by Paul Preston
After the shower, I got out and caught a glance at what I looked like in the mirror and I didn’t recognize myself. I looked hideous. My hair was a tangled mess; I had dark circles under my eyes. My lips were cracked and blistered, probably from the goddamned hot glass pipe. I was bleeding from the scratch marks all over my body, streaks of blood dripping down my skin. I was sweating on my forehead and under my arms. I touched my forehead and I was burning up. I could feel my heart beating so hard and fast it hurt my chest. My body just kept trembling. I thought I was having a heart attack or a seizure or something. Maybe the shit Tony sold me had contaminants. Or was too pure for me, compared to the diluted shit I was used to.
I went into my living room and sat on my couch, trying not to freak out. The overhead lights were hurting my eyes so I turned them off and sat in the dark. The only light was from the sun streaming in through the curtain of my window. I tried to take a deep breath, but it was like my lungs were constricted and I couldn’t get any air. I thought I was going to die. Then I thought about J. Where did I leave his business card?
I frantically looked around my apartment for the card J gave me at Starbucks, but I lost it. When I saw a pair of jeans in a crumpled heap on the floor, I remembered J had slipped an extra card into my back pocket. They looked like the same jeans I’d worn to J’s place Friday night. The card was still in the back pocket, thank God.
I couldn’t find my fucking phone at first. I ran around my apartment in the shadows, knocking things off tables and chairs, until I realized it was in the other pocket of my jeans. With shaking hands, I called J and he picked up right away.
“Hello?”
“J?... J?”
“Who is it? Is that you, Sapphire? Sapphire, you sound awful. Are you OK? Sapphire?”
“J… I’m fucked up… Help me…”
Chapter Nineteen
Jeremy
Though she couldn’t remember it, I was able to get Sapphire to read her address off an envelope addressed to her. Running out to my car, I did a quick search on my phone, typing in, “How to treat a drug overdose?” Part of me wanted to call 911, but if there were illegal drugs in her house and drug paraphernalia, she might get arrested. I drove to her apartment near Montgomery Community College, stopping once to pick up a bottle of Ipecac Syrup, to induce vomiting. If she was unconscious when I arrived, I would call 911. I hoped I could get to her in time.
I found Sapphire lying naked on the floor in the darkness, in a fetal position, shivering and scratching herself. She kept repeating, “Let me out, let me out, the bugs are biting me, let me out.”
I turned on the light and it looked like a bomb had gone off in her apartment. There were broken objects scattered all over the floor. She shielded her eyes as if the brightness pained her, so I turned off the light. I picked her up off the floor and sat her on the couch. I touched her cheeks and forehead. Her skin felt like it was on fire.
I forced her to drink a glass of water and take a dose of Ipecac. I led her very unsteadily into the bathroom. Sapphire kneeled in front of the toilet. Holding her hair out of the way, she retched up a clear fluid along with brownish bile.
Next I put her into the shower and held her under cold water for several minutes. After shampooing her hair and cleaning her body, I dried her off on some relatively clean towels and wrapped her up in a blanket. I found some nail clippers in the cabinet above the bathroom sink and cut her nails and put some Vaseline on her dry blistered lips. She kept repeating, “Let me out, let me out, let me out.” I helped her back out to her living room couch and held her.
Sapphire finally looked into my eyes and recognized me. She embraced me tightly and wouldn’t let me go. She lay down on the couch while I tried to clean up her apartment as best I could. I threw two crack pipes and a water pipe in a garbage bag and took it out to a dumpster outside of her apartment, along with the rest of the trash I’d collected.
She told me where she kept her stash and she pointed to a jar on the kitchen counter. I took out a zip lock bag from a jar on the kitchen counter with several chips of cocaine inside and Sapphire flushed the drugs down the toilet, without argument. We went into her bedroom and I packed a suitcase full of clean clothes and put her school books and notebooks in her backpack. I helped her get dressed in some warm clothes and we left the apartment. She appeared to be calmer and her fever had gone down considerably, but she still appeared to have shortness of breath and her muscles were twitching.
I asked Sapphire where her supplier lived and what his name was. She gave me the address and I decided to drive over to pay him a visit.
Sapphire’s drug dealer lived in a quiet unassuming neighborhood in Randolph Hills. We went up on his front porch and rang the doorbell. As Tony opened the door, he gave Sapphire a kiss on the cheek, but blocked us from entering.
“Who’s he?” Tony asked.
“A friend,” Sapphire said.
“He’s looks like a cop. I told you not to bring anyone over here I don’t know, baby,” Tony said.
“He’s not a cop,” Sapphire said.
“He looks like a cop,” Tony said.
Tony made a move to close the door.
“Tony, right? I’m Jeremy,” I said.
I reached my palm out to greet him, but Tony didn’t take my hand. Through the open door, I saw a large poster of the Redskin’s new rookie quarterback Robert Griffith III plastered on one wall.
“Hey, RG3 is the real deal, bro.”
“Yeah. Are you a Skins fan?”
“Yeah, all my life. Do you know if they’re going to play him next week?” I asked.
Tony looked at me suspiciously.
“Shanahan hasn’t said. I think they might rest his knee against the Ravens. So what can I do for you, Jeremy?”
“I want to make a buy.”
“Buy? Buy what?” Tony said, looking at Sapphire and then back at me.
“Sapphire gave me a taste. That shit is killer,” I whispered.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m in real estate. I’ve got plenty of cash. Sapphire gave me a taste. That shit is killer. I brought the cash. Do you want to see it?”
I made a move to take my wallet out and Tony stopped me immediately.
“Not in the doorway!”
Tony glanced up and down the street once and then gestured with his head to follow him in. He shut and locked the door behind us. We sat down on the couch. Tony closed the drapes over the windows and the room darkened. Tony grabbed his pipe.
“I always smoke a bowl with first time customers, before I do business.”
Tony fired up his glass pipe and took a hit. I heard a crackling sound. Tony leaned back against the couch and inhaled. Then he reloaded his pipe.
Ever since I walked in on Debbie having sex with that actor in the theater, I went over and over in my head why I didn’t express my rage toward the man who fucked my wife. I guess I was so stunned; I could hardly react to the situation, outside of shouting in a futile, emasculated manner at Debbie. Over the year since it happened, my anger toward that actor crystallized and hardened, like the rock of cocaine Tony just smoked.
When Tony reached his hand out to give Sapphire the pipe, I smacked the pipe out of Tony’s hand. It flew across the room and shattered against the torso of RG3.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Tony shouted.
I picked Tony up off the chair by the collar of his shirt and pinned him firmly against the wall.
“What the fuck, man! That was my favorite pipe!”
“I have a question for you, Tony. Do you like to fuck other men’s wives?”
“What?”
“I SAID DO YOU LIKE TO FUCK OTHER MEN’S WIVES? ANSWER ME!”
“You mean, Sapphire? She’s married? She never told me she was married! Sapphire! Tell him—”
“If I ever catch you touching Sapphire again or selling drugs to her, I’m going to come back here and fuck you up. Do you hear me? I’M GOING TO FUCK YOU UP!”
“OK!
OK! You crazy mother-fucker! Let me go!”
“You nearly killed Sapphire with that shit! Do you realize that, Tony?”
“Oh shit. No. I’m sorry.”
“That’s nice, you’re sorry.”
I smacked Tony across the mouth as hard as I could with the back of my hand, knocking him to the floor.
“That’s for fucking my wife, Tony, and then nearly killing her. Stay away from her!” I shouted.
I took Sapphire’s arm and left Tony on the floor. We drove back home.
On the way, Sapphire started becoming paranoid and acted like she didn’t know me. She started screaming in the car.
“Who are you? You beat up my friend! You beat up Tony! Where are you taking me? Please don’t hurt me! Let me go!”
I had to physically carry her out of my car and into the house as she was yelling and hitting me in the back with her fists. Luckily, my home is somewhat isolated in a grove of trees and no one saw or heard us. I carried her to her guest room, undressed her and laid her down under the sheets of her bed, as she struggled in my arms. She was still trembling, twitching and trying to scratch her skin. She kept trying to get up from bed. I put four drops of the tincture of Melatonin in a glass of water and asked her drink it.
“You’re trying to poison me! Leave me alone, please. I’ll do anything. Do you want to have sex with me? You can have sex with me; just don’t make me drink that. Please! Don’t make me drink that? It’s poison! Who are you? Why are you trying to kill me?”
I had to sit behind her, open her jaw and force the water down her throat. I physically held her in bed with me and in about thirty minutes she had fallen asleep.
I nodded off as well. About four hours later she woke up, feverish, sweating profusely, with clenched fists, in the midst of a nightmare.
“Let me out! Let me out! I’ll be good from now on. There are bugs in here. Let me out!”
“I’m here Sapphire. It’s me, Jeremy. You’re OK. You’re in my home, in bed with me. You’re safe here.”
“Jeremy?”
“Yes. You’re here with me. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“Oh… Thank God…”
Sapphire embraced me and I held her until she fell back asleep.
Sapphire slept fitfully over the next twenty four hours, for a few hours at a time. She would wake up and ask where I had put her crack pipe, begging me for a fix.
When I wouldn’t give it to her, the craving made her aggressively kick at me, punch me and try to escape the bedroom to go get high. When I wouldn’t let her leave she screamed and cursed at me. She couldn’t stay still and nervously paced the room for an hour until she became fatigued and fell back asleep. Part of me wanted to confine her to the bed, but I didn’t want to harm the tender skin of her arms and legs which had already been irritated by her scratch marks. I tried to stay awake through Wednesday night and Thursday, watching over her.
As Sapphire slept late Thursday morning, I asked Billingsley to bring me a strong pot of Earl Grey, some toast with butter and jam and the Washington Post. The tea helped clear my head.
Flipping through the Arts Section of the paper, I happened to glance at a short review of a play being done at Silver Spring Stage. I saw Debbie’s name, mentioned in the cast list. I had not had any contact with my ex-wife and not seen her name, except on the paperwork I signed during the divorce proceedings, in the year since we separated.
Sapphire woke up in the early afternoon and she was able to eat a slice of toast and drink some tea. She wasn’t talking much and appeared depressed. She didn’t have any fight left in her to escape the room and just laid in bed, unmoving, her muscles still twitching intermittently. She told me she hadn’t eaten anything in a week, so I forced her to have another slice of toast, which she nibbled at. We played card games in bed until the early evening. I had helped her go into the bathroom twice. She was so fatigued she could hardly walk without assistance. Finally, she fell asleep again around 5:30.
I quickly showered and changed. I told Billingsley that I had to leave the home for about two hours and instructed him to keep a close watch over Sapphire while I was gone. If she were to wake up, I told him to not allow her to leave the bedroom under any circumstances. I gave him permission to keep her in the room by force if he had to. I asked him make to her a bowl of vegetable broth to eat if she were to wake up.
I got to the small parking area of Silver Spring Stage at about 6:45. I remember Debbie would usually have to be at the theater about an hour before curtain. I saw her drive up in the Lexus I had bought for her as a wedding gift and I got out of the car. At first she didn’t see me, as she click-clacked in her heels toward the entrance of the theater.
“Debbie. Hi,” I said, raising my palm.
She appeared startled when she saw me.
“Jeremy… What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I read the review in the paper. I thought I’d drop by to say hi. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“I’ve got to start getting ready for—”
“It’ll just take a minute.”
“OK, one minute.”
We sat down together in the front seat of my car. I smiled at her.
“How’s the kitten?”
“Fine… What do you want, Jeremy? I thought you never wanted to see me again. We’re officially divorced.”
“I know. I guess I just wanted to apologize to you for the way I acted. I regret how I treated you when we tried to get back together. I was rude to you back then and I’m sorry. I still care about you, Debbie, and I think about you all the time. I guess I never really stopped loving you, despite everything that happened. I thought if I went through with the divorce, my feelings for you would go away, but they haven’t. I thought perhaps we could still be friends at least, if it’s not too late. Could you come by my parents’ house tomorrow? Say around 4:30 or 5? It’ll still give you plenty of time to get to the theater by—”
“I don’t know, Jeremy. I’m not sure if that’s a very good idea…”
“Stop by just for a few minutes then. When I was cleaning up our old apartment, I found some dresses and jewelry I’d bought you which you never took with you when you moved out. They’re yours, Debbie. Why don’t you come by tomorrow and pick them up? If you don’t want to be friends, I can understand. But it’ll help me to feel better about the way I treated you if you can stop by, even just for a few minutes to pick up the jewelry. It might help me bring a sense of closure to our relationship…”
“I don’t know, Jeremy. Let me think about it.”
“Just text me if you can make it.”
“Look, I’m late. I’ve got to go.”
“OK. Congratulations on the reviews for your new play. I was proud to see your name in the paper again, Debbie.”
“Thank you.”
We got out of the car. For the first time, Debbie smiled. I held out my hand and she shook it.
“Friends?”
“OK... You know, Jeremy, I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Oh, I know. Text me if you have time to drop by tomorrow. I’d love to see you. Do you still have my cell phone number?”
“Yes.”
“Well then. Bye, Debbie. See you tomorrow, I hope.”
“Bye.”
I watched Debbie walk into the theater. From my phone I emailed Cynthia and Eve to ask if they could meet me a little early Friday, at around 4 or 4:30. Then I drove back home. Billingsley was still sitting by the door of her bedroom, in the same position I left him.
“Did she wake up while I was gone?” I asked.
“No, Master Jeremy. I observed her tossing and turning in bed, as if in the midst of a nightmare, but she never woke up. I put a cold clothe on her forehead and she calmed down and slept peacefully.”
“Very good, Billingsley.”
After Billingsley left, I laid down beside Sapphire and she woke up and stretched. I fed her a spoonful of the vegetable broth Billingsley had left beside the bed. I
asked her if she wanted me to heat it up and she shook her head no and finished it on her own. A little healthy color had returned to her cheeks.
“God, I need a hit. I need a hit so badly.”
“I know. Let’s get you dressed. I have an idea.”
I told Sapphire there was a Narcotics Anonymous meeting Thursday night in the same church basement I went to for my Co-Dependent’s Anonymous meetings on Mondays. I tried to make a joke that her addiction was much cooler and more respectable than my lame one. She smiled. At first, she wasn’t up for going, but I told her it may help get her through her withdrawal from crack cocaine. She’d hear other addicts there who will tell their stories and be assigned a sponsor to help her with her addiction. She agreed and we drove to the church for the 8:30 meeting.
Sapphire and I sat with several other addicts as they went around in a circle, introducing themselves and telling the group how long they’ve been sober, sharing their stories and talking about working the Steps. I was proud of how courageously Sapphire tried to keep it together, tapping her foot repeatedly and hugging herself tightly. When it came time for her to speak, she just shook her head, unable to talk. At the end of the meeting, the group leader asked if there was anything anyone else wanted to say. Sapphire slowly stood up with my assistance. The group looked at her compassionately as she spoke, with a shaking soft voice, her eyes filling with tears.
“I was five years old and…my mother… my mother locked me in a closet when I was bad and… wouldn’t let me out. There were… bugs inside… horrible bugs crawling around… roaches… My name is Sapphire, I’ve been sober for twenty four hours and all I want right now is to smoke some crack.”
Sapphire collapsed back into her chair, her face in her hands. The small group came over to her, helping her back to her feet, gave her comfort and words of encouragement. A female sponsor was assigned to her and cell phone numbers and emails were exchanged. The sponsor recommended an outpatient clinic but Sapphire said she was afraid of being hospitalized again. Sapphire was given a sheet of paper, listing all of the Rockville area NA meeting times and locations and recommended that I take her to a meeting at least once or twice a day. The sponsor told Sapphire to call her any time, day or night, if she needed to talk and Sapphire promised that she would. The group adjourned the meeting by saying together, “Keep coming back – it works!”