They took my friend. He is found by the police, arrested for crack whatever. He is quite, sober and released the next morning. I bring clothes for him when I pick him up at the jail.
“just get in”
He is different like people who have been raped are different to everyone but themselves. He is in his head a little more, observant, some things are completely devoid of context for him, like how to get into my car. He knows it’s a handle, knows how to open a door, get in, sit, buckle up, stay still till the car stops moving again and then get out.. he is just stuck somewhere in the beginning of the process and can’t un-stick. I pop the door. He won’t put the shirt or the shoes and socks on, holds them like a purse on his lap.
The three burn holes behind his shoulder, the ruptured cornea, the blood in his shit and his piss, I put the puzzle together quickly.
He maybe thinks he was sometimes but I run interference for him, he should never find out, no one should. I layer a return to a life of drugs and violence into both of our lives to hide the tik’s, the fuzzy logic, the screaming, the psychosis. Now he is just dangerous.
It happens twice more, and after the last time, he is bed ridden, blood won’t clot, can’t keep food down to heal, mind keeps resetting like a seizure, sending waves of peace to what internal shore?
“drink it”
“hooaa thats good”
I put the sippy cup and a cinder-block shelf by his mattress and leave for the day. When I come back he is just gone.
I have thought a lot about how and why and it goes nowhere. It sucks when someone doesn’t want you to know something and they are powerful or clever enough to keep you from finding out. I suppose I have changed too. I don’t care if they get me, I know they won’t...
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