Roxanne: From Addict to Hustler

by King Benjamin

  As soon as I arrived at the stroll, the first person I saw was my sister, Carrie. My heart started pounding as I screamed out her name like a mad woman.

  “Carrie! Carrie! Carrie! It’s me, Roxanne!” I yelled from afar.

  As soon as Carrie spotted me, she took off running in my direction. I took off running too. We looked like two long lost lovers in a movie scene. When we finally reached each other, Carrie grabbed me and hugged me as tight as she could. I returned her affection with the biggest bear hug I ever gave out in my whole life. I hadn’t seen my sister in almost two years.

  “Got damn, Roxanne, what happened to your eye?” were her first words to me.

  “Kiesha’s fat ass sister is what happened to it.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

  My sister, Carrie, didn’t look bad, but she didn’t look good either. Her hair was cut super short, making her look kinda butch. She had lost a little weight since the last time I’d seen her. “Listen, do you have any money?” I questioned.

  “Bitch, I haven’t seen you in two years, and that’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth?”

  “I’m sorry, Carrie, but you can look at me and tell the past few days have been really, really fucked up. I just need a drink and a cigarette to calm my nerves.”

  “Yeah, well, I hit a little lick yesterday and I still got a few dollars. Let’s get off this stroll for a while, it’s been hot out here anyway.”

  “Why is it hot? What’s going on?” I questioned.

  “You haven’t heard about Gangsta beefing with Head Bussas ?” Carrie said as we began walking.

  “No, I haven’t heard anything. Bam Bam just dropped me off five minutes ago.”

  “Well, it’s been going down. Last night, they got into a big shootout right in front of the church.”

  “Wait, but who is Gangsta?” I asked.

  “Some dude that’s been in jail for like ten years and now he’s out, and got the biggest rocks I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s been getting a lot of The Head Bussas’ clientele, so I’m sure that’s what the beef is about,” Carrie explained.

  “Well, I could use one of them big ass rocks right now,” I said.

  “Shit, where you think we headed to now?”

  First we stopped at the liquor store and Carrie got me some gin and herself a 211 Steel Reserve beer. When we got to the crack house, I was surprised to see the manicured lawn and new lawn chairs on the porch. There was a doorbell that was lit up a bright orange-yellow, so I assumed it worked. Carrie rang the bell and moments later, there was a young, nappy head goon at the door. He let us in and Carrie introduced me. There was a pool table in the living room, along with a big screen television. Empty champagne bottles lined the walls. I knew this wasn’t your average crack house, when I spotted a full dining set in the dining room, complete with a china cabinet.

  There were about four or five dudes in the house, but I immediately spotted the boss sitting at the dining room table. He was counting money and separating it into big stacks.

  “I’ma buss yo’ muthafucka head if you spill some food on my pool table, nigga,” Gangsta told one of his goons, who stood by smacking down on some fast food.

  Gansta stood about six feet even and his brown, bald head was gleaming just as much as the Rolex watch he wore filled with diamonds. He was a handsome man, but you could tell the streets had taken a toll on him by the worry lines in his face. He had a thick scar on the left side of his jaw, adding to the ruggedness of his appearance.

  “Gangsta this my sister, Roxanne,” Carrie said.

  Gangsta looked at me for the first time.

  “Fuck happened to your eye?” he replied, pointing at the one that was closed all the way now.

  “Got my ass beat,” I explained, and he burst into laughter.

  “Well, you probably need to stop talking shit, if you can’t back it up,” he said, laughing again.

  We bought our drugs and were escorted into the basement, where several other addicts were already indulging. Carrie and I found a spot in the corner away from everybody since there was nowhere to sit at that point. I couldn’t decide which one I needed more, the liquor or the drugs. I took a big gulp of gin, while Carrie loaded her pipe and took the first blast. I felt a tiny bit better as soon as I got my first hit, so Carrie and I began to catch up on each other’s pitiful lives.

  Carrie was living with a friend and paying her rent, whenever she came across enough money to allowed her to do so. She said she hadn’t seen or talked to Mom in months, maybe three or four; she couldn’t be sure. I asked if she thought her friend would let me stay a couple of days and Carrie agreed to talk to her. We continued to talk, and as the other addicts ran out of drugs and money, they began to leave so they could go plot and scheme on the next get high. Before I knew it, Carrie and I were the only two in the basement. I took a seat on the sofa and Carrie continued to stand.

  “I don’t need to be out on no fucking hoe stroll tonight. Nobody wants a bitch with a black eye,” I said.

  “You never know, it’s some sick muthafuckas out there that might be turned on by it.”

  “You probably right. I wonder what time it is,” I said.

  As soon as I inquired about the time, I heard loud rumblings upstairs, followed by gunfire. Multiple guns firing off at a rapid speed. I jumped up and grabbed Carrie, then ran behind the sofa, dragging my sister with me. I covered her mouth, because she started to scream as the shots continued. When the shooting stopped, my body was shaking uncontrollably. I didn’t know whether to stay put or find a better hiding spot for us. I realized I was way too afraid to budge, so I stayed there behind the sofa, hugging Carrie for dear life. All I kept thinking was, at least we will die together.

  There was no movement in the house. I began to think we might make it out of this alive if we stay put. After another five minutes of listening to Carrie cry on my shoulders, I was almost positive whoever was still in the house was either dead or dying slow.

  “We gotta get out of here,” I whispered.

  “Roxanne, I’m scared,” Carrie said, still shaking.

  “Me too, Carrie, but we gotta go. If police come and we still here, we going to jail.”

  I grabbed Carrie’s trembling arm with my shaky hand and pulled her up from the floor. We crept slowly to the bottom of the stairs, listening for signs of life. We heard nothing as we climbed the stairs, but that walk was by far the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t know what would be waiting for us when we reached the top, but what we saw was like something straight out of a mafia movie. The first dead body was laid face down, right by the basement steps on the kitchen floor. He had multiple bullet holes to the back of his head.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Carrie went into a panic, but there wasn’t time.

  “Shut up and come on,” I said, as we stepped over the dead goon.

  As my eyes scanned the premises, I spotted more dead bodies in the front room, stretched out on the floor. The back door was still wide open and I didn’t see any dead bodies around it. I grabbed Carrie’s arm and took off out the back door as fast as I could. We hopped the fence and ran down the alley for blocks and blocks, until we were positive we were safe. I stopped and leaned against a light pole to catch my breath and Carrie soon followed.

  “You think somebody saw us run out of there?” she asked, breathing heavily.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t give a fuck. I’m going to rehab in the morning. Fuck this shit, I can’t take no more.”

  Chapter 15

  I couldn’t sleep at all that night. Carrie’s friend agreed to let me sleep on the couch, but I never closed my eyes, not even once. All I could do was replay the incident over and over in my head, and thank God I made it out alive. Enough was enough. I knew at that point that any life would be better than the one I was living. I kept my word the next morning. As soon as Carrie woke up, I asked to bo
rrow bus fare to get to rehab. I tried to get Carrie to come but she declined, so I hugged her tightly and told her I loved her, then took off. She had her life to live and I had mine.

  When I arrived at the rehab clinic, I was met by a receptionist with caring eyes. I signed in to get a meeting with a Mr. Gilmore, the medical director. I waited about forty-five minutes before he finally came out to see me. Mr. Gilmore was a tall, dark-skinned man with a birthmark on his left cheek. He greeted me with a handshake and took me into his office. The office was decorated with accolades from his college years, as well as a couple of fraternity plaques. I took a seat across from him as he settled into his reclining office chair.

  “Talk to me,” he said.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I don’t even know where to start. I’m just tired and I can’t go on anymore.”

  “Well, that’s usually when people walk in here, when they get tired.”

  “Yes, well, I’m really… really tired. I’ve turned everyone against me and I have no place to go. But I’m not here for room and board. I’m here to get help with my addiction,” I stated honestly.

  “What’s your drug of choice?”

  “Crack cocaine.”

  “How long you been using?”

  “Since nineteen, so maybe two and half years.”

  “Before we go any further, you understand this is an impatient program and if you’re accepted, you won’t be able to leave the premises for the next ninety days?”

  “I understand. Like I said, I have nowhere to go.”

  “Okay now, is this the first time you’ve tried to get help?”

  “Yeah. All this time I thought it was a fun thing to do, believe it or not. A year ago, you couldn’t have paid me to come near a rehab. But everything is different now. I have a child and everything.”

  I said it without even realizing it. I hadn’t even taken my son into consideration when I made the choice to go to rehab. I’d been literally scared straight, but once I thought of Nike, it gave me double the motivation to get clean and stay clean.

  “Who is the baby with now?”

  “My mom. But I plan to get him back when I get myself together,” I announced.

  Mr. Gilmore nodded in understanding.

  “Okay, well, I have some paperwork for you to fill out, and then we can see about getting you a room.”

  After filling out the paperwork, I did a urine drop. The urine drop was actually just to make sure I was an addict and not just some homeless girl looking for shelter. They offered me some assistance from FIA, which I quickly accepted. It would only be twenty-two dollars a week, but shit, something was always better than nothing.

  The rooms were set up four people to a room. Two bunk beds lined the wall, with two desks for writing letters and a small book shelf on the opposite side of the room. We also had lockers to keep our personals away from sticky fingers. When I first walked in, I couldn’t help but notice Catherine. She was the only one there I knew personally. Catherine was a black girl from my hood. Everybody called her Cat, and so did I. She was sitting at her desk writing a letter, when the other girls looked up to see who the new roommate would be.

  “Hey Cat,” I greeted.

  “What strong wind blew yo’ ass up in here,” Cat replied.

  “Shiiiid, you mean what cold streets blew my ass up in here.”

  Catherine was dark brown, in her mid-forties. She talked real slow and even slower after she got her drug of choice, which was heroin. I met her in the first drug house I ever got high in and we were cool ever since.

  “You gonna be my bunkie,” Cat informed me, as I spotted the one available top bunk.

  I spoke to the other girls, but there were no formal introductions. I was just glad that they were all cordial. Lord knows I didn’t wanna spend the next ninety days in the room with a bunch of stick-up-the-ass bitches. And please don’t let anybody be a holy roller all of a sudden. I got settled in pretty quickly and after making my bed, the sleep came crashing down on me and I was out like a light.

  I didn’t sleep that long because I was awakened by a counselor, informing me of the first group meeting I had to attend. Going in, I didn’t really know what to expect, but once I was there, I realized it was four different levels. I was level one. Most of the people in the group were level one, so it was all kinda new to them too. In the group meetings, we all talked, shared, and listened then repeated the process. At first, it felt good to get some shit off my chest that had been bothering me, like the rape for instance. Little did I know, this would be my life for the next ninety days.

  It was chores, meetings, and psych visits all week long. Luckily, we only had to deal with the psych once a week. He was by far the most unrealistic dumb fuck I’d ever met in my life. After the first couple days, I got to know the other girls a little better. Sue was the other white girl I roomed with. She did coke and meth, but you wouldn’t know it by her demeanor. She was just the sweetest little dope fiend I’d ever came across. She spent her days doing crossword puzzles in the newspapers on playing solitary. Lynn was the hyperactive one of the bunch. Well, besides me, she was. Lynn was always talking and always had a long, funny story to tell. I had a bunch of crazy stories to tell myself that I didn’t mind sharing with the group or my roommates.

  When it was my turn to share in the group, sometimes I’d introduce myself all energetic.

  “Hi, my name is Roxanne and I’m a crackhead.”

  The group would laugh, but the counselor didn’t find it funny. After the first couple of weeks, I really hit a rough patch and started to think that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Some nights, my craving for drugs would be almost unbearable. My face would only show minor discomfort, but inside was rage. I wanted to get out of there, but I knew I literally had nowhere to go. At least if I got clean, I stood a small chance of my mom letting me move back home, just long enough to get my shit together. One day, I was lying on my bed having a low-key crack attack when Sue came and handed me a book from the book shelf. The title of the book was Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill.

  “Take your mind off it,” she said as if she could read my mind.

  The last thing I wanted to do was read a fucking book, but I knew she was right. I needed to get my mind off getting high. As soon I started reading the book, it caught my attention. It said something about people having the undeniable right to take possession of our own minds and if we could do that, we could make unbelievable changes. It went on to talk about self-discipline and a lot of other concepts that were completely foreign to me. I read it until I fell asleep and for the next three days, whenever I had free time, I’d pick it up and read until I was finished. It made me think different for a change, and gave me a spark of motivation I desperately needed to change my life.

  If I could just accomplish this one thing; get and stay clean, it would give my life a whole new meaning. Thirty days in, I began to feel different. I began to believe for the first time that I’d never go back to doing drugs again. The book, combined with the group sessions, had me applying helpful techniques that allowed me to keep looking forward and not backwards. I had a long way to go, but I was fired up and that was a start.

  I was a level two now and every day I started to make plans for the future, little by little. My son started to become my driving force, but I had no idea how I’d get myself in the position to get my rights back, and become his legal guardian and parent. Money was never an issue to me up until that point. I stood in the mirror one night, checking on the progress of my eye that was just about healed completely and back to the original flesh tone. My other eye had healed after only a week or so in rehab. I was actually excited to see this psych in the morning. I had a rude awakening for his ass.

  Chapter 16

  Ninety days later

  I wrote my mom every week the last month of rehab. It was my way of showing her my commitment to getting clean. She wrote me back a few times, but the last letter she sent was the one I n
eeded most. She gave me permission to come home and live with her and Nike, just as long as I found a job and somewhere else to live within six months. She said if I didn’t find a job in thirty days, I’ve have to get out. She wasn’t taking any chances with me and I couldn’t say I blamed her.

  I knew she was being harder on me than she was my sister, because of Terry. I also knew what she was doing was illegal since they had already taken Nike from me, so I was extremely appreciative and just glad to be getting out drug free, and getting a chance to spend some time with my son. I’d saved my last twenty dollars, so I could take a taxi to my mom’s house. I didn’t want to risk walking around my old neighborhood and bumping into the wrong people my first day home.

  I didn’t even have the slightest nudge or temptation to get high. Something in me had changed. When I arrived at my mom’s house, she was in the doorway holding my son. My heart fluttered at the sight of him and he was all healthy and fat now. I took him in my arms for the first time since birth and he screamed.

  “Shhhhh, it’s Mommy, don’t be scared,” I cooed.

  “Shit, he don’t know you. Give me my baby back,” Mom said.

  “Back up, Grandma,” I replied, giving her a stiff arm while holding Nike in the other.

  He looked a lot like my mom, which was probably why she fell in love with him so fast. “It’s Mommy, don’t you remember me? You forgot me already my little wuddle man?”

  I saw him crack a smile, so I kept talking baby talk until I made him laugh. It was the first time he’d ever looked me in my eyes and smiled. My eyes got glassy and I became overwhelmed with emotions. I knew he was a miracle baby with all I had put him though. I kissed his cheeks over and over before giving him back to my mom. I took the few things I’d kept from rehab into my room and slung them on the floor. It wasn’t my room anymore, really just a storage room with a bed in it. I didn’t care, I just wanted to be there to spend time with Nike.