‘Meth friendly’ is a special kind of friendship.
It’s a friendship between neighbors when the deliveries and pickups happen between 10 pm and 4 am.
Call it a friendship of the night.
Years ago I went to a funeral for someone who’d been a user, got themselves clean, then took one last hit, the OD hit.
Some of the people who attended the funeral were in ‘the life.’ A harder looking group would be hard to find.
I listened in on some of the conversations.
More than one began with, “So this is what you look like? I’ve never seen you in daylight.”
What time was it? Meth o’clock.
Neighborhood Meth
S.W.A.T. teams came to the neighborhood twice since I’ve lived here.
That’s two times more than any other place I’ve lived.
They came with state, county, and city police, a troop carrier, ambulance, dogs, and guns out.
It wasn’t a drill from the flash-bang start to the prison term finish.
After the first time I had a word with the owner lady.
The owner of a local house with loads of traffic caught me cruising the cul-de-sac.
She parked in the middle of the road and came to my soccer mom van window for a chat.
And it was chatty, to say the least.“Hello, ma’am.”
“Well I guess you know who I am.”
“Yes I do. Glad to meet you in person.”
“Glad to meet you, too. At least we’re starting on the right foot. You may change you mind sooner than later.”
“What ever would make me…”
“Ma’am, there’s three houses on the road you live on. One of them gets a lot of traffic. Do you know which house that is?”
“Well, my kids have…”
“Ma’am, it’s your house. And I’m happy to get a chance to talk. You get a lot of traffic to your house. I’ve been around prison populations, and I’m telling you some of the traffic looks like they just came from Cell Block D.”
“Some of the kids’ friends do…”
“Ma’am, do you remember the evening nine police cars were all parked in front of my house? The Tigard Police event?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Did you notice if they had their guns out? Their long guns?”
“Yes, they did. And one of my kids’ friends had a big knife.”
“A big knife?”
“Yes. He dropped and ran out the back to the woods when the police knocked on my door.”
“He was the runner they brought the dog in for?”
“Yes, the dog.”
She cried, I stayed on topic.
Later I saw one of her boys, a fifty year old man, sitting in his pickup full of crap.
I went over with an old push mower and offered to throw it in the back as an excuse to talk to him.
I told him his mom was out here crying and he ought to help her.
He said she wasn’t his mom and he didn’t want my push mower.
I explained how to be an asset to an emotionally disturbed older lady so she wouldn’t cry on my shoulder.
He came around, then said he’d take the push mower off my hands.
“Take care of your people and we’ll see,” I explained.
Moving Day For Meth
I spoke to a policeman after the first raid.
It all made sense, but didn’t change things.
Same traffic, same institutionalized looking characters, but with a twist.
One night a car pulled up and dumped a body in the street outside the meth friendly house.
You don’t see that every day. I didn’t see her, but everyone else did.
They called the police. She was awake by the time they showed up.
Toward the end of meth friendly house era another woman became a regular sight.
She walked into the neighborhoods with her backpack loaded and left with it empty.
I saw her one time on the way out and decided to drive around to see what’s what.
I gave up after she’d walked a mile and didn’t get picked up.
She had some long distance endurance.
More owner and me: