out ch.1

Just where I was heading was farther from my head than feet: all I knew was that I was gone. Although I've never had a home, there was still a part of me that felt desolate. Like I was missing something, feeling homesick already and an hour hadn't even passed yet. I hadn't even noticed it earlier but the knot my manager had left in my belly was long gone now: an eerie, light feeling replaced it. Like all was right with the world...or I'd just shot up with enough heroin to put me in the hospital. Not that I'd know anything of that, of course. Its a weird feeling but I wasn't going to shun it: 's a good contrast to the looming clouds that had been over my head for so long.

As though the consequences of my decision hadn't fully sunk in yet, I pissed away $1.63 at a gas station for a bottle of OJ. Only after the container was empty and gone did I realize how stupid I'd been. About an hour in, I got the great idea to swing by a friend's place. Once upon a time we had briefly talked about the exchange of "hot" arms for money. Cheap, too. So with nowhere else to go, I decided to pay her a visit.

***

It took about 4 hours to get there and when I did, I knew that I'd regret it. I milled around the entrance of her half of a duplex for quite some time. There's no way for this to not be awkward: I was attempting to buy illegal firearms from a bona fide schizophrenic whose nickname is Chaos.

The hardest part was done for me: the door opened and my friend stepped out instead of her insane husband. After a moment of silence and staring between us, she broke the silence. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Er..." I shifted around a bit, trying to find some words.

"Remember when we had a chat about me buying some stuff from Chaos?"
"Girl, did you come out here to buy some weed? You don't smoke that stuff!"
"What? No! Used...items. Maybe we should go inside and chat?"

We did. The inside of her apartment had the quaint charm of a minimally furnished home in the ghetto. Housing five bad kids made decorations difficult to keep: the only things close to "personal touches" were the occasional game package or a discarded toy. The couch is worn, the tv sits on the floor and a black lacquer table occupies the space between them. I take a seat and busy myself with studying mystery stains on the dull grey carpet.

"So what did you come out here for? I know you aren't out here to be buyin' no drugs from me."
"Yeah, no drugs. Know if Chaos still has those guns available?"
"You don't need to be messin' with no guns. What, you plannin' to kill somebody?"
"No. I just wanted one. I've been thinking about it for a while. I have the money with me."

The banter continues for a while longer and I take out a roll of money that had once been destined to pay rent. I hand a fifty over and receive a 9mm of some sort. All I can tell is that its a flat black, cold and heavy. The realization that this machine has probably killed someone slowly starts to wind its way through my mind. "Er...bullets? Clips, I mean?" she briefly laughs and hands a small box over.

"Don't get yourself killed."
"Yeah, I won't."

That's the last interaction I had with her. The one friend I had that considered me a part of the family. I'd even gone to her baby shower, which is one event I had never expected to see in a lifetime. All gone. Suddenly I feel more isolated than I've ever felt in my life.