It was 1998, I was sixteen, in Strasbourg, France, and a year prior I had gotten in trouble for smoking weed. I moved to France when I was seven, and by 1998, my entire life was based there.
On the last day of school we all said our goodbyes and that we'd see each other in September like we did every year. I attended an international school, so most of us went back to visit our homeland during summer breaks.
And I visited my mom in NYC every year. The night before my flight, I was quite sober and searched my entire room for some extra weed or hash, but even before I started looking, I already knew I was out.
It had been a rough couple weeks financially to begin with. Either way, during my search I found a small plastic baggie in my wallet with some stems and seeds. Remembering that there were dogs occasionally at airports, I took it out and left it in my room.
My theory in hiding it was that maybe if it were fairly in the open, it might not be detected because it was so obvious. So I just threw it in a basket which had a bunch of other miscellaneous stuff in it.
Hopped on the plane, flew across the Atlantic, got to NYC, and (mind you, this is how I remember it, after talking to my mom, it seems it wasn't quite as abrupt as I describe) almost as soon as I walked into the door, my mom said:
"Alex we have to talk."
Sheesh, I miss you too, Mom, I thought.
(sidenote: it's weird how my interpretation of this memory is quite distorted, but this is what led me to believe that although there is an absolute truth, there's also a relative one, and although this scenario didn't play out the way I remember, since that's how I remember it, that is in essence, my truth)
Apparently my grandmother had called, claiming she found a bag of weed in my room and two joints all rolled up, ready to be smoked.
I balked.
"No, she's lying, I don't have that in my room!" Blah blah blah.
"Well, Alex," my mom replied with resignation. "I just can't take your word anymore because you've lied so many times."
Fair enough.
"Okay, so you want to know the truth? The whole truth?"
"Yes."
I'm still ashamed that despite my claim to tell the whole truth, I still lied. But it was a rather small one (then why lie at all, right?). So I told her I smoked every other day, instead of every day. I also told her that I cut classes on a regular basis. I didn't mention that I sold hash because I was cut off from an allowance. Omission lies don't count right? ;]
"But, I know for a fact that they didn't find that in my room because..."
"... you would have smoked it," my mom finished for me.
I nodded.
The next time my mom spoke to my grandmother, she asked if they were sure that it was weed.
"How am I supposed to know?" my grandmother replied indignant.
"Just burn it, it'll smell differently than cigarettes."
"Oh, we already threw it away."
So now it was my word against theirs. Obviously mine wasn't worth much.
Then at the next plot development, they finally found the small baggie with the stems and seeds. And how surprising, they tested that instead, and of course it came back positive.
Bottom line? I was to stay in NYC. Torn away from nine years of my life, all of my friends, all that I know, the town that I lived in, my home.
Their reasoning (paraphrasing)? Alex and his friends in France are a bad influence on each other. Alex has a drug problem and because of that, we think we should separate him from his friends. There are alternative schools we were looking into in France, but they all fell through, as such, we think it's best he move to NYC.
Wait. Hold on. What? I have a drug problem, so the solution is to send me to New York City, of all places? Ri-fucking-diculous.
They're not stupid, so I dismissed that as being the real reason why I was sent back to NYC. I think it's a combination of my getting in trouble and being too much to handle, my grandmother's desire to move back to Cali (impossible any time soon if I were to stay in France and go to college there), and the fact that I failed sophomore year and had to stay back.
But is framing me really the adult way to approach this? Yeah sure, telling me "Go back and live with your mom, we don't wanna deal with you anymore," is going to hurt, but I'll understand to a certain degree, and I'd be able to get over it.
But my own blood lies to my mother about what they found in my room is just low. Aren't adults supposed to set an example?
I never got to say bye to my friends. From that day till today, some of my friends from France I haven't seen again, others I've seen once or twice in eleven years.
And since my "move" back to the States was unplanned, finding a school last minute over the summer was damn near impossible. Every school required teacher recommendations and a bunch of documents. It was summer break already. All the teachers in France were long gone.
We finally found a school in Ithaca, NY, about five hours away from the City. On brochure it sounded amazing. It was right next to Cornell University, it had an accelerated program, it looked like a complete paradise for dorks and geeks.
Going up there I really thought I was going to reform my ways, even quit smoking cigarettes. Boy was I wrong. And boy, was that brochure misleading.
But that's for another post. So when people invariably say that blood is thicker than water, I politely disagree.
Showing posts with label prejail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prejail. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Days As a Pool Hall Junkie
When Lisa and I first met, we shot a lot of pool. We started by going to Soho Billiards on a regular basis, but it was kind of pricey, especially considering that she was still a high school student and I was working dead end jobs.
So we eventually migrated to Broadway Billiards, on 21st Street and... well, Broadway. It was a basement location (I say was because I recently passed by to find it closed, but hopefully just for renovation), a little on the ghetto side, but the regulars were friendly, and the price couldn't be beat.
Four bucks an hour per person on weekdays, five on weekends. And the owners, a Korean family, were our little dwarves. We had Grumpy, Happy and Sleepy. Sleepy was Mr. Choi, he sometimes asked us to shoot with him so he could get some "exercise" lol but that was only at 5:00am. Happy was the lady, always smiling, and Grumpy was her exact opposite.
Lisa and I got to know the regulars there, some helped us with our pool like the cab driver Issac, a couple would play against us like a couple filipinos, some we barely spoke to but still knew each other like the 273ish year old skeleton Nick.
We spent hours upon hours there, taking occasional breaks from the pool table to play Megatouch, reclaiming our usual high scores and attempting to steal new ones. We had our routine going, two peas in a pod, enjoying the same little pleasures in life. Together.
And we also met a wide variety of people during our time spent in pool halls. The old black couple, Charlie and his wife (I don't remember her name) who played Monster Madness on the Megatouch machines together. They must have been at least 60, and Lisa used to wonder if we'd be like that, at their age.
But as much as we enjoyed shooting pool together, there were some moments when we got into fights because of it. We came to a point where we took pool more seriously than your casual player, and if we performed poorly, we would get upset, mainly at ourselves. But no one's perfect and it did happen when we took it out on each other.
But those moments were more rare than not and we usually enjoyed ourselves to the fullest. We eventually got our own cue sticks, watched billiards on TV, bought books... It was our thing.
As often as we could, we took advantage of the Amsterdam Power Play (back then Amsterdam was still on the Upper East and West Side), 11:00am to 6:00pm $22 all you can play.
We graduated from Eight Ball to Nine Ball together; we watched Pool Hall Junkies pre-screening, only to go straight to a pool hall and try to imitate certain shots we saw in the movie; we immersed ourselves into this hobby together at the same pace.
At the San Genero fair, there was a pool game, three balls are racked, and after you break, you have one cue to run the three balls. $2 a game for a small prize, $5 a game for the big prize.
Starting off at $2, we tried a couple times unsuccessfully. The cues were crooked, the table was slightly slanted, the cloth was bumpy, all to be expected from a game at a fair (obviously not fair!).
Then I got the feel for it. I won five stuffed animals for Lisa, was about to play again when they told me I couldn't play unless I paid $5 per game instead, for a big prize. Lisa looked around but couldn't find anything she liked, so we left.
Lol well I guess it's only fair to mention that I spent a ridiculous amount of money at another fair for a Fireman and Statue of Libery Tweeties (probably much more than I would have paid at the Warner Bros. store, for worse quality too lol). But I do have to admit, winning these made Lisa a lot happier than buying them.
Sorry, I'm just rambling. Due to recent happenings most of my thoughts regarding Lisa tend to be more negative than not, and hence my memories steer me towards the fights that we had. So I wanted to take a detour and think of all the good times I spent with her.
Funny how memory is selective, because in the past, I always mainly thought of the good times with her. Now I have to consciously do it.
But without a doubt, some of my fondest memories of Lisa, are when she had my back, regardless if I'm right or wrong. When shit is about to pop off the street, whether it's a flower delivery guy, bums, semi-famous street photographers, she backed me up without hesitation which had a reassuring quality to it.
Hm I can't think of a way to end this post so it'll be abrupt. Lol.
So we eventually migrated to Broadway Billiards, on 21st Street and... well, Broadway. It was a basement location (I say was because I recently passed by to find it closed, but hopefully just for renovation), a little on the ghetto side, but the regulars were friendly, and the price couldn't be beat.
Four bucks an hour per person on weekdays, five on weekends. And the owners, a Korean family, were our little dwarves. We had Grumpy, Happy and Sleepy. Sleepy was Mr. Choi, he sometimes asked us to shoot with him so he could get some "exercise" lol but that was only at 5:00am. Happy was the lady, always smiling, and Grumpy was her exact opposite.
Lisa and I got to know the regulars there, some helped us with our pool like the cab driver Issac, a couple would play against us like a couple filipinos, some we barely spoke to but still knew each other like the 273ish year old skeleton Nick.
We spent hours upon hours there, taking occasional breaks from the pool table to play Megatouch, reclaiming our usual high scores and attempting to steal new ones. We had our routine going, two peas in a pod, enjoying the same little pleasures in life. Together.
And we also met a wide variety of people during our time spent in pool halls. The old black couple, Charlie and his wife (I don't remember her name) who played Monster Madness on the Megatouch machines together. They must have been at least 60, and Lisa used to wonder if we'd be like that, at their age.
But as much as we enjoyed shooting pool together, there were some moments when we got into fights because of it. We came to a point where we took pool more seriously than your casual player, and if we performed poorly, we would get upset, mainly at ourselves. But no one's perfect and it did happen when we took it out on each other.
But those moments were more rare than not and we usually enjoyed ourselves to the fullest. We eventually got our own cue sticks, watched billiards on TV, bought books... It was our thing.
As often as we could, we took advantage of the Amsterdam Power Play (back then Amsterdam was still on the Upper East and West Side), 11:00am to 6:00pm $22 all you can play.
We graduated from Eight Ball to Nine Ball together; we watched Pool Hall Junkies pre-screening, only to go straight to a pool hall and try to imitate certain shots we saw in the movie; we immersed ourselves into this hobby together at the same pace.
At the San Genero fair, there was a pool game, three balls are racked, and after you break, you have one cue to run the three balls. $2 a game for a small prize, $5 a game for the big prize.
Starting off at $2, we tried a couple times unsuccessfully. The cues were crooked, the table was slightly slanted, the cloth was bumpy, all to be expected from a game at a fair (obviously not fair!).
Then I got the feel for it. I won five stuffed animals for Lisa, was about to play again when they told me I couldn't play unless I paid $5 per game instead, for a big prize. Lisa looked around but couldn't find anything she liked, so we left.
Lol well I guess it's only fair to mention that I spent a ridiculous amount of money at another fair for a Fireman and Statue of Libery Tweeties (probably much more than I would have paid at the Warner Bros. store, for worse quality too lol). But I do have to admit, winning these made Lisa a lot happier than buying them.
Sorry, I'm just rambling. Due to recent happenings most of my thoughts regarding Lisa tend to be more negative than not, and hence my memories steer me towards the fights that we had. So I wanted to take a detour and think of all the good times I spent with her.
Funny how memory is selective, because in the past, I always mainly thought of the good times with her. Now I have to consciously do it.
But without a doubt, some of my fondest memories of Lisa, are when she had my back, regardless if I'm right or wrong. When shit is about to pop off the street, whether it's a flower delivery guy, bums, semi-famous street photographers, she backed me up without hesitation which had a reassuring quality to it.
Hm I can't think of a way to end this post so it'll be abrupt. Lol.
Temporary Split Personality
I don't exactly remember how this day started. To be honest, it probably doesn't matter in the slightest, it's not like anything important happened during those times anyway. Or anything different for that matter from a day-to-day basis.
Wake up, get high, hang out, get high, go out, sometimes eat (usually not), get higher, sleep (usually not), rinse and repeat.
And peppered throughout this stream of meaningless highs, this day managed to stand out from the rest. Why? Because I had the genius idea of taking four different drugs at the same time. Actually, I'm not even sure if this was a conscious idea that formed in my head, or if it kind of... just happened.
The latter sounds a lot more probable. Anyhow, between coke, K, ecstasy and weed, two were uppers and two were downers.
My body was never more confused. When the uppers kicked in, I was bouncing off the walls, wanting to go out, talking at the speed of light, jittery like a crackhead... and literally 30ish seconds later, the downers kicked in, I would crash to the ground or the nearest couch, an inch away from being comatose. I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me I drooled.
And another few seconds or a minute later, I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off. This kept up for awhile, I'm not sure how long in terms of actual time, but I know I had these spastic mood swings several times.
Needless to say, I was in no condition to step out the door, and luckily my friends were aware of that and didn't instigate.
By the time I was sober enough to stay in one high state, I was drained. Empty. In retrospect, I found it to be an interesting experience, but would I recommend it or do it again? Hell no lol.
But I guess that's the closest I'll ever come to having split personality or some light form of schizophrenia. I'm pretty sure I would have been considered legally insane by a medical professional that night.
And thinking back, why would I have done that to myself? Did I really think it'd be a good idea? Did I think it wouldn't have too bad of an effect on me? I can't quite figure out if I was consciously being destructive, subconsciously thought I was invincible, or if I really just didn't give a fuck as long as I would get high.
I find it hard to reminisce. It almost feels like I lack the analytical skills required to do so, but that's not true because I do have that skillset when it comes to other areas of life. A self-defense mechanism to prevent myself from uncovering the truth about myself? Denial has served me well (and poorly I must add), but a in small doses, it can go a long way.
Afterall, hope is but denial with a facelift.
Wake up, get high, hang out, get high, go out, sometimes eat (usually not), get higher, sleep (usually not), rinse and repeat.
And peppered throughout this stream of meaningless highs, this day managed to stand out from the rest. Why? Because I had the genius idea of taking four different drugs at the same time. Actually, I'm not even sure if this was a conscious idea that formed in my head, or if it kind of... just happened.
The latter sounds a lot more probable. Anyhow, between coke, K, ecstasy and weed, two were uppers and two were downers.
My body was never more confused. When the uppers kicked in, I was bouncing off the walls, wanting to go out, talking at the speed of light, jittery like a crackhead... and literally 30ish seconds later, the downers kicked in, I would crash to the ground or the nearest couch, an inch away from being comatose. I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me I drooled.
And another few seconds or a minute later, I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off. This kept up for awhile, I'm not sure how long in terms of actual time, but I know I had these spastic mood swings several times.
Needless to say, I was in no condition to step out the door, and luckily my friends were aware of that and didn't instigate.
By the time I was sober enough to stay in one high state, I was drained. Empty. In retrospect, I found it to be an interesting experience, but would I recommend it or do it again? Hell no lol.
But I guess that's the closest I'll ever come to having split personality or some light form of schizophrenia. I'm pretty sure I would have been considered legally insane by a medical professional that night.
And thinking back, why would I have done that to myself? Did I really think it'd be a good idea? Did I think it wouldn't have too bad of an effect on me? I can't quite figure out if I was consciously being destructive, subconsciously thought I was invincible, or if I really just didn't give a fuck as long as I would get high.
I find it hard to reminisce. It almost feels like I lack the analytical skills required to do so, but that's not true because I do have that skillset when it comes to other areas of life. A self-defense mechanism to prevent myself from uncovering the truth about myself? Denial has served me well (and poorly I must add), but a in small doses, it can go a long way.
Afterall, hope is but denial with a facelift.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Twists of Fate?
So it was my boy Sean's 21st birthday, but times were rough so the "celebration" basically consisted of the two of us. We went to Walker's, near my mom's place, he ordered a few drinks for the both of us, surprisingly they didn't seem to really care that I was never carded.
I had one of the nastiest drinks that night. A rusty nail, which was four different dark liquors, and a splash of coke. Disgusting.
Anyhow, that isn't the point of the story. We ended up getting kind of drunk, wandered about, almost got into a stupid fight (by now you should have figured that Sean tended to do that a lot when he drank), but the night ended without anything too crazy happening.
Actually, on a side note, while drunk, we also wanted some weed but since we were out, we started asking every single person on the street if they had any for sale. Stupid I know.
We parted ways, and I started walking home. It was about a fifteen block walk, headphones on, minding my own business, when some guy on the street seemed to be talking to me.
I took off an earphone.
"You got kicked out too?" he asked.
He had a fitted hat on, a leather jacket, kind of stocky, Hispanic in his late 20s.
"Kicked out? Nah. From where?"
"From Roxy, they just kicked me out for some bullshit."
Some more small talk, and I'm not exactly sure how the subject was brought up, but it came up.
"You smoke?" he asked.
"Trees? Yeah, you got?"
I couldn't believe my luck, after resorting to asking random people, I bump into someone who actually smokes, on my way home.
We ended up smoking on my rooftop, he sold me a dub, and then gave me two pills.
"Here, take these, it's on me."
"Nah I'm good, I don't drop," I said, and started handing them back.
"Then give them to your friends or something. It's yours."
Rarely one to argue against something free, I pocketed them. I didn't actually take pills during this time yet, and I did give them to a friend.
But this is how I met Will, my future dealer from Forest Hills, the one I got the two jars of K from the night before 9/11 (http://nycmemory.blogspot.com/2009/10/unexpected-end_15.html), who also started fronting me pills for me to start selling.
Completely random. Is this the working of fate? Oddly enough, I also met my co-defendant randomly on the street as well. It's very weird to think that something as simple as me having crossed the street when walking home, or not having been outside of that bar that one night I met Jules (my co-defendant), would have literally changed the entire course of my life.
Granted, most likely if it didn't happen through them, it would have happened in many other ways, but we still can't deny a slight change in situation in both of those nights would have had a long-lasting and serious impact on my life.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not regretting. I find it hard to regret many things in my past, regardless if I was wrong or not, not because I'm remorseless, but rather, in the end I'm still happy with myself and who I've become. And obviously, changing anything in my past would inadvertently change the core of who I am today, my values, my experiences, my thoughts, my opinions, my morals.
And those, I will trade for nothing in the world. Because this is the life that I chose to live.
I had one of the nastiest drinks that night. A rusty nail, which was four different dark liquors, and a splash of coke. Disgusting.
Anyhow, that isn't the point of the story. We ended up getting kind of drunk, wandered about, almost got into a stupid fight (by now you should have figured that Sean tended to do that a lot when he drank), but the night ended without anything too crazy happening.
Actually, on a side note, while drunk, we also wanted some weed but since we were out, we started asking every single person on the street if they had any for sale. Stupid I know.
We parted ways, and I started walking home. It was about a fifteen block walk, headphones on, minding my own business, when some guy on the street seemed to be talking to me.
I took off an earphone.
"You got kicked out too?" he asked.
He had a fitted hat on, a leather jacket, kind of stocky, Hispanic in his late 20s.
"Kicked out? Nah. From where?"
"From Roxy, they just kicked me out for some bullshit."
Some more small talk, and I'm not exactly sure how the subject was brought up, but it came up.
"You smoke?" he asked.
"Trees? Yeah, you got?"
I couldn't believe my luck, after resorting to asking random people, I bump into someone who actually smokes, on my way home.
We ended up smoking on my rooftop, he sold me a dub, and then gave me two pills.
"Here, take these, it's on me."
"Nah I'm good, I don't drop," I said, and started handing them back.
"Then give them to your friends or something. It's yours."
Rarely one to argue against something free, I pocketed them. I didn't actually take pills during this time yet, and I did give them to a friend.
But this is how I met Will, my future dealer from Forest Hills, the one I got the two jars of K from the night before 9/11 (http://nycmemory.blogspot.com/2009/10/unexpected-end_15.html), who also started fronting me pills for me to start selling.
Completely random. Is this the working of fate? Oddly enough, I also met my co-defendant randomly on the street as well. It's very weird to think that something as simple as me having crossed the street when walking home, or not having been outside of that bar that one night I met Jules (my co-defendant), would have literally changed the entire course of my life.
Granted, most likely if it didn't happen through them, it would have happened in many other ways, but we still can't deny a slight change in situation in both of those nights would have had a long-lasting and serious impact on my life.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not regretting. I find it hard to regret many things in my past, regardless if I was wrong or not, not because I'm remorseless, but rather, in the end I'm still happy with myself and who I've become. And obviously, changing anything in my past would inadvertently change the core of who I am today, my values, my experiences, my thoughts, my opinions, my morals.
And those, I will trade for nothing in the world. Because this is the life that I chose to live.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Ten Twenty Nine Oh One - Part 1
To be honest, I don't remember how this night started. What I do remember is that we had to deliver 1,000 pills to Jules' friend in Manhattan. We borrowed Steve's partner's car, and drove from Brooklyn to my mom's place, I had to pick up a few things. It was a couple days before Halloween, October 29th actually.
I walked into my mom's apartment for the first time in a month, but we were in a hurry, so I was rushing about. It was around 8:00pm, and my mom was trying to get a good look at me and talking to me, especially since she hasn't seen me in a long time.
She had a concerned look on her face, I think she also felt helpless, unable to stop me from walking back out that door. The conversation was very brief.
I hopped back into the car, while calling Jules' friend. He asked us to meet him on some street in Greenwich Village. Not thinking twice about it, we drove off.
Steve and I told Jules that this was the last time we were delivering, and if his friend wanted more, he'd have to come to us in Queens. Jules nodded, saying he understood how much of a hassle it was.
"Yeah I already told him that but he kept saying he was worried we might set him up."
"What?" I asked incredulous. "Is he stupid? If anything, it'd be him setting us up, who the hell sets up the buyer instead of the dealer?"
We all laughed about it and chalked it up to inexperience. When we got to the agreed street, it was jam packed with pedestrians, cops, everyone.
"Why did he pick this street, of all places in Manhattan? Is he dumb?"
If he's dumb, I was dumber. Or just not thinking clearly after a few months of continuous highs.
We parked the car, Jules' friend got in.
"Are those the pills?" he asked, pointing to a Motorola box.
"Yeah," Steve replied. "A thousand."
"Okay, let me go get the money from my partner."
He did the same the first time I sold to him. Steve never met him before.
In the mirror I saw a car try to bust a U-turn on a one-way street. I started laughing thinking he didn't know how to drive or he might have been drunk.
Until I saw another car in front of us do the exact same thing.
"Oh shit..." I trailed off.
DEA agents jumped out of everywhere, guns drawn.
"Freeze motherfuckers! Get your hands in the air!"
Make up your damn minds. Freeze or hands up? Unsure of which command to obey, I just stayed still, which I guess I inadvertently obeyed command No. 1. I've seen too many innocent kids get shot because the cops thought they were reaching for a weapon.
It's a dream, I'ma wake up. It's a dream, I'ma wake up...
I haven't woken up since.
They pulled me out of the car, slammed me on the cold concrete, foot on my back, they patted me down for weapons, asking if I had any at the same time.
I shook my head, then remembering I carried a knife, I told them about it.
They pulled me back up. Pedestrians everywhere were taking front row seats to the free just-off-Broadway show, some laughing and pointing, some chuckling, some curious, and some actually seeming concerned. Don't ask how I recorded the emotions of a few dozen people in a matter of seconds. I just did. Or like to believe that I did.
And then the prejudice begins.
"You know Nicky Dragon?" one of them asked me.
"No."
"You look just like him. You sure you don't know him?"
I shook my head again.
"Well he was the head of Flying Dragons back in the 80s, but we took him down. We'll take you all down."
They pushed me towards a car, separating the three of us.
"You know any martial arts or anything?" someone asked me, chuckling.
"A little," I said softly.
I meant it as a joke, even though I did take karate when I was younger. What the fuck would karate do for me in this situation??
But, surprisingly, the agent didn't take it so lightly. He actually paused long enough to look at me closely, then pushed me to someone else.
"Here you take him."
What an idiot lol.
Anyhow, once in the car, they pressured me to cooperate with them over and over again.
"Cooperate with us and we'll cut you a deal."
I didn't know how to deal with these kinds of situations. So what did I do? I did what I saw on TV. You don't talk until you see your lawyer.
"I wanna see my lawyer."
"Come on kid, you're looking at five years if you don't work with us. You don't wanna do five years, trust me. You're young. You say no now, and come back crying to us later that you wanna cut a deal, we won't be giving you the same deal."
"I wanna see my lawyer."
"Look, don't do this to yourself..."
"I wanna see my laywer."
This went on for awhile. I must have told them I wanted to see my lawyer close to ten times.
We got back to their headquarters, and I was the only one in a cell. Jules and Steve were in separate rooms making signed confessions.
Fuck. Fucking assholes. Meanwhile I'm the youngest of the three. Can't you fuckers just keep your mouths shut??
I shook my head in resignation, looking around at my empty cell, first time ever being a cage. I felt bad for the animals at zoos. Steve was walked out of his interrogation room first. He glanced at me, teary eyed and apologized.
I just shrugged. Apologies weren't going to do me jack shit.
They eventually called me out of my cell, fingerprinted me (that fucking ink is IMPOSSIBLE to wash off...), made me strip naked (and trust me, you lose your dignity one strip at a time), asked me a ridiculous amount of questions, and eventually sent me back to my cell.
We were all in separate cells, more silent than a graveyard at the stroke of midnight. I would like to relate the thoughts crossing my mind at that point, but unfortunately it's impossible.
My mind was a total blank. I don't even think the gravity of what just happened had fully hit home yet.
But next time something impossibly crazy happens to you, pinch yourself harder or you might never wake up.
I walked into my mom's apartment for the first time in a month, but we were in a hurry, so I was rushing about. It was around 8:00pm, and my mom was trying to get a good look at me and talking to me, especially since she hasn't seen me in a long time.
She had a concerned look on her face, I think she also felt helpless, unable to stop me from walking back out that door. The conversation was very brief.
I hopped back into the car, while calling Jules' friend. He asked us to meet him on some street in Greenwich Village. Not thinking twice about it, we drove off.
Steve and I told Jules that this was the last time we were delivering, and if his friend wanted more, he'd have to come to us in Queens. Jules nodded, saying he understood how much of a hassle it was.
"Yeah I already told him that but he kept saying he was worried we might set him up."
"What?" I asked incredulous. "Is he stupid? If anything, it'd be him setting us up, who the hell sets up the buyer instead of the dealer?"
We all laughed about it and chalked it up to inexperience. When we got to the agreed street, it was jam packed with pedestrians, cops, everyone.
"Why did he pick this street, of all places in Manhattan? Is he dumb?"
If he's dumb, I was dumber. Or just not thinking clearly after a few months of continuous highs.
We parked the car, Jules' friend got in.
"Are those the pills?" he asked, pointing to a Motorola box.
"Yeah," Steve replied. "A thousand."
"Okay, let me go get the money from my partner."
He did the same the first time I sold to him. Steve never met him before.
In the mirror I saw a car try to bust a U-turn on a one-way street. I started laughing thinking he didn't know how to drive or he might have been drunk.
Until I saw another car in front of us do the exact same thing.
"Oh shit..." I trailed off.
DEA agents jumped out of everywhere, guns drawn.
"Freeze motherfuckers! Get your hands in the air!"
Make up your damn minds. Freeze or hands up? Unsure of which command to obey, I just stayed still, which I guess I inadvertently obeyed command No. 1. I've seen too many innocent kids get shot because the cops thought they were reaching for a weapon.
It's a dream, I'ma wake up. It's a dream, I'ma wake up...
I haven't woken up since.
They pulled me out of the car, slammed me on the cold concrete, foot on my back, they patted me down for weapons, asking if I had any at the same time.
I shook my head, then remembering I carried a knife, I told them about it.
They pulled me back up. Pedestrians everywhere were taking front row seats to the free just-off-Broadway show, some laughing and pointing, some chuckling, some curious, and some actually seeming concerned. Don't ask how I recorded the emotions of a few dozen people in a matter of seconds. I just did. Or like to believe that I did.
And then the prejudice begins.
"You know Nicky Dragon?" one of them asked me.
"No."
"You look just like him. You sure you don't know him?"
I shook my head again.
"Well he was the head of Flying Dragons back in the 80s, but we took him down. We'll take you all down."
They pushed me towards a car, separating the three of us.
"You know any martial arts or anything?" someone asked me, chuckling.
"A little," I said softly.
I meant it as a joke, even though I did take karate when I was younger. What the fuck would karate do for me in this situation??
But, surprisingly, the agent didn't take it so lightly. He actually paused long enough to look at me closely, then pushed me to someone else.
"Here you take him."
What an idiot lol.
Anyhow, once in the car, they pressured me to cooperate with them over and over again.
"Cooperate with us and we'll cut you a deal."
I didn't know how to deal with these kinds of situations. So what did I do? I did what I saw on TV. You don't talk until you see your lawyer.
"I wanna see my lawyer."
"Come on kid, you're looking at five years if you don't work with us. You don't wanna do five years, trust me. You're young. You say no now, and come back crying to us later that you wanna cut a deal, we won't be giving you the same deal."
"I wanna see my lawyer."
"Look, don't do this to yourself..."
"I wanna see my laywer."
This went on for awhile. I must have told them I wanted to see my lawyer close to ten times.
We got back to their headquarters, and I was the only one in a cell. Jules and Steve were in separate rooms making signed confessions.
Fuck. Fucking assholes. Meanwhile I'm the youngest of the three. Can't you fuckers just keep your mouths shut??
I shook my head in resignation, looking around at my empty cell, first time ever being a cage. I felt bad for the animals at zoos. Steve was walked out of his interrogation room first. He glanced at me, teary eyed and apologized.
I just shrugged. Apologies weren't going to do me jack shit.
They eventually called me out of my cell, fingerprinted me (that fucking ink is IMPOSSIBLE to wash off...), made me strip naked (and trust me, you lose your dignity one strip at a time), asked me a ridiculous amount of questions, and eventually sent me back to my cell.
We were all in separate cells, more silent than a graveyard at the stroke of midnight. I would like to relate the thoughts crossing my mind at that point, but unfortunately it's impossible.
My mind was a total blank. I don't even think the gravity of what just happened had fully hit home yet.
But next time something impossibly crazy happens to you, pinch yourself harder or you might never wake up.
Amateur Fight Club
It was about a year after my arrest, meaning that I had been on pretrial for a year. Weekly drugs tests, and weekly calls to report in. At least I wasn't on house arrest, even though I couldn't leave New York City.
An old friend of mine Sean from high school (boarding school upstate NY) invited Lisa and me over to his place, on the Upper West Side. Actually, it was his parents place. It was a beautiful apartment, not nouveau-riche but au contraire, it emanated that old wealth that you can only be born into.
Sean had a particular family. His (hot) older sister had moved out with her fiance, his mother was very fond of French culture (particularly their vineyards), and his father was a retired judge who was clinically diagnosed with depression.
Anyhow, I was a regular at Sean's house when I first moved back to NYC. He had a fair amount of privacy in his room so we were able to smoke to our lung's content. This night, I went there with Lisa with a bottle of Bacardi and Alize.
The three of us split the Alize, and Sean and I finished the rum. Three to four hours later, I got up for the first time to take a piss. That's when it hit me. I was pretty fucking drunk. I stumbled my way to the bathroom, still trying to not wake up Sean's parents despite my drunken state.
I finally made it to the bathroom, which was unusually long, and of course, the toilet was on the other side. For some inexplicable reason however, at the sight of the sink, I had a sudden uncontrollable urge to vomit.
And out it came. A lot of it. I don't remember what I ate that night, but from how it clogged the sink and filled it two-thirds of the way, I'm assuming I had a hearty dinner.
I tried (kind of) to unclog the sink, but I couldn't think of any way besides sticking my hand in there, so hoping Sean or Lisa would have a better idea, I left it for now. I borrowed some Listerine, then almost forgetting why I was there in the first place, I answered nature's call.
Back in the room, I heard both of them laughing.
"Yo yo yo, Alex, you gotta take a look at this," Sean said in between spurts of laughter.
"Sean, I gotta tell you something, I..."
"Yo, come check this out bro, this shit is mad funny."
"Yo Sean, you don't understand, I puked in your sink. It's clogged."
"What? Ah man don't worry man, come check this out man!"
"Nah but Sean, wait, your mom... you don't understand, you sink is completely clogged!"
"Nah nah don't worry man, come take a look man."
He never stopped laughing the whole time. Sean's bedroom walls have some posters but mainly a lot of graffiti. He used to be part of a graffiti crew back in the days. Earlier that day he had bought these new paint markers, and apparently he didn't realize drunk graffiti wasn't the most aesthetic form of art.
And to prove that point, he had tagged his name on his wall, but it was more akin to a kindergardener's scribble.
"Look at that shit!" he said emphatically, "I've never, ever, EVER tagged anything THAT fucking ugly!"
His tone of voice, body language, everything, cracked me the fuck up. You had to have been there. Obviously we all know the alcohol was the main catalyst in all that but that should be left subtly implied. I sat back down next to my girl and kept on laughing.
I was laughing so hard my sides were hurting, eyes watering, clutching my stomach and, hysterical. After awhile though, it seemed to cause a problem.
"Yo," Sean said. "Keep it down. Keep it down man my parents are gonna hear us."
But I've already hit the point of no return. You know those rare laughs that you wished you could have more often? The laughs that let you release that inner child with wild abandon. And the more he told us to shut up, the harder we laughed.
"Yo seriously man, keep it quiet man, shut up!"
And he punched me in the face. My head whipped from side to side, eyes wide with confusion. When I slowly realized what had actually happened, I burst out laughing even more because I couldn't believe that such a good friend had just punched me.
The previous scenario repeated, and Sean actually punched me again.
"Ow, damn son, chill that time that shit actually hurt."
Laughing apologetically, he said sorry and said I could hit him back.
Drunk as hell, I barely formed a fist and I ended up only half punching him.
"Nah nah that shit don't count," I said.
He agreed to let me hit him again. This time, I nailed right on the side of the nose.
"Oww damn that shit fucking smarts!'
We laughed at what just happened, rubbing our faces, wincing every now and then. Lisa and I promoted at Exit at the time, and we impulsively decided to go. Problem was, we were pretty broke (notice a trend from these days?), but promoters didn't have to pay cover until 1:00am, and we had an extra promoter's card for Sean.
Then what's the problem? It was past 12:30am. We had to make it down to Columbus Circle, which was possible but very tight. We decided to try anyway.
On the elevator ride down, I was whispering something to Lisa in her ear, and out of nowhere Sean punched me in the neck. Seriously, what the fuck lol?? I obviously punched him back.
To this day I still wonder what his doorman must have thought seeing us walking out, holding our neck and face respectively, moaning in pain.
Walking to the train station, Sean started randomly punching car windows. He was a violent drunk. A block or so later, I'm guessing it was due to pent up frustration and anger (mainly at myself), out of nowhere, I took a couple steps and kicked at a car's passenger side window.
Next thing I knew, I was knee-deep into the car, window shattered.
"Oh shit..."
I hopped out, and made sure to shake off as much glass from my pants and shoe as possible, I sped walk around the corner. Released on bail, that was by far the dumbest thing I could have done.
Around the corner of 72nd St, a family was walking by, grandparents, parents and kinds (why kids were out that late, ask the parents), but Sean randomly went to a trash can and threw it across their path, garbage and litter spilling all over the place.
Too embarrassed to even look at them, I 've always pictured the look of complete shock on their face.
Without missing a beat, Sean runs up to a Benz, and rips out the Mercedes symbol from the hood, then runs to a phone booth and smashes his hand so hard against it to shatter the glass of the advertisement.
We finally made it into the train. Sitting there and talking, Sean repeatedly taps me on the shoulder while talking, unaware that his hands were covered with blood. About to say something, I realized the futility of it all, especially considering that I already had blood all over my jacket by now.
We arrived at Columbus Circle 59th St., and I guess Sean was ready to have a little fun. Every person he saw on the train platform, he ran up to them spastically and shoved his bloody hands right in front of their faces and screamed:
"AHHH! AHHH! I GOT AIDS!!!"
Then ran off to the next poor unsuspecting victim. I was cracking up, I never seen Sean this drunk and wild.
He grabbed a piece of paper from the floor which turned out to be a post-it note with "PULL MY ADHESIVE" written on it.
Sean ran out of the subway, the post-it note by his crotch, approaching strangers and couples alike, thrusting his hips forward shouting:
"Pull my adhesive!! Pullll my adhesiveeee!!!"
All pedestrians avoided him like he was the brainchild of the plague and swine flu. Lisa and I tried to keep up, and I kept calling his name and he either didn't hear me or ignored me. I think it was the latter.
He climbed up the side of a small Mack truck, tried the door handle, and by some weird twist of coincidence, the door actually opened. Lisa and I looked at each other somewhat confused, and before we could say anything, a Jansport backpack flew out into the sidewalk.
"Sean! SEAN!"
I looked in the truck and he was no longer there, the passenger door was open, and he was already a half block down.
Lisa didn't look too happy.
"Are you mad?"
"Yeah kinda, you guys are acting like fools."
"Yeah I know, sorry bebe."
I knew we were acting like fools. But to be honest, only Sean was now. I somewhat sobered up after kicking in that window.
As we were talking, two guys walked by and I thought I heard one of them say something about Lisa. When I said I had somewhat sobered up, that was a half lie. Still drunk, but just not retarded drunk.
"What the fuck did you say?" I asked.
One of them seemed to be as drunk as I was, meanwhile the other was sober.
"What?" the drunk one spun on me.
"The fuck did you say about my girl?"
"Look, you don't want none of this. I got ten people following a couple blocks behind us, you don't want none of this."
In the meantime, his sober friend was trying to squash everything and keep walking, saying it was a misunderstanding.
"I don't give a fuck about you, or your ten boys, I'll kick all of your asses!" said the Bacardi and Alize.
By this time, Sean doubled back and was wondering what was going on. No sooner had he caught on, we were surrounded by ten people or so.
Ah fuck, not again...
But luckily, the ten other people were in no mood for a fight even if it would have been like winning a court case with Johnny Cochran as your lawyer.
At Exit, we missed the promoter's line. Bummed, we started to leave, and waiting to cross street, the infamous paint markers resurfaced to perform an encore of a child's scribble on the club wall. Two guys soon approached Sean, and thinking that they were thugs trying to start shit with him, I went to see what was going on.
One of them intercepted me and asked:
"He your boy?"
"Yeah he's my boy."
"So you got his back?"
"No shit I got his back."
Thinking shit was going to go down, he put his arm around my shoulder and waved a walkie-talkie in my face.
"You sure you got his back?"
Ah fuck... (for the second time tonight)
But it was too late to back out now.
"Yeah I got his back."
The other security guard was talking to Sean across the street and ended up letting him go. Walking away, Sean was furious.
"Those fucking fake ass thugs think they can fuck with me, I'll motherfucking slit their throats, who the fuck they think they are stepping up to me like that I..."
"What the fuck nigga, they were cops, security for the club. They're doing their jobs.."
"Nahh fuck that man, they were just some thugs stepping to me man, they..."
"They waved a goddamn walkie in my face, what the fuck are you talking about? Yo, every time you're mad drunk you do some dumb shit, I can't even fuck with you like this anymore."
We started arguing with one another, shoving each other but things calmed down. He slammed his hand against another public phone booth (old grudge perhaps?) but soon he sobered up.
We went to a nearby McDonalds and he washed up. In the subway station where we were going to part ways, he asked what the fuck happened that night.
I started to tell him the story I just told you, and at first he wouldn't believe that he hit me to begin with. An hour and a half later, finally done (I omitted some smaller unimportant details here), we went home.
Next day around 3:00pm, I got a call.
"Hey man, it's Sean."
"Hey..." still groggy.
"I think you told me last night already but I don't really remember, but can you refresh my memory?"
He had no idea what happened. Moral of the story? There isn't one, I just thought it was funny lol (minus my little slip of the foot)
An old friend of mine Sean from high school (boarding school upstate NY) invited Lisa and me over to his place, on the Upper West Side. Actually, it was his parents place. It was a beautiful apartment, not nouveau-riche but au contraire, it emanated that old wealth that you can only be born into.
Sean had a particular family. His (hot) older sister had moved out with her fiance, his mother was very fond of French culture (particularly their vineyards), and his father was a retired judge who was clinically diagnosed with depression.
Anyhow, I was a regular at Sean's house when I first moved back to NYC. He had a fair amount of privacy in his room so we were able to smoke to our lung's content. This night, I went there with Lisa with a bottle of Bacardi and Alize.
The three of us split the Alize, and Sean and I finished the rum. Three to four hours later, I got up for the first time to take a piss. That's when it hit me. I was pretty fucking drunk. I stumbled my way to the bathroom, still trying to not wake up Sean's parents despite my drunken state.
I finally made it to the bathroom, which was unusually long, and of course, the toilet was on the other side. For some inexplicable reason however, at the sight of the sink, I had a sudden uncontrollable urge to vomit.
And out it came. A lot of it. I don't remember what I ate that night, but from how it clogged the sink and filled it two-thirds of the way, I'm assuming I had a hearty dinner.
I tried (kind of) to unclog the sink, but I couldn't think of any way besides sticking my hand in there, so hoping Sean or Lisa would have a better idea, I left it for now. I borrowed some Listerine, then almost forgetting why I was there in the first place, I answered nature's call.
Back in the room, I heard both of them laughing.
"Yo yo yo, Alex, you gotta take a look at this," Sean said in between spurts of laughter.
"Sean, I gotta tell you something, I..."
"Yo, come check this out bro, this shit is mad funny."
"Yo Sean, you don't understand, I puked in your sink. It's clogged."
"What? Ah man don't worry man, come check this out man!"
"Nah but Sean, wait, your mom... you don't understand, you sink is completely clogged!"
"Nah nah don't worry man, come take a look man."
He never stopped laughing the whole time. Sean's bedroom walls have some posters but mainly a lot of graffiti. He used to be part of a graffiti crew back in the days. Earlier that day he had bought these new paint markers, and apparently he didn't realize drunk graffiti wasn't the most aesthetic form of art.
And to prove that point, he had tagged his name on his wall, but it was more akin to a kindergardener's scribble.
"Look at that shit!" he said emphatically, "I've never, ever, EVER tagged anything THAT fucking ugly!"
His tone of voice, body language, everything, cracked me the fuck up. You had to have been there. Obviously we all know the alcohol was the main catalyst in all that but that should be left subtly implied. I sat back down next to my girl and kept on laughing.
I was laughing so hard my sides were hurting, eyes watering, clutching my stomach and, hysterical. After awhile though, it seemed to cause a problem.
"Yo," Sean said. "Keep it down. Keep it down man my parents are gonna hear us."
But I've already hit the point of no return. You know those rare laughs that you wished you could have more often? The laughs that let you release that inner child with wild abandon. And the more he told us to shut up, the harder we laughed.
"Yo seriously man, keep it quiet man, shut up!"
And he punched me in the face. My head whipped from side to side, eyes wide with confusion. When I slowly realized what had actually happened, I burst out laughing even more because I couldn't believe that such a good friend had just punched me.
The previous scenario repeated, and Sean actually punched me again.
"Ow, damn son, chill that time that shit actually hurt."
Laughing apologetically, he said sorry and said I could hit him back.
Drunk as hell, I barely formed a fist and I ended up only half punching him.
"Nah nah that shit don't count," I said.
He agreed to let me hit him again. This time, I nailed right on the side of the nose.
"Oww damn that shit fucking smarts!'
We laughed at what just happened, rubbing our faces, wincing every now and then. Lisa and I promoted at Exit at the time, and we impulsively decided to go. Problem was, we were pretty broke (notice a trend from these days?), but promoters didn't have to pay cover until 1:00am, and we had an extra promoter's card for Sean.
Then what's the problem? It was past 12:30am. We had to make it down to Columbus Circle, which was possible but very tight. We decided to try anyway.
On the elevator ride down, I was whispering something to Lisa in her ear, and out of nowhere Sean punched me in the neck. Seriously, what the fuck lol?? I obviously punched him back.
To this day I still wonder what his doorman must have thought seeing us walking out, holding our neck and face respectively, moaning in pain.
Walking to the train station, Sean started randomly punching car windows. He was a violent drunk. A block or so later, I'm guessing it was due to pent up frustration and anger (mainly at myself), out of nowhere, I took a couple steps and kicked at a car's passenger side window.
Next thing I knew, I was knee-deep into the car, window shattered.
"Oh shit..."
I hopped out, and made sure to shake off as much glass from my pants and shoe as possible, I sped walk around the corner. Released on bail, that was by far the dumbest thing I could have done.
Around the corner of 72nd St, a family was walking by, grandparents, parents and kinds (why kids were out that late, ask the parents), but Sean randomly went to a trash can and threw it across their path, garbage and litter spilling all over the place.
Too embarrassed to even look at them, I 've always pictured the look of complete shock on their face.
Without missing a beat, Sean runs up to a Benz, and rips out the Mercedes symbol from the hood, then runs to a phone booth and smashes his hand so hard against it to shatter the glass of the advertisement.
We finally made it into the train. Sitting there and talking, Sean repeatedly taps me on the shoulder while talking, unaware that his hands were covered with blood. About to say something, I realized the futility of it all, especially considering that I already had blood all over my jacket by now.
We arrived at Columbus Circle 59th St., and I guess Sean was ready to have a little fun. Every person he saw on the train platform, he ran up to them spastically and shoved his bloody hands right in front of their faces and screamed:
"AHHH! AHHH! I GOT AIDS!!!"
Then ran off to the next poor unsuspecting victim. I was cracking up, I never seen Sean this drunk and wild.
He grabbed a piece of paper from the floor which turned out to be a post-it note with "PULL MY ADHESIVE" written on it.
Sean ran out of the subway, the post-it note by his crotch, approaching strangers and couples alike, thrusting his hips forward shouting:
"Pull my adhesive!! Pullll my adhesiveeee!!!"
All pedestrians avoided him like he was the brainchild of the plague and swine flu. Lisa and I tried to keep up, and I kept calling his name and he either didn't hear me or ignored me. I think it was the latter.
He climbed up the side of a small Mack truck, tried the door handle, and by some weird twist of coincidence, the door actually opened. Lisa and I looked at each other somewhat confused, and before we could say anything, a Jansport backpack flew out into the sidewalk.
"Sean! SEAN!"
I looked in the truck and he was no longer there, the passenger door was open, and he was already a half block down.
Lisa didn't look too happy.
"Are you mad?"
"Yeah kinda, you guys are acting like fools."
"Yeah I know, sorry bebe."
I knew we were acting like fools. But to be honest, only Sean was now. I somewhat sobered up after kicking in that window.
As we were talking, two guys walked by and I thought I heard one of them say something about Lisa. When I said I had somewhat sobered up, that was a half lie. Still drunk, but just not retarded drunk.
"What the fuck did you say?" I asked.
One of them seemed to be as drunk as I was, meanwhile the other was sober.
"What?" the drunk one spun on me.
"The fuck did you say about my girl?"
"Look, you don't want none of this. I got ten people following a couple blocks behind us, you don't want none of this."
In the meantime, his sober friend was trying to squash everything and keep walking, saying it was a misunderstanding.
"I don't give a fuck about you, or your ten boys, I'll kick all of your asses!" said the Bacardi and Alize.
By this time, Sean doubled back and was wondering what was going on. No sooner had he caught on, we were surrounded by ten people or so.
Ah fuck, not again...
But luckily, the ten other people were in no mood for a fight even if it would have been like winning a court case with Johnny Cochran as your lawyer.
At Exit, we missed the promoter's line. Bummed, we started to leave, and waiting to cross street, the infamous paint markers resurfaced to perform an encore of a child's scribble on the club wall. Two guys soon approached Sean, and thinking that they were thugs trying to start shit with him, I went to see what was going on.
One of them intercepted me and asked:
"He your boy?"
"Yeah he's my boy."
"So you got his back?"
"No shit I got his back."
Thinking shit was going to go down, he put his arm around my shoulder and waved a walkie-talkie in my face.
"You sure you got his back?"
Ah fuck... (for the second time tonight)
But it was too late to back out now.
"Yeah I got his back."
The other security guard was talking to Sean across the street and ended up letting him go. Walking away, Sean was furious.
"Those fucking fake ass thugs think they can fuck with me, I'll motherfucking slit their throats, who the fuck they think they are stepping up to me like that I..."
"What the fuck nigga, they were cops, security for the club. They're doing their jobs.."
"Nahh fuck that man, they were just some thugs stepping to me man, they..."
"They waved a goddamn walkie in my face, what the fuck are you talking about? Yo, every time you're mad drunk you do some dumb shit, I can't even fuck with you like this anymore."
We started arguing with one another, shoving each other but things calmed down. He slammed his hand against another public phone booth (old grudge perhaps?) but soon he sobered up.
We went to a nearby McDonalds and he washed up. In the subway station where we were going to part ways, he asked what the fuck happened that night.
I started to tell him the story I just told you, and at first he wouldn't believe that he hit me to begin with. An hour and a half later, finally done (I omitted some smaller unimportant details here), we went home.
Next day around 3:00pm, I got a call.
"Hey man, it's Sean."
"Hey..." still groggy.
"I think you told me last night already but I don't really remember, but can you refresh my memory?"
He had no idea what happened. Moral of the story? There isn't one, I just thought it was funny lol (minus my little slip of the foot)
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Eleven Guys and a Lesbian
The house I crashed at back in 2001, Sung's house, almost always had ten to fifteen people there at any given time. This one particular day, most of my friends had to go on some type of run: drug run, food run, money run, etc.
We were left with five people. Jimmy (who had a broken hand in a soft cast, needles, the whole nine), Jen, Angelina (aka Gellie), and Sung. Sung and Gellie were in his room talking, Jen, Jimmy and I were in Sung's mom's room playing Chinese Poker. His mom was away on a business trip in Korea, she was gone for a month.
Wait hold on, I have to backtrack a little. A few days prior, almost the same group was here (replace Gellie with my friend Mary, add Steve my future co-defendant), most of us were high, but still bored. Steve suggests we play strip Chinese Poker, but considering there were two girls and four guys, I was positive they were going to decline.
Mary and Jen looked at each other, whispered something then surprisingly agreed. They lost the first four hands. But as soon as anything revealing was going to come off, they wrapped themselves in thick comforters. It obviously defeated the purpose, especially considering that the shirt/top they were wearing before was more revealing than a freaking comforter!
But whatever. I wasn't going to force them to strip lol. We kept on playing. Doorbell rang, turned out to be this guy Nick, who was friends with Mary's boyfriend. He was able to discern that she was in fact naked underneath the blanket, but he ended up leaving without saying much. I forgot what it was that he wanted to begin with. Probably drugs.
Okay so enough of that flashback. I'm sitting on Sung's mom's bed, playing cards, binging on coke, sleepless for days, foodless for over 20ish hours, when I see a couple guys walk past the mom's room into the guest room.
Thinking they were friends of a friend, I got up to greet them. They came back into the doorway, accompanied by another two guys.
"Hey," one of them said.
"What's good?" I replied.
"We got a question, you know who the two guys are that played strip poker with Mary?"
I turned to look at Jimmy who just stared right back at me. My eyes glanced at his broken hand. I turned back around and saw Sung (who's not a small fella) standing behind the four guys.
Okay, four on three, even though Jimmy's hand is broken, how bad can it be?
"Yeah," I finally answered.
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"Us."
I swear the guy flashed a quick smile. He turned around and shouted towards the kitchen.
"Yo! We found them!"
About a dozen people materialized out of nowhere, surrounding me.
Ah, fuck.
I tried to talk my way out of it.
"Look, this has nothing to do with us. For one, this is between Mary and her boyfriend. For two, there was no harm done, she was wrapped in a blanket the whole time."
"It's a question of principle dude, that shit's fucked up."
I continued trying to convince them, and mid-sentence, one of them said:
"I'm sick of hearing you talk."
And punched me square in the face.
I fell to the bed and bounced right back up. I only felt the first punch, everything else was numbed by all the coke. From the corner of my eye I saw Jimmy attempt to do something but the guy next to him simply slapped his hand and I saw him fold over in pain. I didn't expect him to be able to do anything, I could barely even imagine the excruciating pain he must have been in.
As soon as I got back to my feet, four of them wailed on me. I kept bouncing back from the bed, impervious to the pain, but I didn't stand a chance.
Jimmy finally jumped on me and held my head down.
"Stay down Alex, stay down."
"Fuck that shit."
I struggled against him. If I get my ass handed to me, fine. But no way in hell I'm going to just lay here and take it like a bitch. Or so I thought.
"They pulled out a razor."
I calmed down almost immediately. These fuckers meant to cut me. I don't mind getting beat, but disfigured? Nah chills lol.
So I just laid there, curled up in a ball, pounded over and over. They tried to take my wallet, which I desperately gripped until my knuckles were drained of blood. That earned another dozen punches.
But that wasn't the worst. I felt one of their boots accidentally rest right by my crotch. I could feel the cool outside air wafting off of the suede, I could imagine the hardened boot blasting my balls to Kingdom No-More-Cum, and I prayed.
God, I know that you know that I don't believe in you, but if you're there, please, please don't let him kick.
You would think I'd be a fervent Christian crusader by now. My heart slowed its pulse when I felt the boot withdraw from the danger zone.
"Do you have any pills?"
I was just fronted fifty pills and they were in my left pocket, that I was laying on. But if I lost those pills, I would have been in some shit. I would have had to figure out a way to come up with $500 to pay it back. I had nowhere near $500.
I shook my head no, expecting they would kick my ass some more, unhappy with my answer. But instead one of them said to let me be, and they left.
I almost immediately got up. The puddle of blood on the bed was quite impressive actually. Close to two feet in diameter. I went straight to the bathroom to check my nose. Like I said, the coke numbed all the pain, and I thought they broke my nose.
Washing all the blood off my face, I fidget with my nose, and feel nothing. No, not nothing as in, numbness. I felt no pain, no brokeness, nothing. I didn't even have a black eye. I had a slightly fat lip, a couple bruises on my back, and that's it. Only conclusion? They punch like bitches.
As soon as I'm done, I snapped at Sung.
"How the fuck do you let twelve guys walk into your house like that?"
"My friend just left, I thought it was him coming back because he forgot something so I didn't check before I opened the door."
Sung talked ridiculously fast. To the point you can't understand him. I'll spare you all the "what?" and "huh?" for brevity's sake.
"And what, you can't close the door after you realized it wasn't him?"
"Well, they shoved their foot in the door and said if I didn't let them in, they'd kick the door down."
I just shook my head.
"You're a fucking idiot. Close the fucking door. If they kick that shit down, call the cops. And worse comes to worst, if they do somehow make it in, don't just let them wander around your house freely! Come tell me so I can get ready! They're obviously not here to party with us!"
I was pissed. I couldn't believe someone could be that stupid.
"And on top of that, you didn't do shit!"
"What was I supposed to do? There were so many of them!"
Now his tone became defensive.
I sighed and shook my head.
"Look, I thought we were boys. And what that means to me is, I rather get my ass whooped with you than watch you get your ass handed to you by yourself. Jimmy has a broken hand and he tried to do something. The fuck..."
The conversation ended there. Mary eventually came over, pissed as hell, apologizing, and she eventually broke up w/ the guy. Apparently he claims to have had nothing to do with it, his story goes like this. He was home, and his boys came through saying they were going to go cop some pills. He agreed, hopped in the car, and they went to Sung's house. What they meant by copping pills was, jumping my ass and robbing me.
For the rest of the night, I kept thinking I got jumped by twelve guys, until Jen said, "It was only eleven guys. The other one is a dyke." (no offense to readers, she was bisexual at the time, I'm just transliterating or whatever that word is)
Great, so I got jumped by eleven guys and a lesbian.
We were left with five people. Jimmy (who had a broken hand in a soft cast, needles, the whole nine), Jen, Angelina (aka Gellie), and Sung. Sung and Gellie were in his room talking, Jen, Jimmy and I were in Sung's mom's room playing Chinese Poker. His mom was away on a business trip in Korea, she was gone for a month.
Wait hold on, I have to backtrack a little. A few days prior, almost the same group was here (replace Gellie with my friend Mary, add Steve my future co-defendant), most of us were high, but still bored. Steve suggests we play strip Chinese Poker, but considering there were two girls and four guys, I was positive they were going to decline.
Mary and Jen looked at each other, whispered something then surprisingly agreed. They lost the first four hands. But as soon as anything revealing was going to come off, they wrapped themselves in thick comforters. It obviously defeated the purpose, especially considering that the shirt/top they were wearing before was more revealing than a freaking comforter!
But whatever. I wasn't going to force them to strip lol. We kept on playing. Doorbell rang, turned out to be this guy Nick, who was friends with Mary's boyfriend. He was able to discern that she was in fact naked underneath the blanket, but he ended up leaving without saying much. I forgot what it was that he wanted to begin with. Probably drugs.
Okay so enough of that flashback. I'm sitting on Sung's mom's bed, playing cards, binging on coke, sleepless for days, foodless for over 20ish hours, when I see a couple guys walk past the mom's room into the guest room.
Thinking they were friends of a friend, I got up to greet them. They came back into the doorway, accompanied by another two guys.
"Hey," one of them said.
"What's good?" I replied.
"We got a question, you know who the two guys are that played strip poker with Mary?"
I turned to look at Jimmy who just stared right back at me. My eyes glanced at his broken hand. I turned back around and saw Sung (who's not a small fella) standing behind the four guys.
Okay, four on three, even though Jimmy's hand is broken, how bad can it be?
"Yeah," I finally answered.
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"Us."
I swear the guy flashed a quick smile. He turned around and shouted towards the kitchen.
"Yo! We found them!"
About a dozen people materialized out of nowhere, surrounding me.
Ah, fuck.
I tried to talk my way out of it.
"Look, this has nothing to do with us. For one, this is between Mary and her boyfriend. For two, there was no harm done, she was wrapped in a blanket the whole time."
"It's a question of principle dude, that shit's fucked up."
I continued trying to convince them, and mid-sentence, one of them said:
"I'm sick of hearing you talk."
And punched me square in the face.
I fell to the bed and bounced right back up. I only felt the first punch, everything else was numbed by all the coke. From the corner of my eye I saw Jimmy attempt to do something but the guy next to him simply slapped his hand and I saw him fold over in pain. I didn't expect him to be able to do anything, I could barely even imagine the excruciating pain he must have been in.
As soon as I got back to my feet, four of them wailed on me. I kept bouncing back from the bed, impervious to the pain, but I didn't stand a chance.
Jimmy finally jumped on me and held my head down.
"Stay down Alex, stay down."
"Fuck that shit."
I struggled against him. If I get my ass handed to me, fine. But no way in hell I'm going to just lay here and take it like a bitch. Or so I thought.
"They pulled out a razor."
I calmed down almost immediately. These fuckers meant to cut me. I don't mind getting beat, but disfigured? Nah chills lol.
So I just laid there, curled up in a ball, pounded over and over. They tried to take my wallet, which I desperately gripped until my knuckles were drained of blood. That earned another dozen punches.
But that wasn't the worst. I felt one of their boots accidentally rest right by my crotch. I could feel the cool outside air wafting off of the suede, I could imagine the hardened boot blasting my balls to Kingdom No-More-Cum, and I prayed.
God, I know that you know that I don't believe in you, but if you're there, please, please don't let him kick.
You would think I'd be a fervent Christian crusader by now. My heart slowed its pulse when I felt the boot withdraw from the danger zone.
"Do you have any pills?"
I was just fronted fifty pills and they were in my left pocket, that I was laying on. But if I lost those pills, I would have been in some shit. I would have had to figure out a way to come up with $500 to pay it back. I had nowhere near $500.
I shook my head no, expecting they would kick my ass some more, unhappy with my answer. But instead one of them said to let me be, and they left.
I almost immediately got up. The puddle of blood on the bed was quite impressive actually. Close to two feet in diameter. I went straight to the bathroom to check my nose. Like I said, the coke numbed all the pain, and I thought they broke my nose.
Washing all the blood off my face, I fidget with my nose, and feel nothing. No, not nothing as in, numbness. I felt no pain, no brokeness, nothing. I didn't even have a black eye. I had a slightly fat lip, a couple bruises on my back, and that's it. Only conclusion? They punch like bitches.
As soon as I'm done, I snapped at Sung.
"How the fuck do you let twelve guys walk into your house like that?"
"My friend just left, I thought it was him coming back because he forgot something so I didn't check before I opened the door."
Sung talked ridiculously fast. To the point you can't understand him. I'll spare you all the "what?" and "huh?" for brevity's sake.
"And what, you can't close the door after you realized it wasn't him?"
"Well, they shoved their foot in the door and said if I didn't let them in, they'd kick the door down."
I just shook my head.
"You're a fucking idiot. Close the fucking door. If they kick that shit down, call the cops. And worse comes to worst, if they do somehow make it in, don't just let them wander around your house freely! Come tell me so I can get ready! They're obviously not here to party with us!"
I was pissed. I couldn't believe someone could be that stupid.
"And on top of that, you didn't do shit!"
"What was I supposed to do? There were so many of them!"
Now his tone became defensive.
I sighed and shook my head.
"Look, I thought we were boys. And what that means to me is, I rather get my ass whooped with you than watch you get your ass handed to you by yourself. Jimmy has a broken hand and he tried to do something. The fuck..."
The conversation ended there. Mary eventually came over, pissed as hell, apologizing, and she eventually broke up w/ the guy. Apparently he claims to have had nothing to do with it, his story goes like this. He was home, and his boys came through saying they were going to go cop some pills. He agreed, hopped in the car, and they went to Sung's house. What they meant by copping pills was, jumping my ass and robbing me.
For the rest of the night, I kept thinking I got jumped by twelve guys, until Jen said, "It was only eleven guys. The other one is a dyke." (no offense to readers, she was bisexual at the time, I'm just transliterating or whatever that word is)
Great, so I got jumped by eleven guys and a lesbian.
An Unexpected End
So one day during the hazy summer of 2001, right after I dropped out of college, I was hanging out with my friend Sung in Flushing. We were completely tapped out, with only $40 between the two of us, but yearning for that next high just as much anyway.
I spent most of that day calling various people trying to get four ecstasy pills but as life often throws a curveball at us while snickering from the sidelines, everyone I knew was dry as well. We finally get a hold of this one guy Will, from Forest Hills and he tells me he doesn't have any pills but he has some Special K (no, not the cereal, ketamine, it's an animal tranquilizer used by vets).
Beggars can't be choosers (K was never my preferred drug), Sung and I, now joined by two other friends, Arturo and another Alex, trooped out to Forest Hills.
They waited at a corner while I was in the car. He gave me a jar of K for $40, then asked me if I wanted a second one.
"That's all the money I have."
And like any respectable drug dealer he replies, "Don't worry about it, I'll front you that, I know you're good for it."
Even knowing that he was doing me no favors, I was still happier than a pig in shit on a sweltering fly infested summer jungle day.
I told the others the good news and decided to go back to Main St., when Arturo realizes he has no more money on his Metrocard. As we're trying to solve this dilemma, he says, "Go on ahead I'll catch up with you guys."
"What? The bus goes on the highway. No way you'll get there anytime soon," I replied skeptically.
He insisted.
"Okay look, I'll give you ten minutes after we get there before we leave."
He agreed. Mind you, Arturo is in no way fit. A little on the chubbier side and not too physically active, he was one of the last people I'd to expect to pull this off.
We got back to Main St. and waited. Five minutes. Six. Then at either seven or eight minutes, my jaw almost dropped when I saw his out of shape ass panting down the street.
"I have to give it to you," I laughed, "you've earned your high."
We decided to go up to the LIRR platform nearby. It had those sheltered areas and was rather empty at that time.
We somehow had a CD case with us at the time (sadly, I'm pretty sure it wasn't carried around for the music), and I poured myself a line.
Ketamine in it's original form is a liquid, but when heated, it crystallizes. In the States, snorting it is the most common practice, as far as I know.
But my eyes were bigger than my stomach (or more accurately bigger than my nostrils) since I had been looking forward to this moment all day long. I was a little heavy handed and poured myself about a four inch line. Special K isn't like cocaine in terms of how much you take at a time or anything for that matter.
Sung was next. He was also heavy handed but instead of doing it all he left some for the next person. For some reason however, neither of them were willing to snort his "leftovers." They insisted that they wanted their own lines, as if it made a difference. Thinking it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard (sheesh, have I ever been right when thinking that?), I finished the excess powder, even before the first had kicked in.
What ensued wasn't quite a K-Hole, which is the equivalent of a bad trip but usually involves a sensation of falling into spiraling holes. But it was a bad trip alright.
I have a tendency to become very confused and lost on K. It's a dissociative drug which I've taken to mean that it disconnects you from reality.
I suddenly had no idea where I was. I kept asking my friends over and over.
"Where are we?"
"Flushing."
"No but like where are we?"
"Uh. Queens, New York City?"
"No but, WHERE are...l
You get the point. This extrapolated to the size of the universe before long. The next segment wasn't so innocent.
My brain decided it'd be interesting to pretend that I was a junkie since birth and that I had been living on the streets my entire life. Nineteen years straight of constant drugs and homelessness is some depressing shit.
In between these bouts of total helplessness and utter despair, I overheard Sung and Arturo saying, " Oh man, Alex thinks he's going to die."
They said it enough times to convince my dysfunctional mind that they thought, that I thought I was going to die. My legs felt like jello. No, I lied, I couldn't feel my legs. I was short of breath. The walls of my mind were collapsing on me, crushing me, head spinning, where am I? Who am I?
I started thinking I was going to die. I retched a little and gagged. I tried to stand only to find that my legs were completely useless. Numb. Limp. I sat there feeling worse than I had ever felt in my entire life, drained of any positive thought. I later found out that they were talking about the other Alex. FML.
I slowly sobered up, after... honestly, I have no idea how much time had passed. But my body was still weak. The stairs down from the LIRR station were long. Real long. And not just because I just came back from a bad trip. Go see for yourself, them fuckers are LONG!
I wobbled my way down. I would have bet a grand that I was going to face-plant just by walking. Luckily made it down safely, sat down on a bench, and called a friend of mine I was hanging out with a lot at the time.
"Hey Mary, where are you?"
"Dinner in Flushing with some friends, what's up?"
I filled her in on what happened. Concerned, she came by to make sure I was okay, and I eventually went back to Sung's house.
The other Alex went home, so it was just the three of us. Sung made me some food that I barely ate although it was pretty damn good. I tried to sleep. After a few seconds of having my eyes closed, my body suddenly cramped up. My entire body. And it hurt. I moved a little and it went away. Shrugging it off, I tried to go back to sleep. And again, every muscle fiber in my body locked up and extreme, indescribable pain shot through me until I would move my body.
Then it would all go away.
"What the fuck..."
It's mind over matter I told myself. There's no way my entire body is cramping, it's unheard of. So I closed my eyes again, determined to not give in to the pain. The cramping came. I winced but didn't move. My body, more tense than the seconds before OJ's verdict, screamed at me.
Fucking idiot, move your fucking ass, NOW!
I resisted. And resisted. It wouldn't fucking go away. I waited until I couldn't take it anymore, then waited some more. I struggled uselessly. I caved and moved, then the relief of being pain-free washed over me in a breath of fresh air.
How the hell was I going to sleep? I had no idea. This night couldn't get any worse. But my body was probably abused to the point it was on the brink of exhaustion, and I slipped into sleep without even realizing it.
The next morning my phone woke me up. It said "Home." Still groggy, I answered, expecting to hear my mom. It was my step father.
"Alex, where are you?"
I was taken aback by the sudden question. During this phase of my life, home rarely called. And if they did call, it was always my mom.
"Queens."
"You just wake up?"
I rolled my eyes, already knowing where this was going. Since I had recently dropped out of college, and I was supposed to be out looking for work instead of partying like a rockstar.
"Yeah," I answered, resigned.
And what I thought to be the most unexpected thing he could say:
"Good, stay there."
Boy, I've never been more wrong about anything since. Before my mind could even formulate my short, one word question (What...?), he continues, "They blew up the World Trade."
My mind was done playing catch up, and uttered that one word. The wrong one came out.
"Who?"
Dumbest question of the century for sure.
"Uhh... Terrorists." (lol thinking back, he must have thought I was retarded)
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach as reality bitch slapped the shit out of me. I staggered out of the bedroom, still on the phone, the TV was on, Sung and Arturo in front, and I literally thought it was a movie, until my eyes saw "CNN" in the bottom right.
"Holy shit..." I said under my breath. Then frantically, "Are you okay? What about mom and Ethan?"
Ethan's my little half brother, he was four at the time. My family lives in Tribeca, so we were a matter of blocks away from Ground Zero. My stepdad worked in the World Financial building, right next to the twin towers. My little brother went to school a few blocks away.
And know that I'm not religious, but at times like these, I sometimes wonder if I really don't have a guardian angel watching over me. My family was untouched and safe.
In the end, I couldn't go home for a couple weeks, not like I was planning to anyway. On my way back, they asked me to buy some face masks because of the asbestos, and when I got back to Tribeca, I had a glimpse of what third world countries must experience, seeing military vehicles driving down the street, everyone panicky, the fear and confusion so thick you suffocate in it.
I walked in through the door of my apartment, and at the sight of me, my mom burst into tears. We hugged fiercely and I cried too. This hit too close to home. Literally. The gravity and immediacy of the situation was overwhelming, I was barely able to comprehend how lucky I was, but we all knew just how close we came to losing what we loved most.
My stepdad's friends lived in Battery Park, and their apartment was destroyed. They had to flee, one shoe on, ashy and disheveled all the way to my mom's place. They crashed in my room. I stayed until nightfall, but the transition from one extreme to the other, from artificial highs to such a depressing low was jarring. I couldn't take it.
I called up some friends and left; I went to drown out reality with drug-induced fantasies and emotions.
I spent most of that day calling various people trying to get four ecstasy pills but as life often throws a curveball at us while snickering from the sidelines, everyone I knew was dry as well. We finally get a hold of this one guy Will, from Forest Hills and he tells me he doesn't have any pills but he has some Special K (no, not the cereal, ketamine, it's an animal tranquilizer used by vets).
Beggars can't be choosers (K was never my preferred drug), Sung and I, now joined by two other friends, Arturo and another Alex, trooped out to Forest Hills.
They waited at a corner while I was in the car. He gave me a jar of K for $40, then asked me if I wanted a second one.
"That's all the money I have."
And like any respectable drug dealer he replies, "Don't worry about it, I'll front you that, I know you're good for it."
Even knowing that he was doing me no favors, I was still happier than a pig in shit on a sweltering fly infested summer jungle day.
I told the others the good news and decided to go back to Main St., when Arturo realizes he has no more money on his Metrocard. As we're trying to solve this dilemma, he says, "Go on ahead I'll catch up with you guys."
"What? The bus goes on the highway. No way you'll get there anytime soon," I replied skeptically.
He insisted.
"Okay look, I'll give you ten minutes after we get there before we leave."
He agreed. Mind you, Arturo is in no way fit. A little on the chubbier side and not too physically active, he was one of the last people I'd to expect to pull this off.
We got back to Main St. and waited. Five minutes. Six. Then at either seven or eight minutes, my jaw almost dropped when I saw his out of shape ass panting down the street.
"I have to give it to you," I laughed, "you've earned your high."
We decided to go up to the LIRR platform nearby. It had those sheltered areas and was rather empty at that time.
We somehow had a CD case with us at the time (sadly, I'm pretty sure it wasn't carried around for the music), and I poured myself a line.
Ketamine in it's original form is a liquid, but when heated, it crystallizes. In the States, snorting it is the most common practice, as far as I know.
But my eyes were bigger than my stomach (or more accurately bigger than my nostrils) since I had been looking forward to this moment all day long. I was a little heavy handed and poured myself about a four inch line. Special K isn't like cocaine in terms of how much you take at a time or anything for that matter.
Sung was next. He was also heavy handed but instead of doing it all he left some for the next person. For some reason however, neither of them were willing to snort his "leftovers." They insisted that they wanted their own lines, as if it made a difference. Thinking it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard (sheesh, have I ever been right when thinking that?), I finished the excess powder, even before the first had kicked in.
What ensued wasn't quite a K-Hole, which is the equivalent of a bad trip but usually involves a sensation of falling into spiraling holes. But it was a bad trip alright.
I have a tendency to become very confused and lost on K. It's a dissociative drug which I've taken to mean that it disconnects you from reality.
I suddenly had no idea where I was. I kept asking my friends over and over.
"Where are we?"
"Flushing."
"No but like where are we?"
"Uh. Queens, New York City?"
"No but, WHERE are...l
You get the point. This extrapolated to the size of the universe before long. The next segment wasn't so innocent.
My brain decided it'd be interesting to pretend that I was a junkie since birth and that I had been living on the streets my entire life. Nineteen years straight of constant drugs and homelessness is some depressing shit.
In between these bouts of total helplessness and utter despair, I overheard Sung and Arturo saying, " Oh man, Alex thinks he's going to die."
They said it enough times to convince my dysfunctional mind that they thought, that I thought I was going to die. My legs felt like jello. No, I lied, I couldn't feel my legs. I was short of breath. The walls of my mind were collapsing on me, crushing me, head spinning, where am I? Who am I?
I started thinking I was going to die. I retched a little and gagged. I tried to stand only to find that my legs were completely useless. Numb. Limp. I sat there feeling worse than I had ever felt in my entire life, drained of any positive thought. I later found out that they were talking about the other Alex. FML.
I slowly sobered up, after... honestly, I have no idea how much time had passed. But my body was still weak. The stairs down from the LIRR station were long. Real long. And not just because I just came back from a bad trip. Go see for yourself, them fuckers are LONG!
I wobbled my way down. I would have bet a grand that I was going to face-plant just by walking. Luckily made it down safely, sat down on a bench, and called a friend of mine I was hanging out with a lot at the time.
"Hey Mary, where are you?"
"Dinner in Flushing with some friends, what's up?"
I filled her in on what happened. Concerned, she came by to make sure I was okay, and I eventually went back to Sung's house.
The other Alex went home, so it was just the three of us. Sung made me some food that I barely ate although it was pretty damn good. I tried to sleep. After a few seconds of having my eyes closed, my body suddenly cramped up. My entire body. And it hurt. I moved a little and it went away. Shrugging it off, I tried to go back to sleep. And again, every muscle fiber in my body locked up and extreme, indescribable pain shot through me until I would move my body.
Then it would all go away.
"What the fuck..."
It's mind over matter I told myself. There's no way my entire body is cramping, it's unheard of. So I closed my eyes again, determined to not give in to the pain. The cramping came. I winced but didn't move. My body, more tense than the seconds before OJ's verdict, screamed at me.
Fucking idiot, move your fucking ass, NOW!
I resisted. And resisted. It wouldn't fucking go away. I waited until I couldn't take it anymore, then waited some more. I struggled uselessly. I caved and moved, then the relief of being pain-free washed over me in a breath of fresh air.
How the hell was I going to sleep? I had no idea. This night couldn't get any worse. But my body was probably abused to the point it was on the brink of exhaustion, and I slipped into sleep without even realizing it.
The next morning my phone woke me up. It said "Home." Still groggy, I answered, expecting to hear my mom. It was my step father.
"Alex, where are you?"
I was taken aback by the sudden question. During this phase of my life, home rarely called. And if they did call, it was always my mom.
"Queens."
"You just wake up?"
I rolled my eyes, already knowing where this was going. Since I had recently dropped out of college, and I was supposed to be out looking for work instead of partying like a rockstar.
"Yeah," I answered, resigned.
And what I thought to be the most unexpected thing he could say:
"Good, stay there."
Boy, I've never been more wrong about anything since. Before my mind could even formulate my short, one word question (What...?), he continues, "They blew up the World Trade."
My mind was done playing catch up, and uttered that one word. The wrong one came out.
"Who?"
Dumbest question of the century for sure.
"Uhh... Terrorists." (lol thinking back, he must have thought I was retarded)
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach as reality bitch slapped the shit out of me. I staggered out of the bedroom, still on the phone, the TV was on, Sung and Arturo in front, and I literally thought it was a movie, until my eyes saw "CNN" in the bottom right.
"Holy shit..." I said under my breath. Then frantically, "Are you okay? What about mom and Ethan?"
Ethan's my little half brother, he was four at the time. My family lives in Tribeca, so we were a matter of blocks away from Ground Zero. My stepdad worked in the World Financial building, right next to the twin towers. My little brother went to school a few blocks away.
And know that I'm not religious, but at times like these, I sometimes wonder if I really don't have a guardian angel watching over me. My family was untouched and safe.
In the end, I couldn't go home for a couple weeks, not like I was planning to anyway. On my way back, they asked me to buy some face masks because of the asbestos, and when I got back to Tribeca, I had a glimpse of what third world countries must experience, seeing military vehicles driving down the street, everyone panicky, the fear and confusion so thick you suffocate in it.
I walked in through the door of my apartment, and at the sight of me, my mom burst into tears. We hugged fiercely and I cried too. This hit too close to home. Literally. The gravity and immediacy of the situation was overwhelming, I was barely able to comprehend how lucky I was, but we all knew just how close we came to losing what we loved most.
My stepdad's friends lived in Battery Park, and their apartment was destroyed. They had to flee, one shoe on, ashy and disheveled all the way to my mom's place. They crashed in my room. I stayed until nightfall, but the transition from one extreme to the other, from artificial highs to such a depressing low was jarring. I couldn't take it.
I called up some friends and left; I went to drown out reality with drug-induced fantasies and emotions.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A bootylicious babe
I met Lisa on 11/07/01. I had just gotten arrested nine days prior, released on bail after four days, and needless to say, I was broke as hell. So what do you do, at 19 years old, with less than ten dollars to your name, and on your way to jail?
Go online lol. I used to go on AOL (still do occasionally), and there used to be this chat room called "nyc asians." Self explanatory enough. So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, looking through girls' profiles, and this one girl, "bo0tilishuzbabe" said in her profile that she promoted for this club, Exit.
Right before my arrest, I used to deal at that club, and from that one common ground, we started a conversation. She mentioned how she just started shooting pool and asked if I would be willing to teach her. I obviously agreed.
This all happened around 5:00am, and we met later that day around 10:00pm. We met at Sambuca's, this cafe in Chinatown, not too far from my mom's place. I'm waiting on Canal St. and Mulberry St., and across the street I see this tiny lil thing walk to the corner.
"Lisa?!" I shouted tentatively across the street.
I saw her head look around in search of the source of her name, and she finally saw me. The usual introduction ensues, we go inside Sambuca's, and since she had just finished a promoter's meeting, she was with around eight people.
We sat at a table off to the side, alone, and got to know each other. We eventually went to karaoke, and that's when I found out that this guy Johnny who was there, had been trying to hook up with Lisa for months.
Now, I'm not a big dude. I'm actually short and pretty small. So when I say Johnny was little, I mean it literally and without exaggeration.
Lisa stood at five foot nothing without heels. He was shorter than she was with heels on. Enough said.
Anyhow, sipping on my beer in the karaoke room, Lisa and I are flirting, whispering into each others ear, lips barely brushing, interrupted a couple of times by cock-blockers, then she leans over the low table to reach something on the other side.
And I had to remind myself to breathe. For a tiny lil asian girl, she had one hell of an ass!
After karaoke, most people left and it was just Johnny, Lisa and me. Johnny asks her what she feels like doing (mind you, I had just met Lisa hours earlier), and she turns to me and asks what we're going to do. Caught off-guard since I was expecting her to make plans then ask if I wanted to join if anything, I replied, "Well I'm kinda broke so yeah..."
Johnny suggests that we go shoot pool at Broadway Billiards, and again I reiterate that I have no money on me. We somehow ended up cabbing it there anyway.
Now, either Lisa was a very quick learner, or she was lying to me lol, because for someone who had only shot pool three times, I didn't have much to teach her. We spent a couple hours there, then cabbed it back to Chinatown.
Driving down Broadway, once we made it to Chinatown, the unavoidable question surfaced. Where is Lisa going? So, after Johnny pays for a cab to the pool hall, then pays for the table time at the pool hall, and again pays for the cab back from the pool hall (all this for three people), Lisa says:
"I'm gonna go to Alex's."
I'm pretty sure I must have smirked.
Now, dear reader, you must be thinking, what kind of girl is she, going back to your place less than 24 hours after meeting you online! Yeah, that crossed my mind too. You'd be surprised to know that we were together for 18 months before I was sent to jail. And you'd be even more surprised to find out that this relationship only truly ended two months ago. Also, I was her first (wtf, right?)
We went through thick and thin. It was us against the world. And against each other. The type of relationship you can only dream of, because you can only have it when you're young and naive. Or just very lucky. The passion, loyalty, blind devotion, trust... most of which have very little room in reality.
She was the morning sunshine after a nightmare; she was my confidante; she was my everything. In retrospect, where did things go wrong? Probably right from the start. How could we have prevented our recent break up? Probably couldn't. Do I regret having ever met her? Never.
Lisa will most likely always have a part of my heart, not her as a person, but the memory of her that has crystallized in my mind's eye, only reinforced by months and months of incarceration.
Obviously we had our problems. And I can't deny the pain and disappointment that I felt over the years. But despite all of it, I kept on trying. Despite all of it, I kept on loving. What's the point of having a heart, if you don't use it because you're afraid it'll be broken?
Despite it all, I will always move on.
Go online lol. I used to go on AOL (still do occasionally), and there used to be this chat room called "nyc asians." Self explanatory enough. So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, looking through girls' profiles, and this one girl, "bo0tilishuzbabe" said in her profile that she promoted for this club, Exit.
Right before my arrest, I used to deal at that club, and from that one common ground, we started a conversation. She mentioned how she just started shooting pool and asked if I would be willing to teach her. I obviously agreed.
This all happened around 5:00am, and we met later that day around 10:00pm. We met at Sambuca's, this cafe in Chinatown, not too far from my mom's place. I'm waiting on Canal St. and Mulberry St., and across the street I see this tiny lil thing walk to the corner.
"Lisa?!" I shouted tentatively across the street.
I saw her head look around in search of the source of her name, and she finally saw me. The usual introduction ensues, we go inside Sambuca's, and since she had just finished a promoter's meeting, she was with around eight people.
We sat at a table off to the side, alone, and got to know each other. We eventually went to karaoke, and that's when I found out that this guy Johnny who was there, had been trying to hook up with Lisa for months.
Now, I'm not a big dude. I'm actually short and pretty small. So when I say Johnny was little, I mean it literally and without exaggeration.
Lisa stood at five foot nothing without heels. He was shorter than she was with heels on. Enough said.
Anyhow, sipping on my beer in the karaoke room, Lisa and I are flirting, whispering into each others ear, lips barely brushing, interrupted a couple of times by cock-blockers, then she leans over the low table to reach something on the other side.
And I had to remind myself to breathe. For a tiny lil asian girl, she had one hell of an ass!
After karaoke, most people left and it was just Johnny, Lisa and me. Johnny asks her what she feels like doing (mind you, I had just met Lisa hours earlier), and she turns to me and asks what we're going to do. Caught off-guard since I was expecting her to make plans then ask if I wanted to join if anything, I replied, "Well I'm kinda broke so yeah..."
Johnny suggests that we go shoot pool at Broadway Billiards, and again I reiterate that I have no money on me. We somehow ended up cabbing it there anyway.
Now, either Lisa was a very quick learner, or she was lying to me lol, because for someone who had only shot pool three times, I didn't have much to teach her. We spent a couple hours there, then cabbed it back to Chinatown.
Driving down Broadway, once we made it to Chinatown, the unavoidable question surfaced. Where is Lisa going? So, after Johnny pays for a cab to the pool hall, then pays for the table time at the pool hall, and again pays for the cab back from the pool hall (all this for three people), Lisa says:
"I'm gonna go to Alex's."
I'm pretty sure I must have smirked.
Now, dear reader, you must be thinking, what kind of girl is she, going back to your place less than 24 hours after meeting you online! Yeah, that crossed my mind too. You'd be surprised to know that we were together for 18 months before I was sent to jail. And you'd be even more surprised to find out that this relationship only truly ended two months ago. Also, I was her first (wtf, right?)
We went through thick and thin. It was us against the world. And against each other. The type of relationship you can only dream of, because you can only have it when you're young and naive. Or just very lucky. The passion, loyalty, blind devotion, trust... most of which have very little room in reality.
She was the morning sunshine after a nightmare; she was my confidante; she was my everything. In retrospect, where did things go wrong? Probably right from the start. How could we have prevented our recent break up? Probably couldn't. Do I regret having ever met her? Never.
Lisa will most likely always have a part of my heart, not her as a person, but the memory of her that has crystallized in my mind's eye, only reinforced by months and months of incarceration.
Obviously we had our problems. And I can't deny the pain and disappointment that I felt over the years. But despite all of it, I kept on trying. Despite all of it, I kept on loving. What's the point of having a heart, if you don't use it because you're afraid it'll be broken?
Despite it all, I will always move on.
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