Spring 2009 Edition
Heroin Chic
Brittney L. Park
Expressive 1010 1st Place
Professor Charles Cuthbertson
I could taste the vomit making its way up my esophagus as I pulled off the side of the freeway. I quickly put my F150 into park and flung open the passenger door. The crisp morning air brushed against my feverish skin, which caused my stomach to convulse. The acid burned my throat before the yellow bile flew from my mouth and landed on the side of I-15. I braced myself against the tailgate while I stared down at the puke on my red cowboy boots and prayed that no one I knew had driven by. As soon as I could force my body to obey, I grabbed the safety handle and struggled to heave my undersized body back into my truck. I quickly shifted into drive and pushed the gas pedal to the floor until I was traveling well over the speed limit. I activated cruise control and looked up to see that I was four minutes past Summit. I couldn’t reach the Parowan exit fast enough. With each mile marker I became more anxious, for my miracle cure was just minutes away.
I started to count the seconds of the minutes I had left until I arrived until I lost count and put in a CD. Bob Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man sang through the speakers:
I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.
The song always eased my anxiety. It reminded me of the person I was running towards that held the key to my great escape.
As my destination approached, I tapped my breaks and drove off of the exit. I sped off of the freeway and continued driving east until I flipped on my blinker and turned right onto the familiar dirt road at the base of Parowan Canyon. Dust pillowed into the sunrise as I raced towards the cover of the thick foliage ahead. After the mountainside had swallowed my truck, it wasn’t long before I reached the field where the metallic blue Dodge was waiting for me.
When I slammed his truck door shift after I had climbed inside, the Tambourine man immediately dropped a balloon of heroin onto a square of tinfoil and handed me a dismantled BIC pen. The black tar hissed when it met the flame and slithered down the tinfoil as I inhaled the smoke that trailed behind. The taste of charred marshmallow lounged in my mouth as I counted to ten, and then exhaled.
“Good morning’ princess,” he said as his crooked smile reflected the morning light. It was no surprise to see the Tambourine man’s blue eyes and weathered skin hidden behind his usual ball cap and scruffy goatee.
“There are no good mornings in the life we lead,” I replied.
“You’ll feel better after you get your fix.”
He knew how sick I felt. Anyone who has ever been an addict knows the way you crawl out of your skin in the morning before you take your first hit. He drew me line after line until a lethargic calm allowed me to sit in my body.
My eyes fluttered as I resisted sleep while we sat in silence and dozed in and out of reality together. I looked out the window at the green field and thought about all of the quiet things that no one knew about me. My life was kept secret from my friends, family, and boyfriend. The girl they knew was employed at her father’s firm, ran every morning, baked in her spare time, and had graduated high school a month ago. They would have never guessed what kind of person hid behind the façade. Everyone assumed that I had everything I’d ever wanted and had no idea I was so jaded. My life had become a perfect example of how one night of partying can lead to a lifetime of problems. Within the three months I’d been addicted to heroin, my body had already begun to shut down. I couldn’t tell anyone, and I was afraid to detox on my own. I felt like I could do nothing but wait for my hearse, and prepare to meet my maker.
The morning sky had begun to turn blue when I looked at the clock and saw it was 8:30 AM. The Tambourine man was still passed out so I shut the door quietly as I left to get back into my truck. I turned the key in the ignition and the Ford’s engine roared to life. I flipped down the visor and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. The makeup and Visine camouflaged my hallowed yellow green eyes that hid beneath my waist-length golden curls. My beige skin had nothing to cling to but bone, which made my cheeks sink into my full lips, making me appear malnourished. My 5’9” body had dwindled away into an 85 pound skeleton. I had lost my grace to become ghostly beautiful and heroin chic.
I arrived back at home to find my father loading my mother’s bags into her black Hummer. My mother had been insisting that we drive to California to meet with Ford Modeling Agency. She and I had never agreed what my purpose in life was. Unlike most parents, my mother and father didn’t dream of college in their child’s future, but instead, billboards and photo spreads. I walked inside and grabbed a chocolate chip cookie off of the counter before I went back outside to help my father.
“You probably shouldn’t be eating that,” my father commented as he stole the cookie from my mouth. “You guys are leaving in five.”
I smiled at him as I choked back the tears. If he worried about my GPA as much as what I ate, I would have gone to Harvard.
Within a few minutes, we were southbound on I-15.
“Did your morning run steal your wind for the day?” my mother asked.
“Four miles,” I lied.
I began watching the scenery speed by at 75 miles an hour and lit up a cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco perfumed the air as the smoke floated out of my mouth. I rolled down the window and turned to see my mother’s brown hair blow into her emerald eyes and brush against her olive skin. I smoked my cigarette and thoughts about everything that had led me to this point in my life began dancing in my mind. My modern hippie mother had received the message from the great unknown during her check-up with her psychic that this was my calling in life. The next thing I knew, profiles were sent out and I was on my way to L.A. After the Marlboro had burnt down to the filter, I flicked it out the window. The nicotine caused my high to climax and begin to fade. Every cell in my body became numb, and I let the drugs blanket me as I drifted into slumber.
My waking eyes were greeted by the sun shimmering off of the tall palm trees.
“Thank god you’re awake,” I heard my mother say.
I looked over to see my mother’s small frame standing in front of the Chateau Marmot.
“I slept the whole way?”
“You needed your beauty sleep! I already checked in and had your bags taken upstairs. Go start getting ready. We have to leave in an hour.”
She then handed me my room key, and I went to primp to go somewhere that I didn’t want to be.
An hour, some mascara, and a few hits later, we were on our way to Willa Ford. My mother gave me a pep talk as she drove. I just sat, staring out the window in silence. I didn’t want to live in California and have my career rely upon my appearance. I wanted a college degree and a career, but it didn’t seem to matter what I wanted.
My mother and I stood in the reception area at Willa Ford, waiting for Alan, the scout.
“Girls would kill to wait for Alan Brighton,” my mother whispered in my ear.
The sweet irony was that I would have killed to leave.
“He’s ready to see you. Follow me,” the redhead behind the desk said with a smile.
We walked into his office and sat in the two mahogany chairs in front of his desk. He greeted us and got right down to business. He and my mother talked about commercial modeling and a two year contract while I pondered how in the hell I was going to get out of it. I realized I wasn’t ready to fade into the scenery of somewhere I didn’t belong. I knew there was a somewhere meant for me. I then did the only thing I could think of.
“I don’t think you want to sign a drug addict,” I blurted out.
The horrified expression on my mother’s face was priceless. After I savored the sweet moment for a mere second, I rose from my chair and headed out the door.
We drove home immediately after departing from the agency. I began detoxing in my own bed on August 28, 2007 and have never looked back. After the dancing spell I had cast upon myself had faded, I began leading my own parade, which left me with no desire for drugs. I have thanked God every day that I was lucky enough to have had the experience. I would have never discovered my strengths without bathing in my weaknesses first. I went to hell and back before I was legal to vote and am a better person for it.
| English Department | College of Humanities & Social Sciences |