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The Overdose

Memoir Project Rough Draft

NaNoWrimo Update: November 16, 2005
Current Word Count: 27,306 out of NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000

Writing Update: I’ve reached the top of the moutian, but it doesn’t feel downhill yet.

The Overdose

The event that drove my mom home happened in Colorado or Columbus or some other place that starts with a C and the place doesn’t really matter other than she didn’t make it to California, which also starts with a C, but she made it somewhere where a person arrived at the pad with a tin of a new - exciting, mind blowing, karma sutric, chakra blooming - drug. There were enough people in the pad to call it a party and the pusher, being a good pusher, left the tin for the free first dose. My mom and a friend cut the powder in the tin in half and my mom mixed half in a glass of Kool Aid and drank it down. No one but her tried the shit yet when the pusher came back, but by then, my mom was already freaking out on a bad trip, holding herself perfectly still in a catatonic state on a couch in the living room. The lights were turned off and everyone snuck out to let her freak on her own. But she heard them in the kitchen. “Holy shit! She did half the tin? There’s 40 hits in this tin. She did 20 hits! That’s not good man. That’s not good. Holy shit!” He was freak’n and they tried to hush him, but it was too late, she heard him. She knew. She’d just O.D.ed. And she felt herself slipping away. Falling slowly to the bottom of the Lake. The waters dark and cold. Her body shutting down, turning her into a corpse as she sank. A lifeless, limp but not dead yet body falling further and further into the darkness. Motionless. But still alive, barely. But just enough to feel the terror of death waiting with it’s arms outstretched at the bottom of the lake to take her into his embrace and place his black lips to hers and give her his fatal kiss. She felt this terror and with it, timelessness. Oh the time it takes to sink to the bottom of the lake in the darkness. In the cold. There is so much time to think. To think and to regret. Regret. The letter. To think about the letter she wrote to my father telling him she was never coming back. She was never coming back and she never wanted to see him or their son again. The letter telling my father that he could have full custody of their son. Goodbye. Goodbye. The letter. It was on the kitchen counter, waiting for a trip to the post office for a stamp. The letter. Her son. The weight of the water pressed down on her and squeezed out the terror. The regret. The anguish. Her son. She would never see her son again! Never again. But this time, it wasn’t just words in a letter, she was going to die, and that letter would be the last thing she ever said to her son. She was going to die and she would never see her son again. And as she sank, she wept and the icy grip of death felt closer and closer. And she wept more and overflowed with remorse and sincere apologies to her son and to God for forsaking them both. And as she sank and wept and apologized, she prayed to God. She pleaded to God to spare her. To forgive her foolishness and to give her a second chance. And if he gave her a second chance she would devote her life to him. She would never forsake him with drugs or lies or running away again. If he would spare her. If he would forgive her. If only…

My child.
Yes, my lord.
I have heard your promise.
Yes my Lord.
I will spare you.
Oh thank you my Lord.
Go home my child.
Yes my Lord.
And once you are home, get your son and never leave him again.
Yes my Lord.
When you have done these things, I will show the way to me. I will show the way to truth.
Yes my Lord.
But first, go home. Go home my child. Be healed and go home. Your son is waiting.
Yes my Lord.

And a white light descended upon her and an angel took her into his arms and rescued her from the dark deep waters of the lake.

And on the morrow, miraculously, she woke. And as promised, and as told to do, she completed her first set of instructions, she went home.

END
© 2005 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on November 16, 2005 in
Emotion: Fear, Type: Creative Nonfiction