Prologue
Nate calculated how long it would be before he would be sick again. He was safe because he had money, and he was on his way to the block. He only saved a bit of medicine for the morning, barely enough to feel well, but there was some psychological and physical comfort in knowing he would soon have all he needed to ensure a peaceful couple of days. The calculations were always overestimations, but that didn’t matter. Nate knew peace was coming.
It was early morning, and there were only a couple of people on the bus, mostly Mormons going to work to provide for their families. He was always fascinated with the Mormons, since they seemed to have somehow found some way to live simply. Whether on the surface or not, they had found something that he hadn’t. Considering he saw them so much, he often thought about what life would have been like if he were born into a Mormon family. It would probably be the same, as he would still be himself, flaws and all.
The bus pulled up to his stop, and as he disembarked he scanned his old school ID that still worked. Weeks ago, he had made this discovery, and it meant that he never had to pay for the bus, which was crucial since he needed every dollar for his medicine. Although it was inconvenient, he exited the bus two blocks away so he could evaluate the dangerous area before he set foot in it.
The block was not much of a neighborhood. Everyone knew it to be four square blocks, but only two of them encountered any action. It was eerily close to the basketball arena and, even worse, the temple. Most of the Mormons had no idea what went on there, and if they did, it was doubtful they would know how to handle it. Regardless, those four blocks were all Nate cared about as his doctors were there, his medicine was there, and his peace was there.
The drug dealers were all called Hondos because the open air drug market in Salt Lake had been set up by Honduran gangs decades ago, but Nate was convinced that that was just an overgeneralization. He had set to memory the drug scenes of several towns in his time, and the guys in Salt Lake reminded him of the typical cartel Mexicans in Houston or Los Angeles. It didn’t matter—they all sold him his medicine—but he was always thinking of these insignificant details. Unless he was at peace, thoughts constantly ricochet through his head. They could be good or bad, and in some perverted way, the good was just as painful as the bad. Only one thing shut the thoughts up, and it was right around the corner.
He tried to buy from the same Hondo every time because that was the safest way to obtain the medicine. One of the possessions he had left was a phone, but the only number he had made him take a bus to the west side, which was incredibly inconvenient. Ultimately, he just depended on his intuition at the block.
The second anyone turned the corner at the block, they were verbally bombarded by the Hondos. They had not been in the country very long, and the only English they knew were numbers and “black” and “white,” black for heroin and white for cocaine. Upon turning the corner onto the block, that was all he would hear. Most people just bought their medicine from the first person they made eye contact with, and that was the case with Nate that day.
He walked up to the dealer and said, “Ten black and ten white.”
Two hundred dollars was a fortune at the block, so he was careful to take out his money. The man started taking out wrapped balloons from his mouth, which were always stored there in case they needed to be swallowed. Nate was worried because sometimes they didn’t have twenty balloons on hand, and he had no desire to wait around with that much money.
The man counted out the white balloons first and gave them to Nate. The white was important, but it was not his medicine, and he could do without it. After he gave over the last of the white, he started counting the black balloons, and Nate felt a sense of peace wash over him. He saw his medicine, right in front of him, and he knew he would be all right.
There was some sort of commotion around the corner that the Hondo noticed. Nate did not hear the same as he was focused on the balloons he had not yet received. The Hondo stopped counting and stood still; he was listening for something.
Nate grew up in Texas, so he was no stranger to the sound of gunshots, but this one was different. The sound jarred him physically, and his body quickly straightened up and stiffened. He had always imagined what a real life gunshot would be like, but it wasn’t like this. This shot snapped sharply and then echoed from side to side as it made its way down his block. There was no choice but to take his attention off the balloons and notice it. For a moment, the neighborhood was completely silent until it was interrupted by two men who started sprinting down the street. They were running for their lives, and when they passed by, Nate felt inclined to do the same.
His little remaining attention snapped back to the most important issue at hand, his medicine. He looked back at the Hondo, and he realized the man had been saying something to him.
“Camina, no corras, camina.”
Nate understood that he must not run. The Hondo turned and walked down the block, and Nate followed with his mind almost completely clogged. People started running as sirens rang out in the distance. Nate shook his head to clear the feeling of his clouded brain and realized he still didn’t have his black balloons.
He turned back to the Hondo and said, “Hey, hey. Please. Man, please!”
As they turned the corner off the main stretch of the block, Nate had trouble producing a thought because the panic was bubbling up his body closer and closer to his consciousness. He didn’t have his medicine, and the block would be closed down for a while because of the ongoing incident. Nate’s life was about avoiding this feeling, but now it was there, and it could be for a while.
“Man, I have your money. Man. Please!”
The Hondo turned, and he had the ten black balloons in his hand. He was going to give it to Nate the whole time, and he had just planned to do so around the corner. Nate gave him the money, and the transaction was complete. All of a sudden, the panic bubbled completely into his head, and he could no longer control himself.
Nate ran.
He heard sirens, so he put the balloons in his mouth. The sirens weren’t for him, but spending so much time as a homeless drug addict made it a reflex. It was pointless because twenty balloons were a lot to fit in his small mouth, and anyone would be able to tell something was in there if they looked. Quickly, he was outside the area of the block, and there were crowds forming to see what was going on. It seemed as if all the police in the city were heading there, and the Mormons would finally get an idea of what happened under their noses.
As adrenaline kept pumping through his veins like a drug, his vision constricted straight forward with the narrow sizing of a bowling alley. He could only safely run in that lane, so he accidentally ran into the crowd of onlookers. A large man bumped into him, and some of the medicine fell onto the city street. It was not all the balloons, but any amount of black or white was vitally important. Nate was on his hands and knees in the crowd of Mormons trying to find his precious balloons. They were talking to him; they were yelling, but he could not hear it.
While getting knocked around by the crowd, he miraculously found three balloons, and he hoped that it was all the missing medicine. He wanted to get out and be alone, so he violently shoved a lady to get out of the crowd. At that moment, he didn’t know exactly where he was, but he saw signs pointing to the mall, which was familiar to him. Sprinting straight down the street, he finally got there and thought that he could possibly be alone in the mall bathroom as he had taken his medicine there before.
Everyone was out watching the police, so nobody was in the bathroom. He locked the door, sat down, and attempted to catch his breath as the adrenaline wore off. When he came back to himself, he checked that he was still alone. He was eternally relieved that he was finally away from the danger. Everything in his life was dangerous, but being alone with his medicine madehim feel safe.
He spit all the balloons into his hand: eighteen, ten black and eight white, which was enough to bring peace for two days. He bit the top off one of the black balloons, which was the only color that really mattered, and its sweet smell of vinegar assaulted his nose. Carefully, Nate placed the beautiful tar-like substance onto his lap and reached into his jacket pocket to get his old headphones case.
As he zipped open the case and grabbed his lighter, he noticed his body was still. The physical reaction of the panic he had previously was released, and although he had not yet smoked any of his medicine, he could feel the warm blanket of the heroin already covering him. He placed his lighter right next to the heroin in his lap. Over time, Nate had developed this drug use ritual, which was obsessive but in some strange spiritual way kept him safe. So far, he hadn’t been arrested or robbed, so maybe it was doing something right. He pulled out a piece of aluminum foil that was already divided into three-by-three perfect square pieces. Finally, he took out the plastic straw that he had gotten earlier at a smoothie shop and ripped it into two pieces. All of the kit was ready to go, and since nobody had attempted to enter the locked restroom since Nate went in, he had the green light.
He smelled the heroin one more time and then took the ten-dollar piece and placed it on the foil. With the straw in his mouth, he carefully applied the flame to the underside. The potent black blob started to melt and run down the tilted foil, and Nate followed it with the straw. He removed the flame as he felt the sensation of the smoke track its way from the mouth to the throat and finally all into the lungs. He held his breath for five seconds and exhaled, and he felt at peace as the blanket took hold of him. The danger could be forgotten. Everything could be forgotten. He had one goal in life— peace—and he had accomplished that goal.
At least for now.
