Disclaimer: This story contains drug culture, male/male and female/female sexual references. Don't like it, look at something else. Or play some tennis. Buy a goldfish. Indulge in some heavy alcoholic drinking. The world is your oyster. I in no way infer the sexuality of the members of the band Jebediah. They do a pretty good job of it themselves. Fan mail to webtrash@unpunk.com
-1-
My shaky hands struggled to hold the spoon level as I crouched in the toolshed, dissolving the small white crumbs of heroin into the dark liquid I craved. I had failed miserably in my attempt to go cold turkey, but now looked forward to the rush, the hit, the end to my feverish cravings.
With the long-practised hand of a junkie, I twisted the sweatband around my arm, twice, three times. Inspecting the bulging vein, I winced as the single sharp fang of the needle bit into the sensitive pink flesh of my forearm. My body shuddered, and I slumped against the corrugated wall behind me, the drug rushing through the crowded expressways of my body.
I felt like a sponge, absorbing the light and sound from around me, the air began to thicken and cloud and in the distance, angels called from sparkling harems. I lay like this for an hour or so, watching the clouds twist and contort, and only became aware of my own existence once again as the light patter of the first spring rains alerted me to my surroundings.
I was in my back garden, in the slummy south-eastern suburbs of Perth, Western Australia. I was a teenage heroin addict. And this is my story.
Burying the fit and spoon deep into the wastebasket in my room, I heard mum's footsteps on the wooden floor as she padded towards my room.
"Phone call for you, Trent."
"Thanks, I'll pick it up in here."
I rolled across my bed to the phone and picked it up.
"You can hang up now mum."
Click.
"G'day Trent, it's Ryan."
"Oh hi. Why you callin'?"
"Tickets went on sale today for Jebz."
My heart skipped a beat, and my fingers tightened on the phone. Jebediah were my favourite band, and neither hell nor high water was going to stop me going to the Perth stop of the Of Someday Shambles tour. But I was a kid with an expensive habit, and the tickets were $45 each, way out of my reach.
"Can't make it Ry. Just can't afford it."
"I know, that's why I bought your ticket.."
I had to pause to gather my thoughts and calm myself down.
"Ya didn't have to do that man."
"What, and have you miss out on scopin' yer loverboy's concert? Whatever man."
Ryan was the only person who knew I was gay. Or thought I was. All I knew was, when I heard Kevin Mitchell's voice, his words, his pure emotion, I fell further and further in love with him. I drank of his presence, his sense of justice, his fun-loving disposition. Kevin was everything I wanted to be (not to mention everything I wanted to be in, hehe). Ry knew this, and had once again come through for me.
"I owe you man. I truly owe you this time."
"Yeah, just like for the CD writer, the bass amp and your Physics homework for the past six months. Catch you at school tomorrow."
"k. Bye."
Click.
As soon as the handset met the cradle, I leapt clumsily from my bed and jogged down the long hallway to the dining room.
"Mum, Ryan bought me a ticket to see Jebediah."
"That was nice of him. When's the concert?"
"The 25th."
Mum frowned, and I immediatly knew I'd forgotten something on that date.
"Your father is coming back from Garden Island that day. I thought we could have a nice quiet family dinner, like we used to."
Dad was in the Australian Navy, a Commander for the 17th Navy Corps. Not your average military type tho. I worshipped my father, and when he left to live on base for a year, it was like being kicked in the guts like a naughty puppy that doesnt know how to obey. We wrote to eachother and talked all the time, and I cursed myself for forgetting his return.
Lust won out.
"We can have lunch together, and I'll be home from the gig by midnight! Come on, Ry and I have been planning this for-"
"Ryan seems to have taken a big interest in you lately. Is there anything I should know?"
My mind and breath did a double take. Preparing to jump on the defensive, I realised that would just harden her growing suspicions. I brushed it off quickly.
"He's a nice guy. Looks out for me at school and stuff. Nothing like that."
"OK." Mum relaxed again, then I counted down. Five, four, three, two..
"But you know, if you ever feel you need to-"
"I know, I know! I can talk to you."
She was almost infuriating with her understanding shit. How could I possibly talk to her? About being the only 16 year old heroin addict I know? About my love for another guy? About selling my belongings to satisfy an urge I no longer wanted? She knew nothing. I had built a wall around myself, my own temple of shame and self-denial. Yeah, I'm fine. Yeah, things'll work out. Keanu may have had his own private Idaho, I got my own private country right here.
I leaned back on the chair, brushing the strands of brown hair from my face, and quietly looked around the dining area of my home. The granite breakfast bench, the cool black plastic of the table, the china stacked delicately at one corner. The japanese flower arrangement, floating in it's little black tub of water. The blue whale print on the wall. For all her faults, my mother had taste. She knew how to turn a ninety-dollar-a-week dump into a livable, almost homely space. But that's what you get for having an interior decorator for a mum.
She spooned macaroni cheese onto my plate and placed it in front of me, before sitting down with her coffee and glossy black clientele file. We generally ate in silence, speaking only when there was something to talk about. Not an unfriendly silence, just quiet. Mum flipped through her file, making a note here, comparing a page to her colour sheet, peering over her bifocals at the tiny type below each proof.
She finally spoke.
"Yes, alright. You can see Jebediah. Your father will understand."
"Thanks, mum."
I looked up at the clock. One week, six days, seven hours left.