The Junkie Tales Read online

  The JUNKIE tales

  by j.a.kazimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The Junkie Tales. Copyright © 2010 by j.a.kazimer. All Rights Reserved. For more information, contact OBSCURE Publishing, Denver, Colorado.

  FIRST EDITION

  For U,

  because, all too often,

  it’s about me.

  Stories in this collection have appeared in the following journals: “Bronze, Silver & China White” in Twisted Tongue; “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in Twisted Tongue; “Slut. Bitch. Whore.” in The Savage Kick Literary Magazine; “Junkpardy!” in Frequency: the Poetics of Change, Summer Writing Program Magazine.

  Daddy’s Girl

  “Mommy’s not feeling well,” I said, stroking my daughter’s white-blonde hair. She smelled of sweat and Johnson’s Baby Shampoo.

  “Make her better, Daddy.” Her mouth twisted into a pout. Her faith in me was, at the same time, humbling and frightening.

  “Baby, I wish I could. But Mommy’s the only one that can do that.” I thought of my wife, beautiful and tragic, locked in a battle with a bottle. She’d left for treatment two days ago and the aching in my chest hadn’t subsided. I missed her. Missed the way she smiled at me, like I was her world. And I was until her need for alcohol overrode her desire for family.

  “When will she be home?” Kayla brushed her sticky fingers down the front of my shirt.

  “I don’t know, baby. I just don’t know.”

  The clinic said it would take at least thirty days for the toxins to seep from her body and her withdrawal symptoms to subside. A full month before I could hold Sara in my arms and whisper words of love. I did love her and nothing would change that.

  We could get through this.

  Oh God, we had to get through this.

  “But don’t you worry.” I pressed my lips to Kayla’s forehead. “Daddy will take care of you.”

  Her cherub face lit up. “Can we have ice cream for dinner?”

  Damn. I’d forgotten that kids need to eat. I’d been living on adrenaline and coffee for the last couple of days since leaving Sara at the hospital. “Maybe not for dinner, but if you’re a good girl and listen to Daddy, you can have some after your bath.”

  She smiled, an angel’s grin so like her mother’s it stole my breath. I thought back to her birth, Kayla, so tiny in my arms. A tuff of hair sprouted from her egg-shaped head.

  “She’ll grow into it,” Sara said.

  “I hope so.” I winked. “If she doesn’t we’ll have to buy a bigger car.”

  Smiling at my wife, I touched Kayla’s newborn cheek. She let out a small squeak more profound than any words ever uttered. Sara and I had tried for so long to conceive, but it wasn’t to be. Or so we thought until the day Sara charged into my office, her face alight with excitement. “We’re pregnant!”

  “Daddy, don’t frown.” Kayla dug her fingertips into my lips, drawing me from my memories. “Frowns make mommies sad.”

  “Who told you that?” I carried her into the large kitchen, debating what to serve a five-year-old that wouldn’t require anything other than basic microwave skills.

  She tugged at my arm. “Mommy did.”

  “Then it has to be true.”

  “Mommy said Daddy has to work.” She nodded. “That’s why he don’t play with me.”

  I closed my eyes. What had I done? I sacrificed everything important and for what, a mortgage and an overly green lawn. Sara and Kayla deserved better than this, better than me. “Honey,” I touched her hand, “Daddy’s sorry. From now on, we will play everyday.”

  “Can we play Candyland?”

  Damn, she was a sly one. I gave her an inch and she stuck me in marshmallow swamp. “Yes.” Her face fell when I added, “After dinner. Now go watch TV until it’s ready.”

  “Okay.” She headed out of the room, pausing just outside the door. “You won’t go away, will you, Daddy?”

  “No, baby. Daddy will always be here.”

  ******

  An hour later, I stood over the stainless steel sink watching brown liquor circle the drain. Pouring all the booze out seemed symbolic somehow, like in a small way I was helping Sara fight what she’d become.

  The strong scent of whiskey filled the room, almost pleasant, an improvement over the crusty smell of our burnt Macaroni and Cheese dinner. I dried my hands on a dishtowel as the phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Mike?”

  “Sara…” I gripped the phone tighter, wanting to touch her. To feel her. “Are you okay?”

  She gave a stilted laugh. “Yes.” Her voice went soft. “It’s going to be hard. I miss you guys so much, but I’m no good to Kayla like this.”

  “I know, baby. We miss you too.”

  Her ragged breath reverberated through the phone line. “Listen, I don’t have much time. I just wanted to tell you that everything is going to be all right. I swear I’m going to beat this, and we’ll be a family again.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  Words I should say clogged my throat, growing larger in the silence. I hung up a few seconds later. My life crashed down around me. I wanted to hide away from the pain, to lose myself in numbness.

  “Daddy?” Kayla ran into the kitchen. “SpongeBob is on.”

  “Okay.” I shrugged, unsure what that meant.

  “Mommy says when SpongeBob comes on,” a big ‘Daddy’s an idiot’ sigh escaped from her lips, “it’s time for my bath.”

  “That’s right,” I said, trying to instill confidence I didn’t feel. “Okay, you go get your pj’s and I’ll get the water started.”

  I followed her skinny body up the stairs and into the semi-clean bathroom. The laundry hamper was full, clothes seeping from its wide mouth. I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I wasn’t sure what to do about anything. Sara took care of that sort of thing. Hell, she took care of everything. I raised my eyes to the medicine cabinet, and the mirror in front of it. I looked like shit. My tie hung askew and an oily stain of Macaroni and Cheese clung to my shirt.

  Turning on the bathtub faucet, we waited while it filled. Kayla happily danced around the messy room.

  “Is it hot?” She paused mid-boogie.

  “No, baby.” I grinned. “It’s just the way you like it.”

  “Did you find my Rubby Ducky?”

  “No, I think you left him at Grandma’s.”

  “I want my Ducky.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “Ducky will be sad without me.”

  “Okay.” I waved my hands to calm her near tantrum. “I’ll give Grandma a call. You can pick him up tomorrow when you visit her.”

  Sara’s mother, a pillar of strength, had stepped up and offered to watch Kayla while I worked. If it wasn’t for her I didn’t have a clue what I would do. I couldn’t afford daycare and school wouldn’t start for another two weeks.

  Kayla wrapped her arms around me. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Now stop stalling and get in the bath.” I gestured to the doll in her hand. “Barbie stinks.”

  She laughed, charging into the tub with complete trust. Kayla wasn’t one to dip her toes in, not like me. Instead, she took after her mom, barreling straight into life. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub spilling across the cold tile and soaking my socks.

  “I’ll leave the door open.” I held the door open a few inches. “Call me when you want your hair washed.”

  “S’okay.”

  A few minutes later
, I dialed Sara’s mother. A smoke weakened voice answered the phone. “What?”

  “Hi Paul.” I hated talking to Sara’s father. Sara was Daddy’s little girl, and he made me feel like I wasn’t good enough for her. I grinned, would I be the same way? “Is Martha around?”

  His words slurred, “She’s always around. Never leaves the house. It’s always nag, nag—”

  “Mike? Is that you?” Martha’s voice cut through Paul’s rambling.

  “Hi Martha.” I took a deep breath. “Kayla wants to know if she left Rubby Ducky at your house.”

  Martha laughed. “Scared me to death. The damn thing was under my bed. I thought it was a mouse.”

  “Great. I’ll let her know.” I wanted to get off the phone as soon as possible before she asked the questions that I couldn’t answer. “Thanks.”

  “Mike…” Martha’s voice shook. “How could this happen? Sara’s had a charmed life. She has a wonderful husband, and a beautiful child. Why does she need to drink?”

  “Maybe it’s not enough.”

  Martha scoffed. “She drives a Volvo for God sake’s. What more could she want?”

  ******

  “And they lived happily ever after…” I closed the book and kissed Kayla’s forehead. “Goodnight baby.”

  “Goodnight Daddy.” Her eyes, heavy with sleep, blinked once and closed. I flicked off the lights and a nightlight bathed the room in a warm glow. I stood in the doorway staring down at my beautiful little girl.

  Daddy’s little girl.

  With a sigh, I walked down the hallway to my bedroom. I tugged at the buttons of my shirt, too exhausted to do much more than toss it on the floor. Tears suddenly burned in my eyes. A framed photograph of our wedding day sat on the nightstand, a reminder of what might’ve been. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and headed to the bathroom.

  Gazing into the toothpaste-spotted mirror, I rubbed my face. I opened the medicine cabinet searching its depths for salvation from the nightmare of what my life had become.

  I looked past the tampons and birth control tablets, reaching over the rows and rows of pills. Lexapro, Allegra, Clindamycin, Zelnorm, Flexeril, Clonidine, Diazepam, Desipramine, Ludiomil, Abilify, Prozac, Epilim, Nozinan, Viagra, and Dalmane.

  Finally, at the very back of the cabinet my hand met a small black box. I pulled the box free and set it on top of the vanity. Like Pandora’s, it held secrets and lies as well as the fate of my world.

  Opening the box, I smiled at the needle, coated with dried blood and heroin residue. Next to the needle lay a capsule of brownish powder. My heart raced with anticipation and my own personal blend of want and need. I picked up the needle and pictured of Sara’s face.

  Poisoned Ivy

  “Positive.” My lips trembled over the word.

  “Fuck.”

  “You can say that again.”

  And he did. “Fuck.”

  ******

  “So there you have it.” I paused, shakily spooning puréed apples into his drooling mouth. “The greatest love story of all times.”

  “i…u….e…ah,” came his response.

  I smiled, scooping up more fruit. He loved fruit, swallowed it with happy noises. “Let’s play a game,” I said, wiping drool and leftover apples from his chin.

  A smile curved on his lips, which began to quiver. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. I swiped at them with the pad of my thumb.

  I whispered calming words and stroked his cheek until the tears stopped. “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I glanced at my watch making sure my words proved true. I couldn’t be late, not again. I couldn’t miss my appointment at the clinic. Not today.

  I pulled a picture from my purse. It was faded and worn like the woman holding it. “See him?” I pointed to the man in the photo dressed in Levi’s, his face nearly obscured by the reflection of the sun.

  “ga..v…,” he muttered.

  “That’s right,” I said proudly. Everyday we practiced the same game, spending hours looking at the yellowing image. At times, it hurt to know all I’d lost. But not today. Today I looked into his eyes and felt a connection.

  For one brief moment.

  But it was enough.

  The ding of the timer jolted me from our history lesson. It was time. Janet came into the room. Pink flowers decorated her white top. She smiled, checking the blankets swaddling his body.

  “It’s a good day.” I closed my eyes and sighed. “I shouldn’t be gone long. Maybe an hour or two.”

  We all knew it was a lie, but no one spoke the words.

  Janet nodded, taking my place at his side.

  “I love you, baby.” I kissed his cheek, tasting the remains of teardrops against my lips.

  ******

  “Ivy Jacobs?” a nurse hidden behind bulletproof glass called my name.

  I stood, swaying slightly, my skin dotted with sick sweat. It had been a long day and I was on the verge of sickness. The room spun. I blinked, trying to stay upright. Focus Ivy. Focus.

  The packed clinic smelled of illness and fear, of desperation and solace. Everyone waited for his or her daily regiment, waiting for the one thing that kept us sane.

  Heading to the nurse, I thought of him, sleeping innocently a few blocks away. My gut clenched. I hurried forward for my turn.

  Sue, the nurse, gave me a smile. “And how’s our guy doing today?” She knew him well. They all did.

  “Good.”

  “Good,” she repeated.

  I held out my hands. Without further comment she passed me a Dixie cup filled with medicine. My heart slammed in my chest. I wanted to snatch the vial and run. Run until everything faded. No more worries, grief, or sorrow.

  Nothing but beautiful numbness.

  Instead, I swallowed the sugary substance and tossed the cup into the trash.

  ******

  A few hours later I woke up covered in sweat. My head felt cotton thick, a side effect of the methadone, of addiction. Sometimes, like now, I missed the call of the needle. But Methadone kept the need for heroin only a distance longing, like the desire for a teenaged love.

  I stood, slowly moving to his railed bed. He murmured in his sleep as if seeking comfort from the sound. Sadness filled me.

  What kind of life did we have?

  I shook my head trying to dispel my wayward thoughts. He was all that mattered. Every day, every minute we had together was one less minute alone.

  “Ivy?” Janet entered the dark room “What’re you doing here? It’s late.”

  “Is it?”

  “Honey, you can’t go on like this.”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  Janet was right, but whatever didn’t kill me only made me stronger. Strong enough to survive the what if.

  “I love you.” I leaned down and kissed his brow.

  His eyes opened. “i…u…to…iv.”

  “See you tomorrow.” I kissed him again.

  But I didn’t.

  In the middle of the night Janet called me. I heard her voice, and broke. Falling to my knees, I begged for it to be a mistake, a nightmare with a chance to awake.

  “Ivy, I’m so sorry,” she began. “He’s gone. Gavin’s gone.”

  “No…please, no….”

  “It was peaceful. He went to sleep and never woke up.”

  Peaceful.

  ******

  Three years earlier….

  “Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs, your HIV results are in.” The overworked clinic doctor looked at the paper clutched in his hands.

  I glanced at my husband, my heart slamming in my throat.

  “I’m sorry. You’re both HIV positive,” he said, staring at Gavin, my husband, my lover, and my partner-in-the greatest-crime.

  “Positive,” I said, my lips trembling.

  “Fuck.” Gavin grabbed my hand, twisting his fingers through mine.

  “You can say that again.”

  And he did. “Fuck.” />
  Mapquest

  Tracing my finger over the redlined map of twisted, corroded veins, I considered how far I’d come. And how much farther I would go. The trip seemed like an eternity spent trying to find the perfect place.

  Paradise had a name.

  Heroin be her name.

  Even the sound of the word upon my arid, split lips sent a shiver of anticipation through me. If only I could find my way in—the way home—all would be forgiven.

  Absolution in a bindle.

  Salvation in a vein.

  Tricks Are for Kids

  “Need a date?” She flicks the tip of her tongue along the soft flesh of her upper lip. A habit she can’t quit.

  The dark-haired man looks her over, taking his time to inventory each inch. What he sees she can’t say. For a few bucks she will be anything. His mother. Lover. Whore.

  When she can stomach glancing in the mirror, she sees nothing but black eyes and a nasty grin. She touches her face, a face so much like her mother’s it hurts. Look mom, look what your baby girl became. Are you proud? Does my face haunt your nightmares as much as it does mine? But the answers never come. The dead don’t speak so she remains silent.