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I wrote this story after I saw someone I knew from High School high on heroin.

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“Goddamn, looks like it’s gonna rain,” thought Arthur as he walked across the street to Tom’s.  The thought of trying to sell in this weather was enough to almost make Arthur just turn around and go home.  Once he had returned home after living in California with his father for almost a year Arthur had forgotten why he had gotten a legitimate job there, at least you always have a roof over your head, and sometimes a co-worker to drive you home.   

            Anyone who has left their hometown for a year will tell you that not much changes over that year, especially in small town New England where the buildings were slow to be built and the already old and decrepit couldn’t get worse.  Arthur walked his old haunts only a few days after getting set up at his mother’s house.  Downtown looked relatively the same, more boarded-up storefronts than last year, but the economy was bad whether the recession was over or not.  Two weeks after arriving back in Heilentown, Arthur had found that he little to move back to.   The few friends that Arthur contacted were either off at college and had no intention of coming back or had ended up in jail and had no intention of coming back.  Some had stayed in town, mostly addicts who had no resources to leave, and had little ambition to have to try and find new “connects,” where ever they went. 

            It was a easy question, not complex like “should I look into a used car?,” or “should I bring my girl to the beach, or out on a cruise along the beach,” the kind of questions he used to ask himself in California.  Now it was a simple equation, buy wholesale, individually bag it and bag it accurately, and find your clientele; “but should I do it?” was the question that rolled around in his head late at night when he was having his last cigarette of the day with only the moon for company, unable to focus or keep his head up from exhaustion.  Fortunately Tom had come out of the ether to make up his mind for him unintentionally. 

           

            It was a party, like always, that brought everyone together.  Arthur had hitched a ride with Greg, an old buddy he hadn’t seen in years.  The weather had taken a turn and the sky was gray before Greg showed in up his 89’ Ram pickup.  Well, he finally bought that old piece of s**t, thought Arthur as he climbed up and in.  Greg took off immediately with a shower of mud and rocks in their wake. 

            “So how was California?” said Greg after what seemed like weeks of sitting in silence. 

            “It was nice.”

            “Nice?”

            “Yeah, it was nice, sunny, lots of people, you wouldn’t believe the weather,” said Arthur as he looked out the window, waiting for their destination to appear so he could escape this conversation.  He liked Greg, that wasn’t the problem, it was just that Greg didn’t really know Arthur too much, only through friends, and conversation was always awkward between them.

            “Art, you’ve been gone for a year and all you can talk about is the weather?  Did you even do anything there, or just the same old s**t you put yourself into here?” said Greg, a note of anger in his voice.

            “Jesus man, I can talk about more than the weather.  It’s just it was kinda boring, I had a job and I had my dad.  That’s all I did, job, home, job, home.  I didn’t have time to do anything stupid over there.  Calm down.”

             “I’m sorry dude, I’m just really tired of being stuck here.  Everybody else left man, look at it from my perspective.  You went to California, without telling any of us.  Charlie went to Harvard, I mean f*****g Harvard, and now he’s off becoming some lawyer or something.  Beth is gone, she left for Maine.  And I really don’t want to see a lot of people any more.  Like Frank. 

            “Frank, like religious Frank.  Why?  Did he get all preachy, I knew he would get all preachy and tell us all we were going to hell....” Greg cut him off.

            “No, Frank only worships Meth now.  After his mother died in a car accident over on School Street Frank wasn’t the same.  You woulda thought after all that God talk he would have some kind of like….uhhh….comfort out of it.  But no, he’s been to jail twice now.  Just before this last arrest Frank wouldn’t even talk, wouldn’t even look at you.  You would just look at him and he would sit there just staring off, like he was thinking but I couldn’t see much going on there other than that s**t.”

            “I don’t believe it.”

            “Believe it man, you weren’t the only one to leave, except a lot ‘em left without leaving.”

 

            They finally made to the party, a house built in a clearing in the trees, set way back.  The driveway was filled on all sides by cars and trucks, the light from the backyard gave the house a halo, and gave all the vehicles an eerie shadow they drove up along to find a space to park.

            Arthur could only pick out a few people that he recognized.  So, determining that he was going to end up a wallflower anyway, Arthur grabbed the next drink offered to him and was walking outside to go have a cigarette and catch up with people when he walked past Tom, who was in the midst of having a conversation with two girls who looked way too young to even be talking to him. 

 

Arthur had decided at that point, that very second, the answer to his question.  He had been mulling over the question for weeks, thinking of scales, prices, where to get baggies, where were the least sketchy places, he even looked up police shift changes.  But he seemed always on the verge.  He always found himself staring down at his cell phone for what seemed like hours at a time, almost hoping that it would call an old connect by itself, willed by his sense of indecision. 

Arthur immediately jumped into their conversation to save him from a drunken mistake. 

            “Tom, what’s up man?  I haven’t seen you in so f*****g long, how ya’ been?” said Arthur as he stood directly between the girls and Tom. 

            “Good, good, good.  I’m actually really good right now,” was Tom’s response as he looked over Arthur’s shoulder at one girl and almost as a second thought asked, “how are you?”

            “I’m a little broke.  Actually, I’m really broke,” as Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. 

            The change came immediately, even through his horny drunken haze Tom would never pass up the chance for a deal.

            “Oh, well….wait, really!?” said Tom as the two girls left.  Tom looked around.  His eyes blankly scanning for a quiet place. 

            “I’ll be back ina second,” and with that he turned around a fell into the crowd, which had become an anamorphous human blob.  Arthur started to go outside when he was stopped by Tom who grabbed his arm lightly just as he opened the door. 

             “I just found us somewhere private to talk.”           

            “Can this place be outside, I’ve been waiting,” as Arthur held up a cigarette. 

            “No, but I’m sure you can smoke in there so let’s just go.”

            Tom led Arthur upstairs.  They walked down a hallway filled with the random debris of life. Clothes, hangers, an old and dusty vacuum.  The carpet that looked a like a good cleaning hadn’t come since George Bush senior had been in office.  The walls must have been white at one point but had faded in splotches from the edges inward.  An ugly piss colored flower blooming.  The second to last door on the left was open.

            The room was a mess.  Arthur didn’t judge people on their cleaning habits, but he could barely conceive how someone could live here.  A mattress with a stained sheet cover was in the corner half covered in a mountain of clothes.  The clothes had a smell, like of sweat just barely acquired.  The floor was littered with empty condom wrappers, and a sea of half-eaten meals.  Arthur took a seat on the bed, while Tom sidled into the chair in front of a desk in the opposite corner.  The whole desk was filled with DVDs and magazines.  A lamp was the only light.  Tom got up and closed the door, it was then completely still.  They could have been miles away from the gathering of the loud and drunken. Arthur lit the cigarette that he had been waiting for.

            “Could I steal one of those?” said Tom, and Arthur obliged.  Cigarette was small payment.  They both sat in silence.  The smoke settled around the room in a hazy vortex. 

            “So, what are you looking for?”

            “Anything, though I done with junkies, I’m done with being paid in stolen s**t, I’m done dealing with police.  But I’m good with hippie drugs, those people are nice, polite, and eager to be gone.” 

            “I can get you weed and mushrooms, that good?”

            “Yeah, but I kinda want to expand a little.  Maybe some acid, ecstasy.”

            “I can get you molly,” said Tom as he ashed his cigarette into a coffee cup, “but it may take a while.  Acid is a lot harder to find.  Tommy Jones went to jail, beat the s**t out of his dad for abusing his mom, since then it’s been hard as s**t finding any legit acid.

            “Well, I’m fine as long as I can make something out of this.  I’m going in clean, I’m done taking the head bag, I’m here for profit man.” 

            “Aren’t we all?” asked Tom as he stubbed out his cigarette, the last few matrixes of smoke curling around his hand and dissipating towards the ceiling. 

 

Arthur was sitting on his front porch when his mom came home from work.  A battered copy of The Communist Manifesto rested on a wicker end table, Arthur wasn’t much of a communist; his friends had commended it, back in time before they headed off to college, somewhere beyond Heilentown.  She pulled up her old salmon colored car.  The gray weather had passed over into blue.  The sun soaked through Arthur’s shirt and soothed his hangover. 

Sally Caulweather was something of a spit-fire.  She had worked her tail off by gosh and nothing was getting in her way of making a better life for her children.  After getting a fifty hour week job at the accounting office in Wal-Mart made Sally see the hard truth.  She knew that no matter what she did she may never give her children a better life, but she wasn’t going to give up.  She knew Arthur was something of drug user.  Her children confided in her, and in turn she was understanding about things some parents would cringe at.  Arthur told her extensively about his pot use, the time he tried acid, mushrooms, and few other things that she didn’t know to pronounce.  He was a legal adult anyway, she couldn’t do much except throw him out.  She wouldn’t have her child on the street, and as long as he can hold down a job and not do anything stupid like cocaine or heroin, I’m okay.  She didn’t know of his dealing of course.  Sally could tolerate a lot.  She tolerated Arthur when he kept his father’s last name.  She tolerated the local Republicans.  But a drug dealer in her house was a deal breaker.    

“Hi honey, how are you?” Sally walked up the old worn steps of the porch. 

“Hung-over, but it’s almost gone now.  You should have seen the party, it was packed in there.  Do you have a cigarette?  I lost mine at the party, I was pissed when I got home and realized it.”

“I don’t have any, I’m trying to quit.”

“I didn’t know you were trying to quit, how long?”

“About a couple of weeks, almost a month.  You didn’t notice?”

“I remember you saying something in passing, but I didn’t know you were serious this time.”

“Yeah, I’m serious.  I’ll check the car, there might be something in there.” 

Sally came back with half a pack, which Arthur determined to probably be stale.  He got out his lighter and his mom sat down in the other wicker chair on the other side of the end table.  She looked on greedily, but maintained her strength.       

“Hear anything yet from any places?”

“No, not yet.  I don’t think any where is going to call, it didn’t look like anywhere is hiring.”

“Don’t give up yet, if you keep looking you’ll have to find something.”

“You’re right mom, I’ll just keep looking.  So you wouldn’t believe who I met up with last night?”

Sally looked through her purse for another nicotine patch.  She couldn’t find one and eyed her son’s cigarette.

“Who?”

“Tom.  He was just like in the corner of the room, I didn’t see him and almost walked past him.”

“Oh, that’s nice honey.  He stopped by a couple of times after you left looking for you.”

“Did you see him recently?”

“No, but I hear he’s in with a bad crowd.”

“What, little hippie Tom?  I f*****g doubt it.”

Sally had stopped watching the cigarette, to concerned for nicotine. 

“Well, that’s all that Mrs. Phillips told me.  She told me he had been involved with Franklin Evan’s arrest.  In his car and everything.”

“That’s doesn’t mean anything, we’re all Frankie’s friends.  That could have been me if I was still here.  Doesn’t mean I’m ‘in with a bad crowd.’”

Sally went to go walk inside, but stopped just before the door and turned around.

“No, it necessarily doesn’t.  But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t either.  You know everything didn’t just freeze in place while you were gone.  If Tom hasn’t changed and matured in that year he has had a lot of idle time with idle hands, and idle hands are the devils plaything.”

 

Tom had a been a very close friend of Arthur’s since grade school, but they had only really gotten close in the last few years of high school when Tom and Arthur both sold together.  They were truly a dynamic duo at times, Arthur and Tom would travel to Tom’s house after a day of school.  Arthur would roll up a joint and Tom would filch some dusty old whisky from the liquor cabinet.  They would sit in his room for hours listening to the newest music, talking about people, school, politics (Tom was well versed in how drug freedom would liberate the masses), or just about anything under the sun.  In between their conversation a random assortment of people would come.  Usually get their drugs and move on.

Arthur met up with Tom later in the afternoon to discuss business over a pizza.  Arthur walked in and was blasted with a haze of warmth and familiar smells, especially the pine sol cleaner.  They always used Pine sol on the seventies style wood paneling and floor. 

Tom was in the last booth in the row of booths that stretched below the line of dingy windows.  He didn’t look so good, mostly tired and unshaven.  Arthur couldn’t remember if Tom was still wearing the same clothes from last night. 

Tom looked much worse up close.  Arthur wanted to believe he was seeing a night of bad drinking etched across his friend.  He wanted that so bad, but he couldn’t believe it.  He couldn’t believe it because you don’t lose twenty pounds from a night of drinking.  You don’t get leathery skin.   You don’t get wrinkles that deep, or bags that worn in.  He tried to push his thoughts aside, but they kept coming back. 

“Yo.” It was drawn out and collapsed into a yawn.  “Are you going to say anything or are you looking for kiss or something?”  Tom puckered his lips in showgirl fashion and spread his hands under his chin.  “Come ‘ere Big Boy!”

Arthur felt at ease at once with Tom still joking like the good times. 

“Yeah, I’m just a little tired man.” 

“Well, I have something that could fix that.  Wanna smoke a joint my brodddda!? I brought one to have before we eat. 

“Sure, go out back?”

“You got it.”

Arthur and Tom left the shop with their order still being cooked and walked around back to the parking lot that only neighbored more forest.  They sat on the old wooden bench they had discovered when they were fifteen and looking for a place to smoke a joint before they had pizza at Heilentown Pizza.  Mom was right, some stuff doesn’t change thought Arthur as they sat down and got to work on the joint. 

            Ten minutes later both Tom and Arthur were both pleasantly stoned and sitting in their booth eating pizza and staring off in the distance.  This went on for some time until Arthur remembered the original intent of their meeting. 

            “So, did you find anything?”

            “Yeah, I found you an ounce.

            “Cool, sounds nice man.  Did you find anything else?  Just curious, I want to diversify, like my stock portfolio,” which Arthur had a small chuckle at.  The humor was lost on Tom.

            “Yeah, I found some mushrooms, and some coke, if you want some coke.”

            “I’ll stick with mushrooms for now.  Maybe I’ll try coke later, but right now I’m not in the mood to deal with coke-heads.”

            Arthur sat his slice down, and sun shined through the dingy windows and was extinguished by a cloud.

            “Well, I’ll have your ounce tomorrow around noon. So come by about like two or so, I’ll be out and about until then.” 

            “Okay, sounds like a deal then.  I’ll have your money by tomorrow.  How much?

            “A hundred twenty, a hundred thirty, about there.”

            They settled back to eating for a while.  Arthur and Tom sat in comfortable silence, the kind of silence that only comes from years of marriage or friendship.  Arthur began to notice the stains on Tom’s shirt, dried blood on the sleeve, and more dirt than he noticed.  The comfort was gone from the silence. 

 

            When he reached his house Arthur went back to his wicker seat on the front porch and was dosing, almost in a nap, when his mom came out the front door.

            “Bill called looking for you.  I said you were out getting lunch and he asked if you would call him back.”

            “Huh? I thought Bill was over in Indiana or Illinois or something.  Guess he must be back home,” said Arthur as he walked inside to get a cordless telephone.

            Bill was another of Arthur’s very close friends.  When Tom and Arthur began dealing and essentially living out of Tom’s room Bill was a mutual friend who could be found at any random time with either Tom or Arthur.  He wasn’t a mooch per se, he never really asked for any special price or expected to be given special privileges, he just so happened to continue hanging out when some friends left them high and dry for the prospect of cars and girls with no time for ‘consciousness expansion.’ 

            So Arthur decided to give Bill a call back.  He was surprised.  Bill was supposed to be in the Mid-West earning his B.A. in pre-medicine.  Whatever the reason he was back, Arthur was going to enjoy seeing his old friend.

            “Hello?”

            “Bill?”

            “Art!?”

            “Yeah.  Hey man, how’s life? What are you doing here?  I thought you were in Indianapolis or someplace getting your fancy smancy degree and s**t. 

            “Well I am, but I can’t just leave and forget about all my friends, can I?  ‘Specially the ones who leave for the West Coast without telling anyone, and then come back randomly.  Wanna meet up?  I haven’t seen you in forever.”

            Arthur smiled without thinking for the first time in weeks.

“It’s wasn’t forever.”

            “No, but it was too long.”

            “Do you want me to come there?  I’ll head there now, though it could be a bit of a wait, I still don’t have a car.”

            “Don’t worry about it, I’ll come by a pick you up, I’m driving my mom’s Lexus for the week.

            “You lucky b*****d!  Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

            A half-hour later Arthur and Bill were sitting on Bill’s parent’s deck having a beer, Arthur wasn’t much a drinker, neither was Bill; but they did both enjoy a good beer between friends.  The deck was a dark, heavy wood.  Arthur always felt like he was on some kind of fancy veranda for a restaurant rather than a deck on a house every time he went to Bill’s.  In fact, every time he went to Bill’s he felt that he was somewhere much nicer than just a house, but Bill’s family was the third richest in town.  Half way between a conversation about the Patriots and why they loved “Who Framed Roger Rabbit,” Bill brought up Tom.

            “Have you seen Tom lately?” asked Bill as he got out another beer from the cooler. 

            “I saw him at a party last night, and I had lunch with him today.  Why?”

            “Nothing, I’ve just been hearing things, wanted to make sure he was okay.”

            Arthur cracked his own beer. 

            “Okay?  What do you mean by ‘Okay.’?”

            “I mean to say that I’ve heard that Tom isn’t doing so well these days.  Some people told me he was getting into some serious s**t, and not just him.  I’ve heard the town’s gone to s**t.”

            “Gone to s**t?  Man, where have you been for the last forever? The town’s been dead, always was dead, ain’t going to be much else than dead.”

            “Yeah, so?  That doesn’t mean we need to go down with it.  All I know is that I’m worried about him, I worry about anyone left here too long without an escape.  This place can chew you up and spit you out.”

            “Don’t worry man, I think Tom has a good head on his shoulders.”

            “Why do think that?  Are you dealing again Art?”

            “Hey!  Don’t say that so loud, I don’t need your parents hearing,” said Arthur as he swiveled his head around, scanning the deck for either of Bill’s parents.  

            “Don’t worry, they’re in the sauna in the backyard, nobody here but us.”

            “Yes I’m dealing, and Tom is providing me some connects.  Soon I can start earning some real money, maybe get out of here,” said Arthur opening a second beer.

            “Anybody still doing that s**t isn’t getting out of here anytime soon.  You should know that, why do you think Tom is still here and still dealing.  You don’t get anywhere, you just sit here in town and wait for time to chew you up and leave you to die.”

            “Don’t worry man, I’m not doing this for the head-bag, for some real money this time.”

            “I’m gonna worry, you’re sitting in the mouth man.  You’re sitting the mouth and you have choice between laying down and being eaten or getting up and getting out and maybe having a chance at something different than passing this,” he swept his hand over the trees, and to the abandoned factory in the lot past the trees, “onto your kids.  Maybe give them a better chance than what you had.”

            “I won’t let it eat me man, I’ll jam the gears.”

            “Ha! Bullshit.  But, whatever let’s have another beer.”

            So Bill and Arthur settled down to two more beers apiece and continued their talk on why they loved old cartoons and their favorite Nickelodeon shows. 

           

The next day came with low hanging clouds.  The walk to Tom’s was filled with the dreary thought of spending all day in this weather, but ending the day with some pocket money instead of bag of ephemeral good times was what kept him going.  The entire route seemed inflected with the weather, it was reflected in the car windows and the puddles form the early morning rain shower that had come and gone.  Arthur thought of Tom as he walked the three miles to his house. 

             Arthur crossed the street, jumped off the curb, and sent a puddle shattering gray in all directions, some old childhood habits die hard he supposed.  Arthur turned the corner at Brogan Road, and two houses down was Tom’s.  Nothing had changed there for sure, the grass was still uncut and waved in the slight breeze, but then again Tom had been living alone so nobody cut the grass.  What use did Tom have of a yard when he barely left his room? 

            Arthur knocked on the front door twice, but on the second knock it opened anyway.  The silence and dust motes that floated in the light made Arthur feel dirty, like he had snuck in.  Tom wouldn’t care, he never cared, but Arthur did.  He sat down at the kitchen table, which was crowded with dirty dishes, newspapers, and apparently whatever else that it could hold.  On top of a pile of papers was note, only distinguished by its newness compared.  Arthur took the note and looked at it, and hit the jackpot.  Names, numbers, and what they sold were all listed in neat order, Tom always had the habit of writing stuff down.  Old habits die hard, thought Arthur as he took the note and slipped it in his pocket, Tom wouldn’t notice it’s disappearance in the mess.  Now Arthur could go it alone, cut the middle man, even if that middle man was a friend, and make some real money.  Arthur was almost ready to leave when decided that he should finish his deal, Tom would get suspicious if he didn’t. 

So Arthur walked down the hallway and pushed Tom’s door open.  A few seconds was all he needed, Arthur got the gist of what had happened even before he realized it.  Tom’s feet were on the floor, face pulled into a rictus of pain or pleasure, vomit foaming in his mouth, his eyes eternally fixed open and blank.  A pile of powder on Tom’s desk, Arthur’s own drugs sitting next to it.  The smell, that smell, that deep dank earthy smell of old logs left out in the rain too long came falling out of the room as if it was pent up in there like an evil sprinter waiting at the gate.  Arthur reeled back and almost fell into the hallway bathroom.

The toilet, his own vomit, and the smell of fresh death.  Arthur held himself above the bowl as the world wavered between consciousness and black.  Arthur awoke a short time later next to the toilet and vomited again.  He sat next to the toilet for a long time.  He pulled himself up and grabbed a cigarette, shaking madly and dropping the pack and picking it up again.  He sat down in the kitchen, trying to get the smell out his nose and failing. 

            What could he do?  Call the police?  The last thing he needed were police now, especially after he had just gotten back into the life.  Arthur paced across the kitchen, back down the hall.  He finished his cigarette and took another.  He couldn’t just leave the drugs either, Tom had spent his last hours getting it for him.  Just because Tom had died didn’t necessarily meant that Arthur should go down with him.  He couldn’t just let him rot here like a goddamned banana left by apathetic hands either.

            Arthur went outside and paced around the front porch.  The day outside seemed completely unaware of the problems that had encapsulated this house, the sun had broken through the clouds and rays were shining down somewhere far away.  He had made up his mind. 

Arthur walked back into the kitchen.  He walked around and actually looked around.  The newspapers weren’t the only things on the table.  Moldy books, overfilled ashtrays, half-eaten meals like fossils left to bleach in the desert sun.  A tear streaked down his face, he couldn’t, just couldn’t leave his old friend like this. 

Arthur proceeded to Tom’s bedroom.  At the door he stopped and rested his head on it, not ready to open the door again.  I should just leave, get out of here, pretend this never happened and come back with people to discover him, thought Tom.  Another voice took over, one he hadn’t hear in a while, one that sounded like Tom weirdly enough, No. NO!  You have free s**t in there, completely free.  His guys will think it got confiscated, and you’ll get a 100% profit.  100%!!! Arthur opened the door, and tried not to look at him.  A fly landed on his face and crawled along his cheek, which was beginning to bloat black and purple.  Arthur looked down at the pile of powder, coke, heroin, f*****g carpet cleaner for all he knew or wanted to know.    He took his own packages and started toward the front door.  He stopped just before the door, and realized how quiet it was here, how peaceful.  It sickened him, this pain needed noise from people who had no idea how Tom lived, that he still laughed at old reruns of I Love Lucy and The Honeymooners, that he volunteered when they were teenagers at the animal shelter to pet kittens.  He needed people that looked at him with disgust, with sad contempt for his weakness.  He needed a way, and in his moment he found it. 

On his way out Arthur took Tom’s trash can from the kitchen, filled it will the newspapers from the kitchen and dropped his cigarette in it, and after determining that it would not catch, he picked up two books of matches.  He brought the can outside on the front porch and lit both books and dropped them in; the fire would get the cops here.  If it burned the house down, even better, Tom’s mom didn’t need him found dead from an overdose, it would break her apathetic heart.

            Arthur stopped by the local pharmacy, which had closed a couple of years before and sat on its short wall by the sidewalk, as he walked away from Tom’s house.  The sound of the fire trucks came from the distance, and it sounded like it was headed towards Tom’s house.  The fire must have gotten the attention of the neighbors or a passerby, the details by this point didn’t matter to him.  As he was walking away Arthur couldn’t help but feel off.  The whole place is dead, one less drug dealer on the street I guess, thought Arthur as he crossed the street, readjusted his packages and started walking home.  The long way home.  Half-way back Arthur walked a few feet into the woods, and rolled a large joint for himself.  He walked until he had reached the large bridge that spanned the Beaver River.  He sat on the edge of the bridge sidewalk and put the weed at his feet on a large secure support beam and started smoking his joint. 

            Whether Arthur kicked his packages or they were blown away by wind is unknown.  In fact the man fishing down river didn’t even know the package was drugs.  All he saw was an indistinct object fall off the bridge, and hit the water where it was carried quickly away and a figure get slowly, look down, and walk away calmly. 

 

Author's Note

I'm reworking this, especially the dialogue, so you could focus on the dialogue.