Will a Gay Meth Addict Hop a Bus and Run Away?

Slammed: a Memoir — Chapter 10 Part 4

Riley and I lay in his hotel bed well into the morning. We didn’t sleep, Tina made sure of that, but cuddled and talked till the sun began peeking through the windows.

Honestly, I did most of the talking, but he genuinely listened. As my hands lightly brushed the hair on his chest and his fingers traced up and down my back and along my arm, a somewhat organized word salad flowed from me.

I had begun transcribing my written journals to a word doc on my computer, so the major beats of my story were fresh in my mind: the first time I used, first time I slammed, Richard’s psychosis, Jackson’s arrest, the DEA, Springfield Rep, my HIV diagnosis. I told him my story, abridged (but not by much), and he listened.

Perhaps he was politely mollifying the chatterbox tweaker his friend had saddled him with, but if so, he did it with an open-hearted kindness that made me feel safe.

The rude clock raced toward checkout time. Much as I wanted to stay snuggled in bed, our brief time together was coming to an end. We begrudgingly left the bed and started cleaning up. I showered, crooning Gershwin’s They Can’t Take That Away From Me as he packed.

Just as I was bracing myself for goodbyes — accepting that this was his chance to be rid of me — he asked, “Can I take you to breakfast? My train doesn’t leave till this afternoon.”

“Sure.”

Sitting down to a plate of eggs over easy, bacon and home fries, I asked Riley about himself.

He was from North Carolina where he lived in the countryside with his partner. He was in his mid 30s and worked in I.T. for a big box store, though he worked mostly from home. And he was also struggling with meth.

“I’ve been trying to cut back, but I really wanted to do the Black Party this year and I don’t know how you do the Black Party without it. At least I can’t. Some guys can just pick it up for a weekend and then put it down again no problem.”

His weary tone said that he was not one of those guys.

“So we have this old farm house we’ve been slowly — very slowly — renovating. Couple acres of land. I’m ready to get back there. I miss my pups.”

“Oh, you have puppies.” My voice doing the cutesy higher toned thing it does whenever puppies are seen or mentioned.

“Yeah, three.” His face brightened as he spoke of his fur babies. “Max, who’s a German Shepherd; Comet, a golden; and Skillet, a little terrier, who’s the boss,” he laughed.

“Skillet! That’s just a great name. I love the idea of having dogs. Had a chocolate lab growing up. Mocha.”

He laughed again. “Mocha?”

“Yeah, a bit on the nose. Aw, I wish I could meet your puppies.”

“Well, why don’t ya?” He asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“What?”

“Meet them. Come visit. We have room.”

“What, now?

“Sure. Or later. We’d be happy to have ya. My partner would love to meet ya. And,” he added with a hint of mischief, “we’d both enjoy taking care of a fun little bottom like yourself.”

I laughed. That was a crazy idea!

“Thank you, I appreciate it, but I can’t.”

Or could I?

What if I did?

What if I bought a ticket, got on a train, and just followed Riley back to North Carolina, bringing me back like a human souvenir.

I could… start over.

Start fresh.

I could still use, but would no longer have friends to disappoint, family to hurt.

I’d let go of my dreams, my career,

And just become a new person.

And I could still use,

Because I would have severed all ties.

I could enjoy the pleasure again,

Without all the pain.

What if I did?

What if I… left?

“You sure?” he asked.

I snapped out of my reverie and clumsily grabbed for the last piece of bacon.

“Yeah, I can’t…I wish I could, but…”

“Okay, offer’s on the table.”

We finished off breakfast and wandered over to Penn Station, all the while peppering each other with questions about his rural life, about my story, till it was mid afternoon.

It was 3pm and his train left at four. We sat in the waiting area. We’d run out of things to say and didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

I took a chance and reached for his hand.

Our fingers intertwined.

One moment, we’d tightly hold each other’s hands like we were afraid to let go. The next, I’d lightly brush his palm with the tips of my fingers.

I looked into his jewel blue eyes, and he looked into mine.

I sighed, suddenly sad.

Sure, a lot of what I was feeling was influenced by the untold amount of amphetamines in my system. Regardless, even in this moment, I had found in Riley an ease of intimacy that I don’t believe I’d even known.

That intimacy, that connection, was a powerful drug unto itself.

And I wanted more.

There was still time.

All I had to do was go buy a ticket,

And I could hold onto this intimacy,

Hold on to his jewel blue eyes,

And never look back.

There was still time…

Until there wasn’t.

They announced his train.

We stood up,

We embraced,

He took my face in his hands,

I wrapped my arms around him,

We kissed.

And he was gone.

I sat alone in the waiting area for a short while before getting up and heading topside.

I took out my phone and turned it on.

It immediately started blowing up.

Text messages and voicemails from Roger and Jason and Reid and my roommate Hector. I guess the word was out and the red flags had been raised.

Even Richard was trying to get ahold of me, which I took extreme pleasure in ignoring.

But the weekend wasn’t over, and I wasn’t ready to face the music yet.

I checked the number on one text message and gave it a call.

“Hey there Noah. It’s John from last night. You still goin? Cause I am!”

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