Spencer
Bluelight Crew
Red hair and pink lipstick, blue eyes on black eye shadow. She had a faint smell of patchulli oil. It always made me queasy when I would first be around her. But like all things, I grew used to it after a while. I grew used to the clicking of teeth as they bite nail. The soft sighs that would eminate every now and again as she would slept. I even grew used to the way she would slurp her soup, that little grin finding the corners of her mouth when she became aware of me staring at her as she did it.
She used to laugh all the time, one soft and sustained mmm'ing. eyes squinting slightly. She thought the silliest things wree funny, like Jack Russel Terriers, and the name Willy. She used to love to dance. Anything with a beat was fair game to the swaying of her hips and the swinging of her arms. No one could ever bring themselves to tell her she had no rhythm, because she always looked like she was having so much fun, and you could tell that she knew, and just didn't care. And when she found the needle, no one had the heart to tell her she was ruining her life because she always seemed so empowered, like smack was the greatest thing to ever happen to her.
And for a while it was, you know? 'Cause you could tell that everything she did was so much more fullfilling and worthwhile when she was high. Shit, she even got me hooked on that stuff, although I could never find the same happiness, the same smile that she found from it. If she could light up a room before she was high, just imagine the energyshe brought to the table after having a chase in the bathroom. She made everyone feel safe, loved, comfortable. People would gravitate towards her, as if she were the queen of Never Never Land, and the would give anything to be her subjects.
And like all things, everyone grew used to it. We all had expectations of someone who was taking for granted that she would just always be happy, and she would make you ahppy because of it. She was a bright girl, and she was painfully aware of that fact. And after a time she became aware that when she wasn't high she just wasn't as fun anymore, at least not in her own eyes, and so soon she was always high, and everything was alright.
And for years, everythign was alright. We would go out, get some junk, get high, and party. We were carefree. Nothing else mattered but feeling good, and making everyone else feel as we were. Sure, there were tough times, like when we were broke, and she would sell her body on the street to get money for our juice. She insisted I not shoplift. It's too dangerous, she said. I could never argue with her. It was a pointless battle. But once we would get our score, we would just go home and shoot up, and eveything was alright again. And when one of our friends would OD, we would always try to kick the smack, but sooner or later, we always came back to it.
One day we found out she was pregnant. We were thr two happiest people in the world, and everyone around was happy for us. There was no way we were going to let our child be born addicted, and so we both made a pledge to each other to clean up. I've been clean for six months now. I'm living at home with my parents, working odd jobs, trying to get by. I haven't seen her in almost as long. One night, she just left. She wasn't strong enough to do it. Someone told me they saw her a few months back. She lost the baby, and was living with some new guy, that same happiness exuding from her and blinding him to reality. I think about her all the time.
Everytime I smell patchulli, and feel that wave of nausia, I turn around, hoping to see her. But she's never there. And so I can only hope that she's doing well, and making as many people as possible happy. Because ever since the day she left, I forgot what happiness was like. Maybe one day I will find her again.
She used to laugh all the time, one soft and sustained mmm'ing. eyes squinting slightly. She thought the silliest things wree funny, like Jack Russel Terriers, and the name Willy. She used to love to dance. Anything with a beat was fair game to the swaying of her hips and the swinging of her arms. No one could ever bring themselves to tell her she had no rhythm, because she always looked like she was having so much fun, and you could tell that she knew, and just didn't care. And when she found the needle, no one had the heart to tell her she was ruining her life because she always seemed so empowered, like smack was the greatest thing to ever happen to her.
And for a while it was, you know? 'Cause you could tell that everything she did was so much more fullfilling and worthwhile when she was high. Shit, she even got me hooked on that stuff, although I could never find the same happiness, the same smile that she found from it. If she could light up a room before she was high, just imagine the energyshe brought to the table after having a chase in the bathroom. She made everyone feel safe, loved, comfortable. People would gravitate towards her, as if she were the queen of Never Never Land, and the would give anything to be her subjects.
And like all things, everyone grew used to it. We all had expectations of someone who was taking for granted that she would just always be happy, and she would make you ahppy because of it. She was a bright girl, and she was painfully aware of that fact. And after a time she became aware that when she wasn't high she just wasn't as fun anymore, at least not in her own eyes, and so soon she was always high, and everything was alright.
And for years, everythign was alright. We would go out, get some junk, get high, and party. We were carefree. Nothing else mattered but feeling good, and making everyone else feel as we were. Sure, there were tough times, like when we were broke, and she would sell her body on the street to get money for our juice. She insisted I not shoplift. It's too dangerous, she said. I could never argue with her. It was a pointless battle. But once we would get our score, we would just go home and shoot up, and eveything was alright again. And when one of our friends would OD, we would always try to kick the smack, but sooner or later, we always came back to it.
One day we found out she was pregnant. We were thr two happiest people in the world, and everyone around was happy for us. There was no way we were going to let our child be born addicted, and so we both made a pledge to each other to clean up. I've been clean for six months now. I'm living at home with my parents, working odd jobs, trying to get by. I haven't seen her in almost as long. One night, she just left. She wasn't strong enough to do it. Someone told me they saw her a few months back. She lost the baby, and was living with some new guy, that same happiness exuding from her and blinding him to reality. I think about her all the time.
Everytime I smell patchulli, and feel that wave of nausia, I turn around, hoping to see her. But she's never there. And so I can only hope that she's doing well, and making as many people as possible happy. Because ever since the day she left, I forgot what happiness was like. Maybe one day I will find her again.
So its a lose lose situation, keep the drugs and die/go mental, or kick the drugs and be miserable coz life can never be that fun again. 
Thank you for the concern though, frostyangel.