DOPE STORY: WHAT TO SAY TO HEROIN GUY

What’s the right thing to say after hearing another sad dope story?

The request: I’d like you to write my story.

The response: Tell me the story.

It went like this:

A man born on the right side of the tracks takes up with behavior from the wrong side and ends up shooting speed.

“The first time I was awake for a week,” he said.

He was a young guy at the time, not so young now, and like many young men of his time, he got drafted into the Army and sent to Vietnam.

“Did you shoot speed in Vietnam?” I asked.

“No, but when I got back, all of my old friends had switched to heroin,” he said.

He made the switch, too.

“What did you do for work when you got back?” I asked.

It seemed like normal question for a good dope story, but it was one that revealed more about me than him.

“You don’t know anything about being a drug addict, do you?” he said, as if I ought to know more.

“I’m learning as I go, but no, I’m not an expert. How did you live on heroin?” I asked.

“As far as a job, heroin is the job. I was either getting high, coming down, or looking for more heroin,” he said.

“What did you do for money?”

“I was a dealer and took a cut from my customers,” he said.

“You sold weight, but a lighter weight than advertised?” I asked.

“No, you can’t do that. Heroin customers can count, and weigh. I took a little out and put something else back in. That was the cut,” he said.

I wanted to ask about robbery and violence, but waited. And waited.

“So you weren’t doing snatch and grabs, breaking into houses, stealing cars, to support the habit?” I asked.

“I heard about it, but didn’t do it,” he said.

“Did your customers?”

“They had money, I had heroin. That is the real dope story. We didn’t get into their career paths,” he said.

“Were you part of a cartel?”

“I know what you’re asking, and I don’t know. I got the stuff and moved it along with a little on the side,” he said.

“On the side?”

“My side. I was a dealer because I was on heroin. Being hooked up doesn’t make for an ideal employee,” he said.

“How long did this last?” I asked.

“People got older, the customer base shrunk, and I could see the end when my friends started disappearing,” he said.

“Disappearing?”

“Some died, some kicked heroin, some moved away, some I don’t know about,” he said.

“What about you?”

“I got older, kicked heroin, and moved,” he said. “In some ways, going to Vietnam may have saved my life.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixty nine,” he said.

“A clean sixty nine?”

“That’s why I called. I don’t think I’m alone here, but the reality is we never get away,” he said.

“Do you still use?” I asked.

“Are you even listening? I’m an old addict who still takes the occasional hit,” he said.

“Do you have friends, like a support group?” I asked.

“More like the Stones’ song Dead Flowers,” he said.

“The Rolling Stones?”

“Well when you’re sitting back in your rose pink Cadillac
Making bets on Kentucky Derby Day
Ah, I’ll be in my basement room with a needle and a spoon
And another girl to take my pain away”

“I like that song. Have you put roses on anyone’s grave?”

“Will you put roses on mine?”