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Cat-Eyed, pt. II: Darkness Rolls In
While on a thirty-minute lunch break at Blockbuster Video, I drove fifteen minutes downtown to pick up from my dealer. I bought the usual amount plus something extra that he had for sale. I still had money left over from the $800 acquired as a result of overhearing my boss tell the manager-in-training the password to the safe. So, when my dealer offered some cocaine, I mean, of course I’m not going to turn that down. Am I right?
On the way back to work, my boss was blowing up my phone already, asking where the hell I was. When I was about a mile from work, it was already half an hour after I should have been back. I didn't have the luxury of stopping to prepare a shot, but fortunately, my expertise in steering with my knee came in handy. I had honed this skill during my frequent journeys between Austin and Houston. It became imperative for me to procure my preferred substance, given that the person who had just departed was not well-versed in Austin's drug culture. I wasn’t as incompetent as she, and was a firm believer in the law of attraction; being able to manifest a piece of dope in my hand every day was a miracle in itself.
I was able to cook up both the heroin and coke into a shot as well as fix just before I made the turn into work. Unfortunately, right after seeing the blue and yellow-lettered sign that read Blockbuster, the ringing in my ears began to fade while everything went black. The next thing I remember was the car being still and silent, then more blackness. When I came back again I saw the concerned face of my girlfriend—her mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear anything being said (not that I’d wanted to). Then more blackness.
The next time I came to, I was in the hospital with tubes inserted in me and my parents in the room, their faces swollen as if they’d been crying for a long time. The doctor began talking to me, followed by my parents, yet none of it had registered since all I wanted them to tell me was where they had put my dope.
After lots of yelling and ugly things said, I agreed to another stint in rehab as long as my cat would be taken care of. I had to do two weeks in detox and then another month in rehab. But I was promised that Roo was being taken care of, thinking my parents were the ones doing it.
It was after a week in rehab when I was allowed to have phone privileges. The human who had introduced me to heroin, cheated on me, and continuously exploited the heart I naively kept giving to her, had called for me. She told me she was back living at our apartment, a really convenient thing since I was not there.
“So, Roo misses you…” she exclaimed.
My heart skipped a beat. “What? I thought she was with my parents—“
“Uhh, no. I told your mom I would take care of her. She’s my cat too, y’know?”
I would’ve hung up on her right then, but I wanted to hear what she had to say when I asked, “Oh, is she now? And how do you figure that?”
“Ugh. Well—.” I cut her off right there. Without heroin to keep me docile, I wasn’t going to let her have the chance to use any of her manipulative maneuvers she had used to seduce me to her way in the past.
After telling her what was up, she fell silent for a few seconds. She wasn’t expecting that I could tell because the next thing she did was forget the cat completely and told me how much she missed me and wanted to start things over between us.
There were a number of things that occurred between us that I’ve not mentioned, and while I played a part in them, the parts she had played at times were unforgivable. At least, it was too early to even begin thinking about forgiving and forgetting.
We parted ways on relatively good terms that time, we ended the call. It was the next time she called that would be the last time I’d speak to her. When she called to tell me that Roo had run away. At first, I wasn’t even mad. I was worried about my cat and where she could have run off to, but then I heard in her voice just how much she didn’t seem to care. My thoughts then went from Roo to the same reel playing over and over again in my head. Moving images of me smashing her face into the ground.
“I f***ing can’t believe you right now.” I paused. “We are done.”
I gently hung up the phone, walked back to my room where I smashed my own face into my pillow and cried. She could have sold Roo and the kittens for dope for all I knew. I never heard what happened to any of them.
Fast-forward a year, and I’m living in a zoo. The house where I stayed was inhabited by five humans, six cats, five dogs, eight iguanas, four birds, and various other tiny critters all coexisting harmoniously under one roof. Surprisingly, the animals got along fine. It was the humans that fought and caused a ruckus. While living in this house, I had been in and out of a number of different bands, playing drums and guitar.
One band I had auditioned to play drums for, had a smoking hot guitarist virtuoso. She was a few years younger than me, with bright red hair, dressed in black leather with shiny studs, who could shred. I was smitten by her but saw her as out of my league. Not to mention, she was our guitarist, and we didn’t want a Fleetwood Mac or No Doubt fiasco ruining the band. One night, however, out on the town, along with the many shots of whiskey being poured, hidden feelings came pouring out with them. She and I were official as of that night.
She was a recovering heroin addict as well, starting at a young age while playing Warped Tour with her all-female band. After a few months of dating, she began acting different, more spontaneous and wild. She was drinking way too much and getting sloppy every night. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I broke up with her.
The next day I got a phone call from her roommate and our bassist who told me he had found her body in his room on the floor against the bed, with a rig in her arm. She was gone at age nineteen.
Every hour of every day was spent dwelling on what I should or should not have done that would’ve kept her here with us. I’m not quite sure how many days it was after her death that one of my roommates had come home with a feline friend, an all black kitten with green eyes and giant fangs. couldn’t help but smile.
© WaKeUpWoRLD
On the way back to work, my boss was blowing up my phone already, asking where the hell I was. When I was about a mile from work, it was already half an hour after I should have been back. I didn't have the luxury of stopping to prepare a shot, but fortunately, my expertise in steering with my knee came in handy. I had honed this skill during my frequent journeys between Austin and Houston. It became imperative for me to procure my preferred substance, given that the person who had just departed was not well-versed in Austin's drug culture. I wasn’t as incompetent as she, and was a firm believer in the law of attraction; being able to manifest a piece of dope in my hand every day was a miracle in itself.
I was able to cook up both the heroin and coke into a shot as well as fix just before I made the turn into work. Unfortunately, right after seeing the blue and yellow-lettered sign that read Blockbuster, the ringing in my ears began to fade while everything went black. The next thing I remember was the car being still and silent, then more blackness. When I came back again I saw the concerned face of my girlfriend—her mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear anything being said (not that I’d wanted to). Then more blackness.
The next time I came to, I was in the hospital with tubes inserted in me and my parents in the room, their faces swollen as if they’d been crying for a long time. The doctor began talking to me, followed by my parents, yet none of it had registered since all I wanted them to tell me was where they had put my dope.
After lots of yelling and ugly things said, I agreed to another stint in rehab as long as my cat would be taken care of. I had to do two weeks in detox and then another month in rehab. But I was promised that Roo was being taken care of, thinking my parents were the ones doing it.
It was after a week in rehab when I was allowed to have phone privileges. The human who had introduced me to heroin, cheated on me, and continuously exploited the heart I naively kept giving to her, had called for me. She told me she was back living at our apartment, a really convenient thing since I was not there.
“So, Roo misses you…” she exclaimed.
My heart skipped a beat. “What? I thought she was with my parents—“
“Uhh, no. I told your mom I would take care of her. She’s my cat too, y’know?”
I would’ve hung up on her right then, but I wanted to hear what she had to say when I asked, “Oh, is she now? And how do you figure that?”
“Ugh. Well—.” I cut her off right there. Without heroin to keep me docile, I wasn’t going to let her have the chance to use any of her manipulative maneuvers she had used to seduce me to her way in the past.
After telling her what was up, she fell silent for a few seconds. She wasn’t expecting that I could tell because the next thing she did was forget the cat completely and told me how much she missed me and wanted to start things over between us.
There were a number of things that occurred between us that I’ve not mentioned, and while I played a part in them, the parts she had played at times were unforgivable. At least, it was too early to even begin thinking about forgiving and forgetting.
We parted ways on relatively good terms that time, we ended the call. It was the next time she called that would be the last time I’d speak to her. When she called to tell me that Roo had run away. At first, I wasn’t even mad. I was worried about my cat and where she could have run off to, but then I heard in her voice just how much she didn’t seem to care. My thoughts then went from Roo to the same reel playing over and over again in my head. Moving images of me smashing her face into the ground.
“I f***ing can’t believe you right now.” I paused. “We are done.”
I gently hung up the phone, walked back to my room where I smashed my own face into my pillow and cried. She could have sold Roo and the kittens for dope for all I knew. I never heard what happened to any of them.
Fast-forward a year, and I’m living in a zoo. The house where I stayed was inhabited by five humans, six cats, five dogs, eight iguanas, four birds, and various other tiny critters all coexisting harmoniously under one roof. Surprisingly, the animals got along fine. It was the humans that fought and caused a ruckus. While living in this house, I had been in and out of a number of different bands, playing drums and guitar.
One band I had auditioned to play drums for, had a smoking hot guitarist virtuoso. She was a few years younger than me, with bright red hair, dressed in black leather with shiny studs, who could shred. I was smitten by her but saw her as out of my league. Not to mention, she was our guitarist, and we didn’t want a Fleetwood Mac or No Doubt fiasco ruining the band. One night, however, out on the town, along with the many shots of whiskey being poured, hidden feelings came pouring out with them. She and I were official as of that night.
She was a recovering heroin addict as well, starting at a young age while playing Warped Tour with her all-female band. After a few months of dating, she began acting different, more spontaneous and wild. She was drinking way too much and getting sloppy every night. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I broke up with her.
The next day I got a phone call from her roommate and our bassist who told me he had found her body in his room on the floor against the bed, with a rig in her arm. She was gone at age nineteen.
Every hour of every day was spent dwelling on what I should or should not have done that would’ve kept her here with us. I’m not quite sure how many days it was after her death that one of my roommates had come home with a feline friend, an all black kitten with green eyes and giant fangs. couldn’t help but smile.
© WaKeUpWoRLD
