Let me explain something to you, buddy. My wife is about to have a child, and the house I am living in is about to be rented out to someone else. If I don’t get this project finished, we’ll be homeless when our child is born. If you’re counting on money, show up next time.”

  I hung up before I heard his retort. I enjoyed my righteous indignation, even though it was hurled at a shiftless drunk. If only I had this brand of conviction with the people who mattered.

  I found a new source of cocaine, which went well with the Lortabs I was eating every day. This stuff was very potent. I had to pace myself; otherwise I would be visited by the Darkness. I learned if I stood still with my eyes closed and mentally calmed myself, the Darkness would leave. Of course, I had to be alone when I did this; acting like a mannequin is odd behavior in a room full of people. The notion of stopping never occurred to me. Pacing my cocaine intake seldom worked either.

  Each stage of the construction project required a different building permit. If a homeowner pulled his own, they received a considerable discount, the only requirement being they were the person doing the work. To save money, I performed any work I was capable of doing myself, which wasn’t much. For everything else, I pulled the permits and then hired someone else to do it. The frame, trusses, roof, doors and windows were installed in this manner. The project was going like clockwork until I got to the electrical wiring.

  I hired Ellard, a customer at the pawn shop, to do the work. He was a veteran of the Korean War and a retired electrician, who claimed to have forty years’ experience in the business. He also claimed to know the current electrical codes like the back of his hand. We agreed on a price, and I pulled the permit that afternoon.

  On the morning he was scheduled to start, I purchased an 8-ball and arrived at the project site early. Although I knew it was a bad idea, I snorted a huge line of coke before I exited the car. As I stood amongst the unfinished walls of the house waiting for Ellard, Dick, the electrical inspector, pulled up, which was unusual because the inspectors normally didn’t come by until after the work was completed. As he approached the house, I felt the Darkness falling over me, which inhibited my ability to bullshit my way through this situation.

  “So, you’re wiring this house yourself, huh?” Dick inquired as he looked at the house frame.

  “Yes,” I quietly replied. My body was throbbing with numbness; I was only able to give one-word answers.

  He fired several technical questions at me, quickly surmising I didn’t have the knowledge required to do the work. “I know what’s going on here.”

  “Okay.” My brevity was due to me trying not to die during this excruciating conversation.

  “Oh yeah, you think you’re the only one that’s tried to pull this scam?”

  “No.” I wasn’t paying attention.

  “I usually get a bottle of scotch or something for approving a job like this.”

  “Okay.” I was about to pass out.

  “I’ll be seeing you in a few days.” Dick left.

  The Darkness started to subside. When Ellard arrived, I informed him of the conversation I had with the inspector and told him to get the work done as fast as possible.

  I was relieved when, a few days later, he was finished. I called Dick to schedule an inspection. The next day, I got a phone call. “This is Tom, the chief electrical inspector. We have a problem. Am I to understand you did this work yourself?”

  “Yes, I did,” I lied.

  “Well, can you meet me at the site?”

  “Certainly,” I answered with all the confidence I could muster.

  I met Tom at the framed house, and basically, had my ass handed to me. The last time Ellard looked at the electrical codes was ten years prior. But I had to take the blame for his incompetence. After reciting a lengthy lis
t of errors, Tom told me to strip all the wiring out of the house and hire a licensed electrician. Upon his departure, I notified Ellard of the recent turn of events.

  “That’s bullshit. I know the electrical codes,” he blustered.

  “Well, Tom pointed out numerous examples of work based on old codes.”

  “Fuck that. Give me one example.”

  “The conduit over the power box outside.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it,” I yelled. “The chief electrical inspector told me to remove it. That’s what’s fucking wrong with it.”

  “Well, that’s bullshit.”

  “Ellard, what am I supposed to do? This man can hold up this entire project, and I only have a month before my wife and I end up homeless.”

  I paid him for his time, and that was the end of it.

  At least, that’s what I thought.

  The next day, I decided to visit Tom at his office. I needed to smooth things over and let him know I was hiring a licensed contractor. Upon exiting the elevator, I heard loud voices from the back of the office. At first, I ignored it, until I realized one of them was Ellard’s. I ran to the back where Tom’s cubicle was located and saw them screaming at each other.

  “You pussies in Vietnam would cry to your mamas if you fought in Korea like we did,” Ellard yelled.

  “My war was five times longer than yours. Fuck Korea,” Tom boisterously replied.

  “Fuck you, you low-life motherfucker!”

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing; two grown men arguing about whose war was better, or worse. I wasn’t clear on that point. I grabbed Ellard by the arm and dragged him over to the elevator. “Why the hell are you here?” I demanded.

  “Those sum bitches tellin’ me I don’t know what I’m doing—”

  “You’re not supposed to have done the work. I paid you already. These inspectors can stop my project dead in its tracks,” I yelled at him as quietly as I could.

  “That motherfucker trying to get a bribe from you, then making you rip out all my—”

  “Wait a minute. What bribe?”

  “The bottle of liquor that asshole asked you for.”

  “Oh,” I said. I had forgotten about that. “Look. Promise me you won’t come back here. I have to get this project done. I’m running out of time.”

  “Okay.” He descended in the elevator, grumbling to himself. I apologized to Tom for Ellard’s outburst, and that was the end of it.

  At least, that’s what I thought.

  The next day, I got a phone call. “Hi, my name’s Prescott. I’m with the internal affairs department of the City of Pensacola. I want to discuss a recent event that occurred with one of our inspectors.”

  My heart sank. Ellard went to Tom’s office to defend his honor and not-up-to-code work, and the inspectors were about to shut my entire project down. My face went flush with anger.

  “I had nothing to do with that idiot making a scene in your office yesterday,” I said.

  “I’m not referring to that. I would like some information on the bribe Dick solicited from you. This is a very serious charge which could lead to jail time.”

  I paused a few seconds. “If I cooperate, his fellow inspectors will drag this project out for months. I don’t have that kind of time.”

  “I can assure you, no retribution will be enacted upon you.”

  I realized I had Dick by the beanbag. I could squeeze tight and bring him to his knees or simply let go. He was an asshole and had the personality of an abscessed tooth. But, I lied about doing the work and, the day we spoke, was trying not to die during our one-sided conversation. I decided to let go of his beanbag. “He made a joke. I took it as a joke. It may have been a bad joke, but neither one of us took it seriously.”

  I could hear the disappointment in Prescott’s voice. I surmised he didn’t care for Dick and saw an opportunity to rid the office of him. The next time I saw Dick, he treated me like royalty. He owed his career and freedom to me. I usually had to pay good money to have my ass tongued that deep. I hired a licensed electrical contractor, and that was the end of it.

  That really was the end of it.

  The Maternity Store

  As Paula and I browsed through a maternity store looking for clothes that would fit her pregnant figure, she found a book of names. “Let’s buy this. It’ll help us name our son.”

  I looked at the price tag. “Ten bucks? I’m not spending that to pick a single name. We’re having a child, not a litter.”

  I opened the book and stuck my finger on a random page. It rested on the name…

  Devin

  Twice, I have positively impacted the world, and one of those is my son, Devin. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, he has complimented me beyond what I deserve. Although he’s several inches taller, he looks, sounds, and behaves like me, at least the commendable behavior.

  Always smiling and happy, Devin was a pleasant child. As an infant, he slept through the night without shedding a tear. In fact, he hardly ever cried, and when he did, his needs were straightforward: titty or diaper change.

  As he got older, I saw my mischievous nature in him. For example, I laid a blanket down in our backyard to get some sun. Next to me was a plastic tumbler of iced tea. He came up to me and, in his sweet, three-year-old voice, asked, “Daddy, can I have a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  Devin threw the tea in my face. I heard him giggle as he ran away. I could not deny this child.

  One day, Devin’s daycare called while I was at work. The lady on the phone told me he was misbehaving, and I had to come pick him up early. I was puzzled because disruptive behavior was not characteristic of him. Nicky’s mom, Vicky, worked at the daycare and met me at the door. In case you forgot, she didn’t like me when I was young and was especially perturbed that my son was giving her a hard time.

  “Devin has been very disrespectful today, and you need to teach him some manners.”

  “Oh really? What did he do?” I asked, trying not to smile.

  “He was calling everyone in class a ‘butthead,’ and I told him to stop saying that word. So, he said, ‘Okay, butthead.’” Although Vicky was serious, I struggled not to laugh.

  If any other child had done that, she probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But since it was my child, he had to go home early. Devin’s behavior reaffirmed Vicky’s opinion of me. I weakly scolded him, and then took him for ice cream to celebrate.

  Devin has seen me at my best and worst. But my worst is worse than most. If my addiction had a silver lining, it was Devin’s reaction when he discovered his longtime girlfriend was dabbling in drugs; he broke up with her, refusing to have anything to do with that lifestyle after watching what it did to me. Most parents claim they would take a bullet for their child. I feel like I did.

  Devin also shares my love of music, but he took his passion a step further. He is an accomplished drummer, guitar player, and songwriter. I never tire of watching him perform and witnessing the joy he gets from doing something he loves. I cannot express how proud I am to have Devin as my son, and what an incredible young man he turned out to be. Whether it’s because of me or in spite of me.

  Part to Play

  by

  My Son, Devin

  She was standing by the lake

  Eyes full of pain and her legs they quaked

  But I really liked the way she smiled

  Won’t you sit here for a while

  And let the earth rotate

  And we can pick a part to play

  She lived upstairs in a loft

  Neil Young played somewhere far off

  Through the window, the breeze bled through the day

  We laid on her velvet bed

  Didn’t feel we had to say

  But I was thinking about a part I used to play

  I didn’t know there was a pain

  Like losing your twin in the rain


  I laughed when my friends told me I was finally free

  It didn’t feel that way to me

  But now it’s any time and any place

  We pick our part to play

  She ain’t around and it ain’t that bad

  For a while, you were just sad and mad

  You locked an old script in the shed to circumvent the pain

  But still, you hear their name

  Through the circling twist of fate

  And you’re looking for a part to play

  Just looking for a part to play

  The Rope

  Despite the challenges, I completed the construction project. The first evening in our new home, I laid on the shag carpet in the living room and relished my success. I had done what Paula and Robert said I couldn’t and was proud of my accomplishment, but for the wrong reason. The line between feeling pride and being prideful is razor thin.

  Devin’s arrival home from the hospital marked the beginning of a continuous struggle between my wife and father. Robert voiced his concern over Fuzzy living in the same house with our infant son. His reasoning was if the cat jumped into the bassinet, Devin could inadvertently be asphyxiated. Robert demanded I get rid of the cat.

  When I told Paula of his concern, she rejected it in her usual vocal manner. She thought his request was ridiculous. Every day, Robert asked if I had disposed of the cat, and every evening, Paula griped about his intrusion in our lives. My father told me to be a man and get rid of the animal, while my wife told me to be a man and stand up to my father. Since when was my manhood in question? I did impregnate Paula.

  Paula and Robert weren’t brave enough to face each other. Instead, they used me as a conduit to express their frustration. No matter what decision I made, I would upset someone I loved. Sound familiar? The entire time this battle was raging, I was thinking, Why don’t both of you just FUCK OFF!