At the end of the run, when everything is said and done and you'd most like to know who is there for you, who you can count on, who was a fake, and who was zoomin' who--- it never ceases to astonish this writer at the strange path that so-called friendship can take.
When a resentful ex-involvee and a busy body man-hater with an aversion to honesty join forces, allowing their combined lust for drugs to be their only moral guide , the victim ends up being the only man who would trust either of them far enough to allow them to pull off the con. This trust was borne not out of foolishness in the face of sharks, but rather the kindness and benefit of doubt afforded to people you've known for 5 to 30 years. (you think)
In a nutshell, a series of urgent consecutive phone calls starting at 9:30am while I'm visiting with a friend.. My 'girl': "Sheena is trying to call you" Oh really? Well since you know that why don't you tell me what she wants. But I play the game, Sheena:"Getting the bomb from Mexico, need a ride to get it and I will hook you up."
Both my friend and I head back home, turning over the only car in the universe (mine) to my girl so she can chauffer Sheena around. Since my friend and I already had dope, we weren't trippin on her pie in the sky promise. Plans now change and Sheena wants to smoke all of our dope before going on her urgent pickup. An hour or two passes. Both my girl and Sheena pressuring us to pack the pipe. I didn't care. I put all mine in. My buddy, Jeff, followed suit. Finally, after the mission story changed 4 different times, I handed over the key to 'my girl' and the snakes depart. "How long will you be", bull sheet evasion from Sheena, silence from my girl whose never kept her mouth closed on any topic in recent memory. Jeff and I know the signs. We kick back for a long wait and a failed mission by ordering ourselves a fresh Half T from a source around the way. Chillin.
The phone calls start coming. We need a pipe, no we'll buy a pipe with the gas money you gave us. Hee Hee. 1:34pm we're heading back. I told text and told them that our guy was there, and because we didn't have the house completely devoid of guests, that justified a 3 hour detour. 3 hours, I text, called, at least wanting to know if they were 'successful'. Sheena, full of bluster and bullshit side-stepped every question with the grace of a club-footed rhino. My girl---my girl now, who've I taken care of for damn near a year--"i don't know" silence, and finally, she gave her phone to Sheena because she could keep up with the thin veil of cow manure being touted as gospel. Now you don't know my girl, but she takes her cell phone into the shower with her---gave her phone up for the next 2 hours to Sheena's Svengali like influence. Sheena could really be a dangerous influence. My girl couldn't take my calls, after I took them for months when she was locked up and making canteen requests. Any way, Jeff was laughing at my expression while getting a tad hotter under the collar---upset at now being a part of this badly scripted and predictable melodrama. He's a lot more honest and straight forward than any of the rest of us, a testament to how much bullshit we generate and tolerate in our own lives.
Sure enough 4:30pm arrives, by now Jeff is truly late waiting on the car. When Sheena, this clever little mastermind called and said that my girl would be dropping her off, the die was cast. She promised to send a sack with my girl and all would be well.
My girl drags her ass in finally, forcing her face so blank she brought to mind a mannequin I'd seen at Women's World, I immediately began to chant softly.."where is it, drop it like it's hot, what you got"----now here comes the Academy Award moment. She looks down at her cell phone just recently released into her personal custody, "oh no, oh no, oh no. Sheena forgot to give me YOUR sack." "Heavens no" I thought to myself as Jeff reflexively raised a hand to his mouth in mock shock. "What ever shall we do?"
I decided to play the 'lets go get it' tactic, but admittedly unconvincingly. Jeff was fed up and just wanted to get going, a stranger to the world of "friends will get you best". To make a silly story complete, my girl, known locally as Smoke-ahontess, expected us to believe she ran out $10 worth of gas, ignored my phone calls,(on the phone I bought her) put wear and tear on a raggedy hoopty that should already be condemned and made Jeff late for a legit appointment and then forgot to get paid. I love it.
I use to love her, trusted her with my life. Sheena was always a peice shit with boobs, but was lower now that the crack slut around the block as far as dependability. I secretly hoped her man would lump her up something fierce later tonight, one for the guys, you know.
So instead of pretending anger, I just let it ride. I called Sheena at 2am and asked if she'd like some Pizza as well? Why not? I can be extremely accommodating.
As for Sheena, I could give a rats ass if she lives or dies, though if she does die I hope I'm close by to see it. But my girl--that's the clencher. To be complicit while someone does me dirty is the worst act I can imagine. It's hard for me to look at her even now as she eats the pizza I just bought and smokes the new sack I just purchased for us. (Saving hers no doubt for better company, or a girlie re-union). In any case, I am left with the renewed realization and complete understanding that I am alone in this world and no matter whatever the sex or, lack of it, that may ensue, the most likely enemy is the one you've let close, that you've shown mercy,and who will twist that mercy one day like strands of sharpened metal woven into a blade of steel, plunged squarely into your back..
Like James Taylor sang, "Ain't just like a friend of mine, to hit me from behind," at the end of the run...
But on second thought, I'm probably all wrong on this, just another conspiracy cooked up out of nothing but meth and imagination...I hope I am...I'd be surprised, but I can still hope, can't I....
