After The Work

“I ain’t got no crystal ball, if I had a million dollars, I would spend it all!” Sublime blasted from his Kenwood speakers, CD spinning in his tower stereo. People often heard him playing the group as it was his favorite. It was about good times, easy living, and a vibe he rally loved. It was Saturday and summer after his senior year. The sun blazed over the Florida beaches, bleached his blonde hair even more. Tan and toned, easy smile, and a quick wit equipped him for the summer of his lifetime. He dad was yelling about something again, but he was on his way out. Music helped drown out the yelling and unwanted doubts and fears that tried to break into his mind. He grabbed his bottle of Vicodin, tossed a couple back, and headed out to the beach.

He had nabbed the pills from a relative and they blew his mind. He had tried Tylenol 3’s at a party and they gave him a glow that made the night seem magical. He didn’t need to drink as much to get ripped, and all the jokes were funnier. Vicodin was at another level, and he was riding free and a wild. It helped him not think about his life, and it seemed to fill that hole in his stomach that was normally anxious. His friend were all down for a good time, and the ladies waited for them at the beach. He got in his car, drove to the beach with the widows blasting, Stone Temple Pilots serenaded him with Interstate Love Song.

He met up with his boys, laid out a towel and scoped out the beach with that soft glow he grew to quickly love. Volleyball was brought up, but he chilled on the beach while his friends played. Day turned to night, a few more pills to keep the buzz, a few beers were snuck out to the beach and life was good. He talked up a girl in his class, catching up on life, using that same old charm and concern for others people loved about him.

The party at the beach wound down and he and his friends met up with some older youth who invited them to a house party. They were pumped because they were over 21 and the promise of good beers and good girls was too much to resist. They arrived at the party and every light was lit in the house. People were coming in and out, not a cop in sight in this neighborhood as the people next door were likely there and not calling in complaints. They entered and saw a high school party on steroids. Good music, laughter, dancing, and couples paring up and wandering away to other parts of the house.

They had 3 kegs tapped, a big tub of “jungle juice” containing who knows what, jello shots, and weed wafted from an adjacent room where a literal 6 foot tall bong was smoked in all its glory. A muscle bound guy stopped him and his friends and said “Yo, 10 dollars for a cup” meaning a 10 dollar cover to drink all night, which they all happily paid. The night became a blur as the friends all partook, shot their shot with some older girls to no avail, and ended up in the back yard laying on their backs together looking up at the stars. These felt like the best of times.

The summer ticked on, dad was yelling at him to get a job after bailing on his carwash job. He figured he’d get another but was planning on college in the fall anyway. He needed the cash too because pills don’t come cheap. He took to buying Oxycontin on the streets, more bang for his buck. They would rock him with warmth and peace, but he noticed when he didn’t have them he felt awful. He was getting scared to feel that feeling and was finding that the pills didn’t keep his mind quiet anymore. He added in some weed which did the trick after a while, but all this was getting expensive. He met up with some other guys who sold weed and other stuff they “found” to have parties. He didn’t party at the house anymore, but with a few of these guys who knew how to get ripped. He hadn’t thought of that girl he was talking to on the beach for months now.

He missed his orientation at school. Instead he met up with some new guys in the town he had moved to and shared a house. He worked in restaurants where he could make some good money and they didn’t pee test. He and his coworkers could show up wasted from the night before and it was a big joke. Halfway through their shift they would sober up as the dinner rush hit and rock it. They became a great stoner team in sync, passing plates at the restaurant and passing blunts after work. By this time he had met someone who did cocaine, but he didn’t like feeling the rush. He liked to go down, down, down on opiates, melting away the cares and concerns for the world. He eventually found a guy who worked at a pharmacy who “lost” pills all the time, a doctor who treated his “back pain”, and a guy down the road who always seemed to have some oxy’s.

One day it happened. His sister called from Wisconsin trying to reach him. He forgot he hadn’t spoken to his dad in almost a year, and the family thought his sister who lived with their mom might be able to get through to him. Their suspicions where growing each day that he might be swallowed up by drugs and the life. He didn’t answer the phone, it would bring up some old demons he didn’t wanna face. Later his best friend from high school called, which he also ducked. Why couldn’t they just let him live his life? He was doing ok, had a job, friends, and even a girlfriend who came by and shared a blunt.

She hung up the phone and looked at her pastor. She shook her head and started crying. While she didn’t live with her brother in some time, they had always been close. She had her own battle with drugs but with some support at church, friends, and foster mom she was doing so much better. She recalled sitting in the youth group stoned out of her mind, laughing at the group activity. Her pastor smiled knowingly and let her be. They talked and eventually she found a place with new friends, started feeling better about herself, became spiritual, and faced her own demons from growing up. She went from a suicide attempt to reaching out to help others.

“We cannot get other people sober, nor does everyone find their way out of addiction” the pastor spoke to the packed church. “Losing someone so young to something that perhaps was once a choice is a baffling tragedy. We will never be the same, nor will we ever get to see how he grew up to be, but perhaps we can be warned of the dangers of these pills and more attentive to others who may be getting caught into addictions web.” He friends from high school were there, that girl he always talked to at the beach, his dad, his sister, his mom and step dad, were all in attendance at the memorial service just a few months later. The service was closed by the same song “I don’t practice Santeria, I ain’t got no crystal ball” played in that old church for the first time, beckoning the attendees to take heed of the lesson and the coming storm of opiate addiction to hit this nation.

It was a cruel irony that his favorite ban was Sublime, having lost their front man to addiction as well. Young, beautiful souls torn apart and turned inward on themselves. They loved others, but didn’t learn to love themselves. They became selfish to cope, but couldn’t love themselves to heal. Family and friends love and care, but shake their heads with tears because nothing they seem to do helps. Many have found help with recovery, love, family, and a higher power-but too few seem to keep it if they are blessed enough to try.

This story has played out innumerable times, hardly a family in the nation has an addict or has lost one. Whether its pills in suburbia, crank on skid row, booze in the bar, its all the same. The great destructor taking apart families, futures, and faith. Its a family disease, a societal plague, a lack of education, accountability, and affirmation. “Let us love on another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.” 1John 4:7