Little Baby Buntin

              They let me stay home for Christmas day. It seemed important. I couldn't imagine going into some God Knows what sort of place on Christmas day, And so, early the next day, I picked up some things. Not much; I always travel light. Light as can be. I took something to play music on and some cassettes. I took whatever worn-out clothes I'd brought home for Christmas and just went. The place was a palatial smattering of old houses here and there. All with different functions. I landed in the detox house first. Everyone was kind. Older Black nurses and some young guys in scrubs are taking blood and asking questions. How much was I using? How many grams a day?

I always undersell my habit. I shouldn't. I'd get more meds if I told the truth, but I was ashamed. I just told them maybe a gram a day. It was more, and there was crack as well, but I didn't mention that. They knew. They had systems in place to regulate my story. They walked me to a bedroom and told me to just lie down, and they'd be back soon with some meds to help me sleep. I'd really done it this time. God, If I only knew what a huge part of my life this whole ritual was to become. You think it's only going to happen once. Once a year, maybe.

              The next few days, I slept, was woken up and led to a dining room table to eat with the other detox patients. We didn't talk much. We were all just cold-cocked by shame. We'd huff in some bologna sandwiches and shuffle off to our beds.

              In time I started feeling better. My blood pressure reading and whatever else they were checking seemed ok. I was ready to be moved to one of the residential houses. I packed my bag, and someone walked me to a beautiful stone house across the grounds. People were milling about. Saying hi, and what's your name? I tried to be kind, but I was scared. They were all sorts of people. O’l black guys and middle-aged white guys who looked like plumbers, and one young girl in sweatpants who I just fell in love with. I just followed them upstairs to my bedroom. I had a little table and other beds in the room, but no people. Who was I to meet? Man! I can't begin to describe the fear and confusion. They were gentle with me. Just lie down. If you want to get up and walk around and meet people, that's fine. It's so cold in Alaska. That line pops in my head. I was so cold and scared.

              There were no dogs there. That seemed wrong. Just no little saints licking the tears away, we'd have to do for ourselves.

              My first friend was a guy named Muhamed. He was at least 70 and had worked at the GM plant in Baltimore for decades. A good job, But every cent went to shooting dope. He had it down. I suppose he was here now with his Koran and ready to change. He called me Hollywood. He was fascinated by what a wild young kid I was, dressed in goofy clothes and listening to crazy music. But we bonded. He took me under his wing. We walked to the dining hall together, and he introduced me to all of his friends. I was so completely blown away. It had never occurred to me that regular working people got strung out. I'd deluded myself that only hipsters and musicians fell into this trap. I was surrounded by normal people, mailmen, mechanics, and GM workers. It blew my mind. Jesus, What had I been thinking? This thing got into all of us. The tendrils of heroin could penetrate every kevlar vest. I was just Hollywood. Just another version of the sick.

              Days went on. There were AA meetings and There were sessions with my therapist. She was a hard beautiful woman who pulled no punches. She told me aI needed to call a guy named Peter and ask him to be my sponsor. He was a New York, Lou Reed type. I was terrified, but I did it. I closed the door in the payphone booth and called him and asked him for help. He was with me for the next year until I returned to LA. Peter, you did more for me than anyone. I hope you're alive and happy somewhere. I can at least imagine that,

              At some point, I had to write my own obituary. I'm sure I tried to make it arty and interesting, but I think I just died in it. There was nothing interesting about just ending a life so unlived.

              At night I'd play music on the little cassette player I had. I had Killdsozer's Litlle Baby Buntin. It caused quite a stir in the room. It was abrasive and sang about my old man getting his face blown off in a flour factory explosion. I was thrilled at how fucked up it sounded to everyone. We smiled and laughed,

              And then there was the sweatpants girl. I think her name was Robin. A couple years younger than me, but we stuck together. I needed someone to love. She was there because she watched her boyfriend Rafe die from snorting dope in Egypt. It just killed him. Her parents swooped her up, and she landed here. I came so close to kissing her one night, but I held back. I couldn't do it. I felt it would fuck her up, and I’d be a monster. I don't know where she is, but I hope she's safe and far away from me

              Days moved on, and there are visions of AA meetings in rooms and waking to the meal room and then going to town once to buy stuff and the CVS. I saw a magazine with Nick Cave on the cover. I held it like it was the holy grail. The story was that he’d gone to rehab in England, Fuck! We were both in rehab together. That just floored me. It gave me hope, I beamed, I swooned, I put it down and walked away. Maybe I had a chance. I didn’t want this life anymore as much as it pulled me in with pleasure and relief, even if it was killing me. I’m too young to make these decisions. I’m just a kid, I walked out of the store and cried a little and waited for the group. I didn't let them see,

              I just kept going and doing what the told me to do. And I kept doing it over and over for decades. I just kept landing in places like this and saying ok, I'll try.

I don't know just where I'm going
But I'm gonna try for the kingdom, if I can
'Cause it makes me feel like I'm a man
When I put a spike into my vein

And I'll tell ya, things aren't quite the same
When I'm rushing on my run
And I feel just like Jesus' son
And I guess that I just don't know
And I guess that I just don't know

I have made the big decision
I'm gonna try to nullify my life
'Cause when the blood begins to flow
When it shoots up the dropper's neck
When I'm closing in on death

I wish it was all so different