Nifty needs money, as well as stories, contribute according to your means!
Ian's Story -- Part 8
I stayed clean for another six months, went back to the tent on the river, stayed clear of Devon, and my druggie buddies, but, old friends were old friends, and I gradually began to hang out with them. And, it was getting cold, I did not have a family, Devon let me sleep at his apartment on cold nights, and I began using again. And, as addiction goes, I wanted more and more, and eventually, could not sell my body, since I was in such tough shape, and no way would the supermarket hire me, nor would anyone else. And, I was HIV positive, and feeling it, so I had full blown AIDS. All I had for a future was death, so, I might as well feel good if I could, which was drugs.
I had no skills, other than the gift of gab, as Devon would say. My father had been out of my life for years, my mother had finally totally abandoned me, I was 20, and I was in control of my life, which was out of control, so she had written me off. She had even written some poetry, as though I were dead, since I was dead to her.
By December, I had no place to live, since I had burned all my bridges, and had no money, and what little I did earn, went to drugs. I was found, lying in the park, in a below freezing night, comatose, and taken to the hospital, where, I was warmed up. I had heroin on me, ready for the next fix, the cops who picked me up charged me with possession, so once I was conscious, I was back in jail.
I was arraigned the next morning, no one would post bail, I had been through this before, but this time my addiction was such that withdrawal was awful. I was seeing bugs everywhere, all over me, trying to bite me, water dripping from the ceiling, nauseous, and just felt terrible. I sat in a corner of the cell, pissing my pants, I didn't care, I wanted to die. I actually prayed to God to let me die, but, He was not listening.
The Public Defender, again, I know not which one he was, I was just a number for him, wanted to plead me down from heroin, to just marijuana, and Judge Otis, who I had fucked at least a half dozen times, a few years before, recognized me. "How would you feel about a 30 day drug rehab?" he asked.
"Fine, Your Honor," I replied. It was not going to save my life, but at least I would have a roof, and food, and I would be warm, as I slowly died.
"So be it, Atty ? (I don't remember his name) make the arrangements, the State will pay, but you, young man, will go back to confinement unless someone posts bail, until a space opens up at the New Day Clinic. If you do not complete the treatment at the Clinic, you will be back here, and, probably, back in jail. Do you understand this?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
I spent another week in jail, was then bailed out by Denny who had been told by Mr. O'Reilly about my situation, got high again, thanks to my buddy Devon, and then showed up when I was supposed to, high, and was transported to the New Day Clinic.
The New Day Clinic was a drug rehab facility run by "Born Again" Christians who were putting their money, and time, where their mouth was. They, like Father Dennis, were trying to help people, not just spouting their religion. It was known that I was suffering from AIDS, and that was made known to the other patients, so that if sex happened it was with open eyes, and precautions. Condoms were freely available, for example, so patients could protect themselves, and others. But AIDS had gotten to me to the point I was not very interested in sex. I did have morning wood, but, getting wood voluntarily, later in the day, was an effort, sometimes, useless. I just could not get hard. The symptoms of AIDS got treated, but there was no cure, and I felt miserable much of the time. The dreaded Kaposi's lesions, began to appear on my face, and so, I was a marked man.
I went through withdrawal again, this time with the help of methadone, it was not a bad as what used to be called "cold turkey", and am now at day 29 of 30, and will be released tomorrow. I am going to try to go straight, drug wise, but it is November, I have nowhere to go, except to sleep on the couch at Devon's, so the temptation to get high, will be high.
And, that is where his story ends. Ian was found, two weeks later, in the park, pissed pants, dead, of what turned out to be an overdose of heroin. There was no funeral. There was a short "service" in the park, of those who remembered him, it was grey, cold, windy, and just a raw New England day. Denny presided, Mr. O'Reilly, Ricardo, Jason, Lex, Marty, Rodney, Ramon and a few other guys and girls who had known him were there, said nice things about him, and, then went their separate ways. Devon did not show.
Someone told his mother about this, probably Mr. O'Reilly, and she was there, along with Mrs. Donnelly, in the distant background, shaken women, alone except for each other, and crying. Denny and Mr. O'Reilly went over to them, and, it would appear, commiserated, and expressed the wish that they could have done more, the women felt the same way, only more so, and that, my friends, is the end.
Now, 50 years later, AIDS can be controlled, and is no longer a death sentence, but fentanyl is, and guys like Ian are falling from that every day. Narcan is available over the counter, the nasal spray kind, in most states, if you hang with guys and girls who use drugs, buy a package and save a life, at least for a time, during which your friend just might see the light and stop using. But, beware, it works but the patient often pisses and shits his or her pants, and is often really pissed at you, since you broke into his or her high, and can be combative. Instead of thanks a black eye, or knocked out tooth, might be your reward.
The characters in this story are fictional, but, "write about what you know about", is my mantra, and I knew all these people, names are changed, dialogue is mostly invented, but the basic life stories are basically true. Ian is dead, long ago, and Mr. O'Reilly, Mrs. Donnelly, Lex's mother, and others of that generation are all dead, Father Dennis would be in his 90's, if alive, and the rest of the cast might be still with us. If you read this and identify with one of them, send me an email, and we can catch up on how our lives turned out. Unlike my other series on Nifty, none of them is based on me. My other series, partly posted now, April 2023, is Gay/College/Cupcake-Ranch, and a third, written in part, but not yet posted at all, is Gay/College/Not-so-innocent-abroad. My email is samnhsamnh@outlook.com, my name is Sam.