He has a tattoo of a lion or Bob Marley on his left shoulder. He makes me shake and takes me for a cheeseburger, and pays with a one-hundred dollar bill. He never cares that I am young. His dad is dead. He gets me addicted to the idea of cocaine.
I sniff a large line of cocaine up my nose through a twenty-dollar bill. I let it drip down the back of my throat. It has a very sterile taste, unlike acid blotters, which taste like mint. He moves his hand towards my face and wipes the white residue from under my nostrils. I sit facing him and cry in my underwear. I look around briefly, notice the mirrors glimmering and the walls breathing. I am immobile. I am impenetrable. I am dying. Colors reach past my eyes into my brain, wrapping it up and smothering it until it burst into fragments of life. They make every touch feel like sex, the kind of sex where you can’t stop shaking.
When I am seventeen I move to Brooklyn to attend art school. My first semester at Pratt I have a GPA of 2.3 and a BAC of .1 or more. It is here that I form my relationship with chemical reactions.
I always feel like I am being left out of something. I think Chester is the only person who understands this because he lives in New York City and men don’t love him the way he deserves to be loved.
"...I form my relationship with chemical reactions."
ReplyDeleteI love that line because I know EXACTLY what you mean/how you feel.