I used to like to play the devil's advocate. Without thinking about it, I would encourage others to follow me on my self destructive path.
Betty was a friend of mine. I met her through a girlfriend, and found her to be a really good person. She had a lot of pain inside her. Her young son had recently died of an illness before reaching his first birthday. She managed to keep going. That says a lot. I have no doubt that if I were ever to lose both my children, I would choose the Hemingway Solution. They're all I got.
But SHE was tougher than me. 6 foot 1, former marine, full of attitude, and just a strong minded human being.
Like I said, she had a lot of pain inside her. At some point, she turned to smack. I could see what was happening, but knew the score. She faded away, and I didn't see her for a couple months.
One day, I spotted her in a parking lot that was shared by a health club and a Mexican restaurant. "Hey! I'm going to taco Tuesday. 2$ tequila shots! You wanna join me?"
She answered, "No, I just got out of rehab. I was actually working out at the gym. I'm headed home now, but thanks."
I wasn't taking no for an answer.
"Come on. You weren't in rehab for tequila. My treat! I promise there's no heroin in there! Fuck 12 steps! You know, Bill W. died screaming for whiskey on his deathbed? Do it for him!" I kept on badgering her.
"Oh, fuck it. Your treat, asshole."
In the Mexican joint we got mucho drunko, and she showed me her new tattoo. It was some weird serpent lady with three heads, in the shape of the number 3. "It's the triple goddess," she told me.
Exactly one week later, March third, 2003, 03-03-03, she was dead from a heroin overdose. There's a lot of weird shit that happened that night. She came to me in a dream. Two days before I got the news, I already knew. I won't go into all of it.
I was angry that she was dead. I knew that she never shot herself up, she always asked others to do it for her, and I found out who the dude she was hanging out with was.
Her dad was a former US Marine, and current police detective at the time. I wanted revenge, but knew he had first dibs. At the funeral, I handed him a slip of paper with the guy's name and address on it. Asked him if he wanted first crack. He didn't know me from Adam, and pocketed the slip of paper, gave me a bullshit line about letting the courts deal with it. He didn't trust me, and I don't blame him.
Word came back less than a month later, that the guy was savagely attacked by 3 guys with baseball bats on a Seattle sidewalk, random act of senseless violence. Put him in a coma. Also, this was the third chick who died in his company.
I hold a lot of the blame for what happened to my friend. Not all the blame, but a lot. If I didn't talk her into tequila at taco Tuesday, would she have relapsed so quickly? No, I don't think she would have.
I will never play devils advocate, ever again.
Narco Night Train Kindle Edition
