The Big Fix by Tracey Helton Mitchell Read Free Book Online

the epidemic were everywhere. It seemed like everyone had a cane or an oxygen tank. I was smart enough to be afraid and naïve enough to push forward anyway.
    Within days, I was full of so many different kinds of drugs. I didn’t find Jeremy right away, but I found ten other people just like him. Eager young men in need of money and a chick to hang out with them. Within a few days my friend asked me politely to leave. I certainly didn’t blame him. The second night I was in the city, I was returned to his room by strangers. I had passed out in the center of town. I was slumped against a stop sign when some Good Samaritans graciously offered to transport me back to the dorms. “Where do you live?” they asked. “Ohio” was my reply. A new acquaintance thought he was helping me out when he gave me a Klonopin mixed with some other kind of medication to chase the heroin. I had $800 tucked in my sweaty bra.
    In the first month I was in the city, I found the heroin, Xanax, crystal methamphetamine, cheap alcohol, and crack cocaine. It did not take long to burn through what money I had on drugs and hotel rooms. When I had brief moments of consciousness, I would think about my mother.I knew she would be expecting her Sunday phone call. But I could not pick up the phone. I was too ashamed. The truth was too hard to explain. I had abandoned school to live on the streets of a strange city. But I had no shortage of excuses. She would be better off without me. It was painful for me to think of how I must be hurting her. I couldn’t bear to hear her voice. She would never understand. How could she? I barely understood myself. I eventually called anyway. At first I told her I was on vacation. Then I said I was looking into a new school. At some point along the way, I simply stopped calling. She had to find out from my landlord that I was not coming home. I thought it might be better for everyone involved if I just disappeared. I did—I disappeared into a chemical coma. I felt brief moments of happiness. Most of all, I felt numb. That was what I thought I needed.
    I made friends quickly, other kids who had left their homes to escape to the city. Many of them were fleeing abusive parents. Some of them had come out as gay, lesbian, or transgender, only to be kicked out into the streets. We would huddle together on Market Street sharing beers while swapping stories about the places we wanted to see across the U.S. Every week, it seemed like there was a new group of people. It was easy at first, sleeping in little groups on the street or in abandoned buildings. The money for hotels was long gone. For $20, I could pull together enough drugs or alcohol to satisfy my tiny habit. But that honeymoon phase didn’t last long. The romance of being on the road soured as my habit increased. I had never been exposed to heroin long enough to know how quickly it takes hold of a person.It was as if one day I woke up with an unquenchable thirst, and the only thing that satisfied me was that drug.
    I had to find ways to support a growing habit.
    I ran into Jeremy one afternoon when I was sick with the beginning of a withdrawal. He told me he would fix me up at “his” apartment. I don’t know why I actually believed for a second that it was his. He was living with a blue-haired stripper. She was taking care of all the bills while he made a few dollars here and there facilitating minor drug deals. He seemed genuinely happy to see me, though troubled.
    As he cooked up the drugs, he nearly burned a hole in his leather pants. He looked like he had stepped out of London in the late ’70s with his perfect English punk attire. He seemed slightly out of place on that hot day. He didn’t have a shirt on, and I could see the scars from where he had been cutting himself again.
    â€œWhy are you here?” he asked me.
    Because . . . I didn’t know anymore.
    I held my syringe in my hand as he did his issue. He