It was May 1, 2003. George W. Bush was on the USS Abraham Lincoln giving his "Mission Accomplished" speech. I was sixteen years old, hanging in a shabby apartment on the outskirts of my neighborhood. My friends and I had found a severe alcoholic named Victor to buy us booze when we wanted it. He was in his thirties, from El Salvador. He took a liking to me for some reason.
That day, I remember it being cold outside. I had probably been fighting with my mom. By that time she had already found out I was smoking pot and everything. I was pretty much drinking daily at this point as well. I could walk down the street though, to Victor's apartment, and get some beers any time. Alcohol was cheap and it dulled my senses much more conveniently that weed did. I had been a member of Bluelight for about four months.
Anyway. I think we were actually watching Bush's speech on Telemundo or something. Victor barely spoke any English and we pretty much just had Spanish soap operas on whenever I was over there getting drunk.
Victor smoked Marlboro lights. He slept on a single mattress, on the floor. He never went to sleep without a beer within reach for when he woke up in the morning.
One time we were sitting in his apartment, I think my friend Brendan or Watson was with us. I must have dropped something that rolled under the couch or something, because I looked under there and there was an unopened bottle of MD2020 just out of sight if you were standing up and looking down. I'll never forget the look of joy on Victor's face as he snatched it from me and chugged the whole thing. Warm.
We thought we were so superior to this unshaven, smelly lush from another country. We thought we were better... my friends had many, many laughs at Victor's expense.
Now I'm speaking in rehabs to kids that remind me of me. I'm getting text messages from Brendan who is living on the street (or in a laundry room or something). Watson looked like total shit last time I saw him... like way worse than Victor looked.
And that is what I think of whenever someone brings up the Mission Accomplished thing. I don't think so much about Bush's hypocrisy--just my own. Our own.
That day, I remember it being cold outside. I had probably been fighting with my mom. By that time she had already found out I was smoking pot and everything. I was pretty much drinking daily at this point as well. I could walk down the street though, to Victor's apartment, and get some beers any time. Alcohol was cheap and it dulled my senses much more conveniently that weed did. I had been a member of Bluelight for about four months.
Anyway. I think we were actually watching Bush's speech on Telemundo or something. Victor barely spoke any English and we pretty much just had Spanish soap operas on whenever I was over there getting drunk.
Victor smoked Marlboro lights. He slept on a single mattress, on the floor. He never went to sleep without a beer within reach for when he woke up in the morning.
One time we were sitting in his apartment, I think my friend Brendan or Watson was with us. I must have dropped something that rolled under the couch or something, because I looked under there and there was an unopened bottle of MD2020 just out of sight if you were standing up and looking down. I'll never forget the look of joy on Victor's face as he snatched it from me and chugged the whole thing. Warm.
We thought we were so superior to this unshaven, smelly lush from another country. We thought we were better... my friends had many, many laughs at Victor's expense.
Now I'm speaking in rehabs to kids that remind me of me. I'm getting text messages from Brendan who is living on the street (or in a laundry room or something). Watson looked like total shit last time I saw him... like way worse than Victor looked.
And that is what I think of whenever someone brings up the Mission Accomplished thing. I don't think so much about Bush's hypocrisy--just my own. Our own.
