Hooked

A Chapter by Martha Gilleece

The year was 1987, and let me tell you, what a 1987 it was. It was the year that changed my life, for better and for worse. Please, hold back the tears, now is not the time to get all “one month, high school fling, break-up” sappy on me. Despite all the madness, the excitement, this was my year.

From the time I was born I knew I didn’t belong in that godforsaken town, Westerly, Rhode Island. The name just gives me chills but the one thing that kept me going was the short train ride to New York City, my true home. The bright lights and the drowning sounds distract me from the overwhelming pressure to fit into that privileged mold.

I grew up in Westerly an absolute nobody; I was never too social with the kids I went to school with. Though, who could doubt me, they were horrible. All of them were so uptight. You come to school wearing a black and pink, full fluffed, poodle skirt, found at your local Goodwill and suddenly, you’re known as a freak! Not that I was ever too upset. I don’t mean to sound cliché - Ha, who am I kidding? Yes I do! �" But the few ‘friends’ I had didn’t quite understand me. Not after my so called spiral downward, as they tell me. I was only 15 at the time. - My goodness that sounds like it was so long ago, just about 10 years to be certain. - I used to dread going to school every day but…“what mother says, goes.”

Oh please, that woman has been trying to control me for 25 years now, does it work? No. She used to tell me to not watch those “ridiculous, obnoxious rebels” and that it was “so unfortunate their parents didn’t care about them.”

I see how much you cared, how much I was worth. A little publicity, a slap of the knee, and your pain in the a*s son is in jail, where he rightfully belongs. No more worrying about drugs, bail, or even…murder. Then again, I would be worried too, in any case, I am your one and only. I should, at least, try and sound a little more grateful that I didn’t get as much time as Michael, but on the other hand, I didn’t kill a man. Oops! Not that he is guilty or anything but deep down, we all know the truth. The truth that he was sick, caught up in a life of drugs and glamour.

I don’t normally sound so bitter; I haven’t had a bump in at least…2 hours, or maybe 15 minutes. Not to worry, it’s just a little cocaine. I’ve given up on the hard stuff, never did enjoy heroine that much. A little special K for breakfast and maybe some ecstasy for lunch but other than that, I’m as pure as a new-born. As pure as an infant born from the womb of crack addicted corner w***e.

That’s the thing about drug addicts; you lose all concept of time. You might think three days have gone by when in reality; you’ve been stuck in a k-hole for a couple hours. Maybe that is my problem, that’s where these past ten years have gone, one of which was spent in a cell no bigger than my half-bathroom. Another thing about those pesky, little fiends, they tend to get off topic very fast and with no notice. So, where was I? Ah!

The city, the big apple, whatever you chose to call it, I took the train ride almost every weekend. Then it turned into every week, and then weeks at time, soon the city the swallowed me whole. Mother thought I was staying with my friend, Brian, or Kyle, or Alphanzo for Christ sake. That poor woman was blinder than bat. I would ask for some just-in-case money and then I’d take the rest from her purse. Not once did she confront me about the missing bills from her wallet, not once. How could her perfect, preppy son ever, ever steal from his own flesh and blood? I guess denial runs in the family.

Obviously, I didn’t spend time with a friend. I spent my precious time with hundreds of friends. Not friends, my family.

I was a club kid.

I packed my bag every weekend full of random pieces of clothing that I’d steal from thrift stores. Talk about neon colors, fishnet, lace, floral prints, you name it…I wore it. I would take my sister’s make-up and pile that s**t on my face until I felt satisfied with what I saw. Even if that meant yellow lipstick and purple blush, I had no fears. After all, I did have plenty of practice putting make-up on, maybe too much for a teenage boy.

I like to put the blame on Michael Alig, if I had never laid my eyes on him �" one of many things I laid on him - and other club kids on TV I would have been forced to grow up a normal boy from Westerly, Rhode Island. (Yeah, right!) They showed me every single feeling I had was completely normal and that there were loads more people who felt the same way. That’s when I started going to New York. That’s also when I started doing drugs. Or when drugs started doing me.

It’s hard to comprehend exactly the amount of drugs I would intake daily. In fact, if I were to think real hard and could by some, tiny chance remember, you wouldn’t believe me. Don’t let me lead you to think that I have quite! Oh, ha silly me, I am not clean, in truth, I don’t remember what clean feels like. I don’t even remember what clean looks like. My insides are about as wore down as they should be. Black and blue, filled with various powders.

I bet it’s nice, though. To be clean that is.

But I was never one of those drug addicts. You know the type. They scrounge around looking for any cent, they offer themselves up for one measly hit of the pipe, and they give up on their appearance. Thank the heavens I was never like that. In the end, I didn’t need to be. People would beg me to take their drugs. Not that they had to beg too hard. I was royalty in club land and it was all thanks to Michael. Well, maybe not at royal as I’d like to think but I was in the royal party. Consider me the Prince Harry of the family.

It didn’t start off that way though. You had to earn your way to fame in those days. Almost like a very colorful fraternity. You needed to impress and that could mean any number of things. I was considered one of the lucky ones.

The first night I went into the city I went directly to Limelight, which seemed to be the center of chaos, the spine, where everything depended on. Upon my arrival, I was nervous. Never in my life had I felt as nervous and scared as I did then. What was going to happen when I walked through those doors? I decided to stall and bum a cigarette from, what looked like a local club goer that was hanging outside. I didn’t even smoke. When I tapped that persons shoulder, about 97 percent of me was absolutely positive it was a man but you can never be too sure. I didn’t for a second think it could be the king himself. I was wrong. Michael was staring at me face to face, our eyes locked and I could hardly speak. Soon realizing if I didn’t say anything he was going to be disgusted and lose interest so I managed to squeeze out three words.

“Got a light?” Did I really just say that, a light? How can I light a cigarette that I don’t have?

“What I meant was, do you have a cigarette I can have?”

His response was what changed my life.

“I don’t smoke” he said. “Smoking is bad and I don’t do bad things but for you I might make an exception. How old are you-? Oh, who am I kidding it doesn’t matter at all, does it? Why don’t you come with me, you can be my boyfriend for the night.”

You don’t say no to Michael, and by the sounds of it, I don’t think this sort of thing was out of the ordinary for him. When we went into the club, it was as if I had entered a different universe. Girls and guys dressed with no gender, these were my people. I fit in perfectly. Before I knew what was going on Michael grabbed me by the hand and pulled me towards the bathrooms. As we walked people seemed to bow down to Michael, and the fact I was with him, even if it was only for tonight, that meant something.

The bathroom, oh that spicy little bathroom in the back of Limelight, the memories, the headaches, it is all coming back to me. Michael took out his little pouch that he kept in the waistband of his leggings and first handed me these two capsules, filled with some form of white powder. I didn’t want to make a bad impression but also didn’t want to wake up in the middle of Mexico so I asked him what it was. With my surprise he didn’t seem shocked, he looked at me in all seriousness and said:

“Just swallow them dear boy.”

So, I did.

No immediate effects took place and while I was standing there like a deer in headlights just anticipating what was to come, though I had no clue what to expect, Michael took out yet another little jar and poured out a small bump on his hand and motioned to me to get closer. I assumed it was cocaine, which was the only white powder that I knew of people to snort. Who ever said assuming will make an a*s out of you and me deserves the Noble Prize. Little to say, it was not cocaine.

I felt like I had on a ball gown in the middle of a glorious castle, but still in the bathroom at Limelight. I saw the future and visited the past all at once. The feeling was overwhelming. Not sure if I could even speak, I asked Michael what that was I put up my nose.

“Mmm…sweet special K” He said.

I looked at him with a blank stare, not only because I didn’t know what he was saying but because I was stuck, and I knew it. And he knew it as well.

“Special K, its ketamine. Animal tranquillizers.”

It must have been about 15 minutes in and I begin to feel very warm and hyper. I ran over to Michael and lord knows what urged me to do this but I gave him the biggest hug I could. He didn’t mind, he reassured me the first time is always the same for everybody.

“You will fall in love with life.” He told me.
He was right.