Our eyes met WATCH WHERE YOU ARE GOING is what he had planned to say to me. When our eyes met, he whispered "Oh, fuck." This was the kind of statement a person make when they have come upon something so glorious and so destructive at the same time- the force that pulls two junkies together. He had a baby face. He had one of those soft sort of half formed mustaches that was not quite whiskers. He had on a baggy t-shirt and some loose army pants, the black kind, with plenty of pockets, to hold all of his belongings. You could tell he was rail thin under his clothes. I wanted to touch his collarbones. He had wavy short hair and was shorter than most of the men, if you could call him a man. He had the face like a boy and the eyes of an experienced hustler. He jumped up from the hot bricks of the sidewalk.
"Where are you going?" Time froze for one second. For one second, it was like a real love story from any movie. Boy meets girl. There are butterflies. They have this instant attraction. But this wasn't the movies. This was the streets of San Francisco and I was fucking dopesick so fuck romance. I never said a word to him. He just started walking and talking to me.
I was a few feet in front of him. I did not care at this point. I was sick as fuck. I walked up a four car lengths. I was in a good spot in the alley where I could see the police in either direction. I sat on the curb. Then the dry heaves hit me. FUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKK. I was trying to get my dope out of my mouth so I wouldn't throw it up into a storm drain. I felt his hand on my shoulder. He was moving my hair so I didn't get puke and snot on it. That face. Those eyes.
He never said- here let me help you. He reached in his pants and pulled out his cooker. He moved me to the side so he could sit down. I couldn't talk- I was too sick.
"My name is Daniel." He completely took over. I let him. I handed him my drugs. I pulled up my pants and got a clean rig from my sock. I tried to say that I was not sharing but I was still heaving at the impending dope. He knew I was going to share. I was going to share everything with him. He reached into my balled hands to get the drugs like a mouse approaching a crouched tiger. I opened up my hand. That was the moment I gave him everything.
He never asked me I was going to share with him. He did everything for me. With a profound speed, he prepared my drugs while I puked on the side walk between my legs. He has a cooker, water, wipes, everthing in those pockets. He held up my hot syringe and pushed up my sleeve before I could protest. "Damn girl- you got no veins!"
He reached down and pulled out his shoe lace and wrapped it around my arm. Why did I trust him? I had no choice. I needed him. I needed him at that moment more than I needed anyone in the entire universe. He looked at the back of my arm. Before I could argue that it was impossible to hit me there, he stuck the needle in. As I felt the warm come over me, I no longer wanted to be alone. I wanted to be held, to be adored by this man.
He had saved himself a very healthy cotton. He looked around for traffic, the police, anyone who could interrupt this moment.
"I'm doing this- okay?" What? He is asking? Why is he asking me anyway. What the fuck. It is only a quarter gram. The sense is starting to pump through me again. Who the fuck is this dude? Once the rush wore off, I saw him in a different light. He wasn't a hero anymore. He was an opportunistic fuck face trying to use me for my dope. Where is my other bag? Somehow I managed not to give it up in my moment.
"OK dude. You can have that. I got to bounce." As I started to get up, I could see the pain on his face. he thought we were going to hang out. he thought this thing had started between us. He thought that I was going to be some fucking lightweight that was going to kick back and sun myself after less than a quarter gram. And then, he saw I was not that person. And he liked me even more. Because he was not that guy either.
He reached out for my wrist "...babe. Seriously wait for me. Wait one minute. I promise you won't be sorry." In what seemed like less than 30 seconds, he handled all business and threw the cooker and the syringe down into the sewer grate as if he say he was not planning on coming back.
He jumped up. "You know, I know who you are Tracey. I've seen you around." I cannot tell if he is 16 or 22 but I can tell he has been watching me. He saw an opportunity and he took it. He pulled me up. He wanted to make some "real" money. He wanted to see me. He wanted to get me off the street. He wanted to get a hotel. He wanted to get inside my skin. He wanted to get inside my mind. He knew that many men had fucked me. He just wanted to know me. He just wanted to touch my hair. He wanted me to know I was more than a piece of ass or a way to get a fix. He loved me. He talked me into taking a risk and loving him.
"I don't want to fuck you Tracey. I just want to love you."