After the newbies left their initiation into Boston area's NA, Ken Erdedy and Kate Gompert * struck up an icy silence in the back seat of Johnette Foltz's battered old sedan on the way back to Ennet House. Erdedy fumed and not from gasper smoke, which there was a plenty. Addicts gotta have at least one allowable vice or they go bats.
'Hugs not drugs,' is touted at Boston area NA meetings, which rhymes with but is not = 'Hugs not Ughs', the UHID motto. They are not at all the same despite sounding similar. Ken has touchophobia, which means he cannot bear to be touched by anyone, not even police, lovers, friends, family, and least of all same sex strangers of a different race altogether. So when at his first NA meeting after Interdependence Day which Kate and he were mandatorily dragged to by Johnette, after which tediousness he was subjected to the horrific spectacle of strangers hugging one another, like any self-respecting touchophobe he removed himself from the throng hoping to avoid the disgusting hugs without offending anyone. Like they were offending him with their amiable sexless grinding of frontal body parts. Poor Ken, he didn't know where to look, offended or offending he so not wanted to be. What Ken wanted was to be at home listening to his silent stereo and staring at the front door and the clock, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his connection, which would be the last time, he knew, before he would finally quit using for good. Instead, here he was, attending a funky NA meeting, clearly which he did not enjoy. Erdedy was no addict, he was a recreational user of delta-9 tetrahydrocannabolinol (marijuana). Ken knew the medicinal names, uses and side effects of every substance to which he subjected his own self. He was here because of suffering from the side effects of pot use: it had begun interfering with his eating, sleep, memory, job, and sex life. Indeed, pretty much his whole life was fucked up because of his fondness for DuBois. But he was getting clean now, and clean he would stay. Yes, indeed.
He studied the coffee stains on the paper tablecloth, and the burn marks on the threadbare carpets. There were no black bugs here, crawling in and out of tiny holes in the walls. He hoped he could sidle out the door with or without Kate and Johnette and avoid the possibility of getting germs all over his topcoat which resembled the cashmere one favored by Randy Lenz. He hated that furtive, sneaky bastard, all pretentious and pretending to be clean, when it was clear to Erdedy that Lenz was not only still using but doing other nasty shit involving Hefty bags, small animals and Bruce Green. He shuddered, and the next thing he knew, a big badass black pot abuser not only enveloped Ken in a smelly bear hug but then reamed his sorry addicted ass out in front of group. How dare Erdedy put himself above everyone else? Did he somehow think big bad blackasses, er, black badasses, actually enjoyed hugging arrogant, skinny white dudes (IJ p 506-7)? Erdedy sucked it up, how could he not, given the man's loud and large in-your-face uncouthness and sincerity? But now, safely en route back to Ennet, he fumed.
Johnette was not terribly bothered by the two stonefaced, stonewalling newbies, driving. She'd been in their shoes herself, once or twice, so she would give them a lot of latitude to work things out as she knew they would, given time. Right now, nearing Ennet House, she needed to find a parking space so she could get her charges safely indoors before curfew. At this time of night, a motley collection of dented, scratched, hubcapless and hapless sets of wheels lined the streets nearby. It was 22:47 and in an hour or so Gately would be found moving all the vehicles to the opposite side of the road, or risk pissing off the highway police, incurring parking tickets, and so on. The nightly auto maneuvers were so much fun to watch when it was big doofus Gately's turn. Sometimes he couldn't fit his large frame into the undersized bucket seats, and his head would make a dent on the interior of the car roofs. Many of the Ennet vehicles had visible roof humps which meant Gately had moved them so many times that he finally made permanent head imprints on them.
Before Johnette can bring the car to a total stop, coasting into a spot downwards of 3 mph, her foot tapping the brakes which pads were due for replacement a like year ago, Kate flings open the passenger-side door and stomps her way down the deserted street and into the busy common room at Ennet, leaving Erdedy to his back-seat fuming and foot jiggling, for which he is famous, Ken. Johnette raises her left eyebrow in the manner of "what up with her, dude?" but says nothing and neither does Ken, who temporarily stops fuming long enough to scuttle across the back seat and nearly tears his pant leg on something sticking up from the rusty floor. He nods curtly to Johnette and stalks off down the street, in the opposite direction of Ennet House, perhaps rethinking his commitments and devising a backup plan, meaning Plan B. Too often addicts don't even plan one step ahead, but Erdedy is an exception to the rule. His steps become brisker than the north wind blowing his hair around and whipping his in need of a haircut hair into his eyes.
Head down and amidst one big squint, Ken almost plows into Lenz, who is hurrying toward Ennet after a night on the town, alone, jaunty after his latest adventure, temporarily emptied of powerless and rage, but Lenz is on Red Alert because he just scored some high quality Bing and had for some reason left his PoP in his room before heading out. Said Bing is in his pocket and when he sidesteps Erdedy, the littlest Hefty bag ever manufactured falls out onto the sidewalk. (Lenz, inexplicably, does not notice and scurries off to scootch into Ennet House by curfew. He always cuts it close, that's part of the thrill of the chase - isn't that right, Randy?)
Erdedy looks down at the sidewalk and sees the tiny bag lying there, picks it up and surreptiously stows it in his breast pocket. He takes his time walking back toward Ennet, realizing that Plan B just quantum-leapt into Plan C.....in Ken's mind, Plan C seems a lot more palatable than Plan B. Which is, let's get so high and give asshole Lenz his comeuppance while we're at it. We, of course, meaning Ken Erdedy all by his lonesome self. No need to let anyone else share this treasure trove. If people still said "woo hoo" in O.N.A.N., Erdedy would be woohoo-ing from the rooftops. He's always wanted to score some high quality Bing, never had the nerve, and now it almost literally falls from the sky at his feet, like manna.
Hours later, Ken Erdedy is stoned out of his friggin' gourd, lying on the dew-covered grass outside Ennet House, very near the spot where Mario had his first and thus far only personal Millenial Fizzie, and happy...happy....so happy. He watches a little black bug sally into and out of the pores in his hand. Cute, he thinks, I really, really, really like bugs. Bugs, not hugs.
His laughter could be heard all the way to Enfield Tennis Academy.
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Mini - HSSS:
Darius: Pox, you got your facts mixed up again. Didn't you do your research, doll?
Pox: Whaddya mean, D?
Darius: People do not get stoned on Bing.
Pox: What would you call it, Mr. Man?
Darius: I dunno.....gimme a minute...or some Bing....it's been too long ya know....then I'll let you...
Pox: Let me what?
Darius: Know.
Pox: No?
Darius: No, no no! I'll let you know!
Pox: You continue to mystify me all the time.
Darius: Just tryin' to keep you on your toes, partner!
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* All characters in PIJ are FICTIONAL, including Darius and Pandora, and are not intended to portray the activities of any living person who happens to share the same name. Except in the case of celebrities for whom any press is good press.
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