»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
someone said futuristic...
| Passions in Prose |
|
someone said futuristic... |
|
|
Tramp Poet Senior Member
since 2000-01-06
Posts 754Could Be Anywhere... 
|
Brother Mark It was thirty years ago today I was my best friends pallbearer. Funny how the years drop away and jumble up and run together in my dreams. I first saw Mark on the first day of fifth grade. I was surprised, no not surprised. Surprised is the wrong word. Maybe compassionate? I don’t know what I felt other than sorrow when I first saw him. Maybe it was more that I saw myself the first day of school the year before. He was sitting there with that blank Thorazine stare, trademark Wranglers, cheap print shirt, those damned government issue half-boots that always lost there metal hooks and then the laces fell out...and of course the almost bald head with the electro burns like matching scars on either side of his head. I always thought those burns looked like where two horns had been burned off the crazy kids. Man, I felt a compassion or empathy, yeah empathy is the right word. It was a strange almost mystical feeling, dude. It was like looking a year into the past and seeing myself blankly staring into space. Anyway, I was moved like never before. I actually felt sorry for Mark. So I approached him and introduced myself, of course he didn’t, couldn’t care. I took his arm and brought him to the back of the class with me and from that day on we were best of friends. I looked after him until his hair grew back, and we could steal and hustle our pills enough to get some good clothes from the Salvation Army. Anything ‘cept that damned state uniform of cheap, lowest bidder crap we had to wear. I had to blow my counselor once a week to get Mark and I into the same house. No big deal, just another unpleasant chore. The older guys had been raping both of us for a few years anyway, no big deal. Survival has a funny way of making things with a price tag do-able. We were both on Thorazine at the time and of course over the years volunteered for any new drug treatment trails. By the end of our seventh grade year we were full blown junkies. But hey the state didn’t really care, being junkies kept us mellow and not fighting all the time. Then the dream skipped to hanging out at the park restroom. It was a good place to turn a few tricks, shoot up in the stalls and just hang in the shade while blitzed. Funny I remember this one day so clearly. We were walking up to the head, weird how we always called it the head...in our language “head” was another freak that was strung out on something, anything, the drug of their choice. Must have been the strong, almost overwhelming Navy influence on our young lives. Anyway we were walking up to the head and we noticed three dudes several years younger than us on top of our favorite table. We were checking them out when we both realized that they were us a couple years before. I remember turning to Mark and saying, “Dude, we gotta be brothers forever, man!” I will always be haunted by our blood brother, freak to freak handshake and the trust, mixed with an uncanny timeless weirdness feeling as we looked at each other and swore eternal brotherhood. Funny, it was prophetic. Fast forward to another time, we were jamming junk by that time. Almost out of high school. We were at our table and by this time we were shooting up outside in broad daylight, no longer caring if we were seen or got caught. I guess the down times doing cold turkey in jail were almost a forced relief from the sick and tired existence of our daily lives. This particular day will be in my memory banks and in my daydream and nightmares forever, it seems. I have this same needle dream on a regular basis even now thirty years later. We were at out table; I had just mixed up a teenage speed-ball slam. We were buying a eight-ball of smack and coke mixing them together and getting four shots out of the mix, so we called them teenagers. Speed-balls were our favorite ‘cause you ended with two highs at once. Your head was a yoyo bouncing from zap I’m wide awake and wired to nodding off into Grayworld where everything was warm and fuzzy.This particular day as the needle hit my vein and the blood came back to color the tube...the sunshine back-lit the rig and made the whole process surrealistic. Outside in plain view, tube of speed-ball, color splashing in the tube, sphincter tightening in anticipation, best friend holding off the vein, sunshine slicing through the mix...and finally the overwhelming rush of the load hitting home and falling out on the top of the table with the confidence that my best friend would guard me and clean up for me. It was a sweet moment that has forever been burned into my awareness. A year or so later we first heard the term AIDS and later HIV. We laughed at the skeletal remains of some of our older tormentors from childhood, those fags that had so abused us a kids. Only later did we realize that our beloved needle had given us the same death sentence. The day Mark died was the day that I quit using drugs forever, so far anyway. Laughing out loud, thirty years and it’s still one day at a time struggle. Just the habit of being straight is the only thing that keeps me keeping on. Mark got AIDS, so I guess I did too. Mark decided that he wasn’t going to waste away so he built a hot load and slammed to death right there on our favorite table with me holding off his arm and crying as we said goodbye. Once again I was in cheap state loaned clothes as we carried Mark to rest. Wasn’t many people there, junkies don’t have many friends. No flowers, no caravan to the graveyard...none of that citizen stuff for my life long friend. Just another junkie being planted by the state. That was thirty years ago today. And as I woke this morning, I carried into consciousness the vision of my friend that first day of school so long ago with his ugly clothes and fresh dual burns on his head. And even though society will never mourn the death of just another junkie.... I will always miss my best friend. bleeding... "Tis ink coming from his arm, Captain!" |
||
| © Copyright 2000 Daniel James Burt - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
sweetcollege_girl Senior Member
since 1999-12-03
Posts 872just about where I want to be |
Wow....that was an emotional story...i don't quite know what to say...it was very good...but good isn't the word for it...so sad...  ~*~SCG~*~ |
||
|
Tramp Poet Senior Member
since 2000-01-06
Posts 754Could Be Anywhere... |
thanks for the comment, Sweet! yes this piece of fiction just came bubbling out one day. Interesting how they clammor and then force themselves into text, eh? For the record, i have never had a running partner quite like this...sorry tis fiction. thanks again for the imput! bleeding... "Tis ink coming from his arm, Captain!" |
||
|
AngelShell Member
since 2000-03-01
Posts 446not heaven nor hell so... |
hmmm...although this story is so sad it has to be said...it is also very disturbing...not disturbing in a totally bad way...just...disturbing...the whole piece wreaks this black vibe...but black vibes can sometimes be good, depends on what you're going for I guess. None the less I couldn't take my eyes off the screen...it will be interesting to see what you come up with next... |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
