The Council Meeting

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There was a group of 4 of us ready to release our stresses that Friday.  My girls were Y and J.  Carmella put in on it too.  J and I came back from “the Spot” blushing as usual and let me tell you if you don’t come back blushing from the spot you again have missed a treat.  Black men in the traps of Atlanta are so flirtatious and witty if you listen.  Then the harsh reality came that everyone had their something but me!  So the sisters gathered around in a circle in the lawn chairs. We sat with knees touching because we were in a secure place where we shouldn’t be doing this anyway.  We leaned in.

“How the hell yal couldn’t find no weed?”  Carmella asked.  Her questioning was more related to the fact that some people don’t feel comfortable getting high around people who don’t or aren’t getting high too.  Especially when they are smoking crack, they get paranoid.  Also, we were getting high in a place that was highly secured (no not jail, just felt like it) if someone was getting high and others were not there may be a disgruntled snitch… But, before I toss the musings off to that of some addicted noids… We all worked very hard that week.  We were all working hard to make a better life for ourselves and our children.  We had survived many obstacles that week and the council always did something on the weekends whether it was a trip to the mall with all of our children, or a movie and subsequent pig out.  This was the first week we all trusted each other enough to get high.  And the first week we could all see a light at the end of the tunnel for our individual and collective situations.  These are all precautions and I wasn’t offended.  So as my curiosity was piqued and the minutes flew by remember we were on a time limit, I said, “Let me try the powder.”

“Let you try the powder?”  “I’m not having no parts of nobody trying cocaine for the first time” Carmella exclaimed.   There seems to be some honor in the drug culture.  Many people will party with you after you try it but NOBODY wants to be a part of someone’s first time.  Carmella was a tall light brown skinned woman. She had sandy brown hair that was too short to pull into a bun.  Her hair needed to be curled.  Regardless of the condition of her hair, you could tell that she was the kind of woman that men liked she had a firm body.  But, you could also tell that she had been living rough as of late.  She was in desperate need of a manicure actually, a fill in for the fake nails she wore.  We all wore them at the time.  Not really smart enough to realize that the nails were simply a conspicuous purchase.  Fake nails were something to say that we had what we really don’t.  To be perfectly honest the manicure would be best for hands that toil so much for so many, because you get a nice massage.  Alas Carmella had lived and was currently living a hard life.  Not because of drugs but because of not having enough money to live and get high.  Black women are the lowest paid workers in the United States.  Everyone makes more money than us.  Black women take care or more people than anyone else.  Sometimes a sista needs a break. The last man Carmella was with had jumped on her and she left the hotel they were staying in.     I could tell by the scowl on her face that my voluntary statement was not going to be so popular.

The women leaned back in their chairs almost simultaneously.  They looked like my mother looked when she found out I was pregnant at 15.  I remember thinking, “I am a 31 yo grown ass woman, who the fuck do they think they are deciding what Imma do with me?”  I liken the meeting to a city council meeting where Y was the Mayor and the rest of us were legislators politicking to solve the issues at hand.  You see this circle had met together to soothe each other in times of despair.  To provide funding when someone had to get somewhere i.e. let ya girl borrow the bus pass.  “Do you have some change so I can get to the food stamp office?”  Now for those of you who frown or look down on the petty toiling of poor people just watch yourself.  It only takes one phone call, one more stock market plunge or one car accident to put you in the same position.  Not to mention a slap or kick or a punch from the man you thought loved you so.  Or perhaps you get tired of being a bitch AGAIN, or the excuse for why he can’t see his kids, why his family won’t talk to him ect. Ect. 

I exclaimed once again…  “Yal I wanna play too!”  This time Y leaned in with her wisdom and her advice.  “As with anything it’s all mind over matter.  You have to be stronger than the weed you smoke or anything else you do.  Hell you have to be stronger than a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies.”  Carmella said, “This girl has 3 kids I’m not going to be a part of this.”  I said, “I will be alright I’ve made it thus far.”  J was reluctant however; we had become fast friends just as much as she was concerned she wanted to share the past time that we dubbed as “partying”.  She chimed in “I aint gonna let nothing happen to Tosha.”  Carmella mumbled something probably to the extent that J was not taking care of herself so well.  The thing is because I lived a sheltered life growing up I could only spot seriously maladapted persons at 31.  At 39 I can see a whole lot more clearly.  But, J never let anything happen to me for the past 8 years that I’ve known her.  She took care of me better than many saved sanctified holy ghost filled folks I know.  (I’ve know many growing up in church)  Even when we argue.  She will forever be my sister from another mother!

As if on cue Carmella leaned up… “I need a can; anybody got a empty soda can.”  She and Y went to another part of the Courtyard and handled their business. I saw men selling people crack but, I’d never seen anyone actually hit it.  I didn’t that day either.  Crack users seem to be a little more private with their crack smoking.  They don’t like to expose their “ticks” to people who don’t smoke crack.  All of them seem to have a tick immediately following the hit.  I thought what the hell does she need a can for?   I remember in the movie, New Jack City Pookie had a pipe a little glass one.  I remember all the people I saw on TV shows had a pipe.  However, we were in a controlled environment where a pipe would not be welcomed… So a can must suffice I suppose.  I learned that many things can be considered and used as drug paraphernalia.  A pen top.  The removable part of a bic pen that sticks out to hook it to your pocket works best and is very discreet.  I learned from corporate white guys later that coke mixed with vodka in an Afrin bottle is how they do it.

Y and Carmella went to their task.  Whether or not I could try the powder had been left unanswered.  I was told all kinds of things about drugs growing up.  In fact, my heart was already racing before the first hit. “What if I did turn into a mad raving fiend and ended up living on the streets and eating out of garbage cans as a result of one snort of cocaine.”  What if I did end up living a lifestyle that landed me in the depths of hell when I close my eyes for the last time?  These are things to consider. At the same time I was curious,” what is this thing that people will seemingly do anything to get?”  Just that facet of the whole thing alone was almost a deal breaker.   J showed me how to take the pen top and stick it in the bag and toot it up my nose.  It was very cute compared to the whole can pipe action the other two had going.  I also learned that powder is more socially acceptable than crack.  My hands were kinda nervous and J said u gonna spill it everywhere.  I said, “Just sniff it up?”  She nodded rather excitedly… You have to remember this is my friend for real and she was sharing in her mind.  Sniff Sniff.  Whoa…

It felt like the earth stood still and was moving fast at the same damn time.  It felt like train horns were going off and a sudden rush like win you win at something. It must have registered on my face.  J said, “You gotta go shit now.”  I was still kinda dazed.  Yes I do.  I turned and snatched open the door that we were required to put a code in to open.  The alarms sounded like a fire station.  J motioned for me to just go.  She covered for me and said that I was about to throw up and forgot to put in the code.  When I returned eyes glazed and confused she told me smoke a cigarette now.  I pulled a long drag off the cigarette.  The cocaine numbs the throat and a cigarette feels so damn good, like right after sex.  I gave her a sheepish grin when we got to the bottom of the $20 and said, “Let’s get some more…” Her first response was, ”Ok let’s go… “ She looked a little worried.  I reassured her… I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.  And she trusted me.  

I will always remember opening that door without putting in the code.  Many doors opened and closed very fast through that time.  I can mark this time with the alarms that sounded when I took my first toot of cocaine.  Some of them were good and some were bad.  But they were wide open from that day forward.  I never looked at life from my closed little perspective again.  For me that was good, sitting in the seat of judgment is a horrible way to live and see the world.  Knowing only good and bad and looking at others actions as right or wrong with no frame of reference for black and white or gray is very dangerous.  I’m glad to see the world differently.   It also marked the beginning of a roller coaster ride whose scene changed every FRIDAY!