Our bus was full
and it was set up for long rides so we had our own privy. We also had our own
Heroin junkie who would make his way to the toilet every hour or two to get
high. He would go into a heavy nod after his return. He obviously had not
bathed for some time considering the strong body odor that emanated from him.
He was a young white male brown hair thin and pale, heroin sheik with a sweat
stained yellow button up shirt, gray slacks and a beige coat. James and I had
chance to speak of his activities forming a sort of prejudgment mixed with
pity. Until something change all that. A Hispanic lady was traveling at the back
of the bus with her two children and after her daughter had gone to use the
restroom she made her way to the front of the bus. The intercom turned on and
the whole bus shushed for the up coming announcement. The driver said, “If
anyone has diabetes, you dropped your needles in the restroom and a little
three year old girl found them on the floor.” The bus maintained the silence of
a library after the Librarian lets loose a deafening ‘SHHH”. I knew what it
was. I got up and went to inspect the restroom and as I surmised what lay on
the floor was the Junkies works with a loaded syringe full of black tar heroin.
I picked them up and made my way back to my seat to confer with James. After a
few minuets we decided that the Junkie had to go or turn over his product. It
was then James starting asking, “I wonder what heroin is like?” I turned and
looked at him with disbelief in my eyes. He did not fully grip the extremity of
the situation and lent himself into musings of getting high. That is not where
my mind went at all; I lay my concerns for the safety of those around me.
Shortly after this the Junkie made his way to the seat across the isle from us.
As he sat down I noticed the heavy object that lay in his jacket pocket which
pulled on his coat, and his hand as it slid into the pocket to hold the item
which lay within. This man was armed. He knew what we had been talking about. I
looked at him and let my gaze penetrate him for a long second and said, “You
fucked up dude.”
James interjected
and said with a menacing tone, “Either get off the bus or we’ll take that from
you”
I saw the muscles
on the man’s arm tighten and his face became more sallow mixed with a great
fear. He said through clenched teeth, “I will fight for this.” This was not a threat
but a harsh reality that could prove very dangerous and quickly get out of
control.
I looked deep into
his eyes forcing him to keep his attention on me not James. I asked one question
that still echoes in my ears, “If that little girl died from what you
carelessly left on the floor could you live with that child’s soul on your conscious?”
The young man
looked at me with a look of surprise on his face and then the question touched
something within him. A frown crossed his eyes and he replied in a subdued and
morose voice that belayed his true trapped spirit. “No” he said “No, I could not.” “I’ll get off the bus at the next rest stop.”
When we reached the next rest station I spoke
with the driver, and told him someone would be getting of at the next stop. I
got off the bus and threw the works on the ground stomping and smashing them
with my black combat boots into the snow and then put them in the trash. I
remember the young man beset by fear across the parking lot. The fear was jail
and a forced with-drawl from the heroin that he had become so dependant on. I
asked him as his bag was taken off the bus and asked, “What are you going to
do?” I was really curious because the next stop was in the middle of no-where.
He looked at me and said, “I’m going to find a program, and get clean” turned
and walked off into the snow. I have always wondered what happened to him.
THOR
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