Becoming a junkie..... Part 1

I was 7 years old and we lived in an old mill
house on the edge of the black river, 1017
Huntington st. It was 1978 and in the middle of
September. It was cold that night, I remember
sitting on top of the ornate
register vent in a vain attempt
to stay warm. Even though I
grew up in upstate New York I
had always had an aversion to
the cold. I would sit on that
register, by the warn out steps,
until an ivy leaf (which was
the decorative motif of the
heating vent) was etched into
my ass, and the bottoms of my
feet. My mother would yell at
me to “get off that register and
let the rest of us have some
heat” I would try then, to inch
over to the side so that at least
one side of me could get the
blast of dust filled, mildew
smelling heat, that I seemed to
crave like a drug. Even then, I had a penchant for obsession, This would only hours later, prove to be my undoing.

I was watching T.V. in the living room. When I
heard the screeching of tires , in the chilly night
air. Since there was always some vitality and
noise going on in our neighborhood, I didn’t give it much thought. A few minutes later there was a knock on the front door.
Before I could get up
from my permanent possition in front of the T.V.,
my mother strolled to the door with her Vantage
cigarette, precariously clinging to her bottom lip.
It was Ronnie Spinner; our neighbor from across
the street. I heard him say; “Betty you better
come out here, one of the kids got hit by a car
and we think it’s Ronnie” My mother let out a
shriek, and took off out the door.
I ran to follow her, but was told
by Mr. Spinner that I had better
stay inside. For some reason I
did as Mr. Spinner told me . He
made sure I wasn’t going to take
off running, then he went back
out, I presumed, to take care of
my mother. I listened for what
seemed like hours but was
probably no more than a few
minutes. My mother was
hysterical and crying. The
neighbors, who by that time, had
gathered in a gaggle on the
sidewalk were trying to be
supportive telling her things like
“It’s going to be okay Betty, the
ambulance is coming and they will
take care of him.” But she was inconsolable. I, on
the other hand was in shock. I didn’t know if I
should be crying , screaming or doing something
to make things better. I just stood at the
threshold of the door, and listened to all the
talking going on. Then , the voices started to
blend together and I was having trouble
differentiating who’s voice was who’s, I began to
get this heavy feeling in my chest. It was as if
someone had parked a truck on me. I started to
cry and I felt like I had hot acid pouring out of my
eyes. The hot stinging tears ran down my face in
bucket amounts. My brother was dead. That is all
I could think of.The guy who took the time to
teach me my first cords on the
guitar, the guy who showed me all
the great rock bands, (Aerosmith,
Rush, and locally, The Rods) The
guy used to take me with him,
(even when he didn’t have to)
Introduce me to his friends and
never picked on me like most old-
er brothers do. .The kind and con-
siderate brother that taught me
how to tie my shoes was dead. Or
so I thought…...
I must to have been crying pretty
loudly because as I was about to
look up to the ceiling and curse
God for taking my brother away
from us. Then like a ghost there
he was on the stairs. I instantly
froze and thought of all the times I
had done something wrong. I
know this sounds strange but that
was the first thing that went
through my head. That he was
there then ghosts exist and they
could see me all the time. I was
petrified for what seemed like a
minute, but was more like five (5)
seconds. I screamed his name and
ran to him, half expecting go right
through him. I clung to his mid-
section for a moment,...then he grabbed me by the shoulders
and started shaking me. “What the hell is
wrong with you, do you know you woke
me out a sound sleep?” I stammered: “I
thought you were dead!” “Dead, are you
retarded? Get your ass up stairs” And
with that he smacked me in the back of
the head hard enough to send me falling
forward. I started crying harder now and
took off up the stairs as fast as my little
legs could take me. When I had fallen
asleep thinking that I wished he had died.
There is this thing my brother Ronnie
used to do to me in order to wake me up,
he would stick something in my ear and
tickle me awake. Well that is exactly how
he woke me at three o’clock in the
morning. He told me to be quiet, get up
and come to his room. My brother’s
room was a small slender room just next
to mine. There was barely enough room
in there for his bed and dresser. However,
his room always seemed like the coolest
place in world to me. He had black-light
posters and band pictures everywhere.
There was a standing rule in our house
that I was not aloud in my brother’s room
for any reason. So, when he asked me to
come in to his room I felt like I had just
grown up five years in two seconds. I felt
like he was letting in to his private area
and it made me feel special. My brother
told me to sit down on his bed. I climbed
up and made sure that I didn’t put my feet
on it. I was very careful. He sat there for a
moment just looking at me. I felt a little
uneasy, till he spoke to me, saying “Little
bro; I found out after I sent you up stairs
why you were crying tonight” I said
Because I thought you were dead” in a
timid little muffled tone. “ yeah, that’s
what I heard” I knew he felt bad by the
way he was looking at me. I could see on
his face that this little talk was his way of saying he was sorry for yelling at me, and
smacking me in the head. My brother looked
at me and for the first time ever I saw a tear
in his eye. I had never seen my brother
Ronnie cry. He said to me, “You were
screaming and crying like that because you
thought I was dead. You really love me that
much?” I had never heard my brother speak
that word before so I was stuck for a second.
Then I answered “Yes of course I do, you’re
my big brother”
Ronnie had this little tiny water pipe that
was for smoking pot. I remember that it
was so small even for me, at seven years old
it looked tiny. He pulled it out, from under
this stand in his room. He asked me, “You
ever smoke weed joey?” Even at the time I
thought to myself I’m seven, of course I've
never smoked weed. But I wanted the
moment that we were having, to last
forever. so I played it off and said, “no, but
I’ve seen you guys smoke lots of times”
That’s when he told me “Your going to learn
how to smoke a bong kid” I was so ecstatic
that my big brother thought that I was cool
enough to be able to be trusted to smoke
pot with
him, that I
didn’t even
think about
anything
else. I was
being
accepted
into the
cool kids
club. And
from that
day
forword
my life
changed.