I am just living to be lying by your side…..

For 3 years. Life is put on hold. I love a man who lives far, far away and is in the throws a war between his desire for heroin, booze, total obliteration, and the desire to be the man I need.

We strike a deal in early December 2005. He will stop banging smack, and if that happens, I will drive to Richmond and scoop him up and bring him to my apartment where we will love each other. I send a few lengthy awkward emails to him warning about my various psychosomatic illnesses and neurosis and he responds with one-word answers. I am not dismayed by his lack of enthusiasm. This is a great plan. I don’t tell my shrink the whole scheme. I mention that he is going to come for a visit, that his brother lives down the street from me and will help out. That this is a brief lay over in his long-term path to healthy living on his own. But we both know I am totally full of shit.

I take off work on Friday December 16th 2005. I rent an SUV at the Enterprise on 23rd and 6th Ave and I set out on 95 South to Richmond Virginia. The drive is intense. I am thinking about how fucking stupid and destructive this idea is. I am sick to my stomach. I am thinking about turning around. But I forge ahead, because I think that I love this broken man, and now he is counting on me. I can’t let him down.

I call him when I’m half way there and he sounds fucked up. I hope against hope that he isn’t high, and is just groggy. But, I know that I am lying to myself – I can hear the dope in his voice. I pull up to the rickety house that the wolf has been living in rent-free for 2 years. He is standing on the porch in a pair of sweat pants and a Goatwhore hoodie (that I gave him). He is gauged out. His eyes are pinned and he can’t focus on my face. He appears happy to see me, or perhaps happy for an escape route from his life. He is probably worried that I can tell he’s high.

The deal is that I drive down and he will drive back. But he is loaded. I don’t want to upset him, so I pretend not to notice that he is high. I let him drive the rental car even though he is stoned and his name isn’t on the rental agreement. In the bathroom at the Denny’s at the entrance to the 95 north I eat a Vicodin to settle my stomach. I get back in the passenger seat and try to enjoy this drive.

What should take 6 hours takes nearly 9 hours. We take the long way through Philadelphia. We stop a few times. I am getting to know the wolf a bit more. He likes gravy on everything and Mt. Dew. He is irritably coming down from his high, but is still not copping to it. I wonder if he has more junk on him, more so that I can have some when we finally make it to my apartment. I am scared that my stomach is going to revolt against me for bringing this man into our lives.

We finally pull into NYC around midnight. We unload the car of all his belongings, the heaviest of which is his large record collection. I feel the weight of his shit in my living room, filling my sanctuary, and I begin to realize that this terrible idea is really happening. My space has been totally invaded, and I hardly know him. I want to vomit and run. Instead I walk back downstairs, get into the SUV and drive it over to the rental garage and return it.