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Description

                                JUNK

    “One girl, alone and confused”  I sighed and ripped up my pathetic attempt at poetry.  I’ve always written down my thoughts and feelings.  After journals and journals full of my writing, I decided to start writing poetry.  I like the flow, the way you can say anything you want.  There are no rules, no boundaries.  Just a blank sheet of paper.  That’s my bible.  Alone with my thoughts and a pencil.  That’s my sanctuary.  My passion is writing.  Until today, when I realize I suck.  Everything I come up with is so morbid, so typical of my generation.
    The deadline to get my poem in is still 8 months away.  I have plenty of time, but if I don’t get anything good now, then it’s hopeless to get accepted.  I saw the info on the internet.  This really prestigious writing school is now taking applications for summer classes.  You’re required to write an essay and a poem.  I’ve got the essay, it’s the poem I’m worried about.  But I don’t care what it takes, I’m determined to get in.  First I just have to break through into poetry.
    “Was I mixed up, or did I find myself?”  I like this, I’m not sure how to incorporate it in, but it sounds profound.  I have all these lines and words running through my head, but nothing feels right.  They say you should write through your confusion, but right now, nothing is coming together.  Nothing makes sense.
    I need to call Natty.  She’s my best friend, she’ll help.  She tells me that in about an hour, there’s going to be a party at Chant’s house.  I agree to go.  I need to clear my head.
    When we get there, his whole basement is full of smoke.  It’s ok, I don’t mind.  It’s only pot, I’ve already done it a few times.  Natty and I decide to go find Derek, the local supplier.  He always has weed.  After searching through the smoke and all the drunks, we finally see him.  He’s surrounded by about 10 kids and they’re all passing around his ceramic pipe.  After he takes a deep hit, he looks up and sees me.
    “Hey Claire, come over here, this is some good stuff.” He says.
    His pupils are huge and his eyes are already completely bloodshot.  I can tell tonight is going to be fun.

        *   *   *   *   *
    It feels like I’ve been here for hours, but the clock says I’ve only been here for about 40 minutes.  I look over at Natty.  Her eyes are bloodshot and she’s laughing her head off, but no one said anything.  The sight of her laughing makes me laugh.  She hears me and turns her head in my direction.  Suddenly, her mouth looks like it’s taking up her whole face.  Behind her are all these little purple and black swirly dots.  It’s so crazy that I start tripping again. Kevin tells me to come over and play guitar with him so he hands me the pick.  In my hand, the pick gets really big and heavy.  I give it back because I can’t play with a pick that big.  Everything starts to get really foggy, I can barely see what’s going on.  I plop down onto a couch where some kids are playing video games.  My body feels so heavy, that I just stay glued to my spot and finish the remainder of my trip.  I drift off into a comfortable blackness.
    “Claire.  Claire!”  Someone was shaking me.  I look up into Natty’s face.  Everything is really blurry and I feel like I’m dreaming.  I’m still kind of stoned.  That pot last night was strong.
    “Claire, we need to go now.”  She says.
    “Where are we?”  I ask.
    “We fell asleep at Chant’s house, we have to get home before out parents wake up.”  She replies.
    I can’t believe it.  We’re so dumb.  If my parents see me stoned, they’ll freak.  I jump up, and look at the clock.  It’s 6:00.  We still have time if we hurry.
    When Natty drops me off at my house, I run to the backyard as fast as I can.  There’s a fire escape right outside my bedroom window.  That’s what I use when I sneak in and out.  I climb up, and slide open my window.  I realize I smell like marijuana really bad.  I take off all my smoky clothes and I put on my pajamas.  I take my perfume and spray it all over me, then I dive into bed.  I’m safe.  No one’s going to find out.  With that knowledge, I drift again into a peaceful, stoned sleep.

           *   *   *   *   *
    I hear knocking on my door.  I look over at my clock and it’s 11:39.
    “Honey, it’s time to get up!  You can’t sleep all day!” My mom says.
    In spite of my dizziness, I giggle to myself.  She has no clue!  Home free, again.  But then I remember my poem.  I’m trying to finish it and get it in early.  Maybe then they’ll see that I’m dedicated.
    The next Monday at school, I’m sitting in my history class.  Only I’m not taking notes like I’m supposed to.  I’m working on my poem.  I can’t think of anything.  I’m so stressed out.  Derek leans forward from his chair right behind me.
    “Hey Claire, you ok?”  He asks.
    “Yeah, it’s just this stupid poem, I’m stumped.  The words aren’t flowing.”  I reply.
    “That sucks.  You seem stressed, come find me after school, I need to take you somewhere.”  He says with a little smile.  I figure whatever it is must be important.
    “Ok.”  I agree.  I see Natty in the hall afterwards.  I tell her about my frustration.
    “Hun, you know you’re talented,” she says, “you’ll do great.  Just write what you feel.  If you feel confused then write about your confusion.”
    She smiles at me then walks off.  I practically stop in my tracks.  Write about my confusion.  That’s absolutely brilliant.  Wow, snaps for Natty!  I must remember to thank her later.
    Throughout the rest of the day, all I come up with are just phrases and lines.  I decide to write them all down, I might need them later.  Finally, the bell rings.  I decide I should go find Derek.  On the way to the commons to find him, I see Natty.
    “Hey.”  I say.
    “Hey,” she says back, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
    “Well, Paul said he needed to take me somewhere.” I say.
    “And you’re going?” She shrieks.
    “Why not?”  I inquire.
    “Well, he’s only done about every drug there is.  Look, I’m not going to preach.  Just be careful, ok?”  She says.
    “I will.” I promise, “See you later.”
    I continue down the hall in my pursuit of Derek.  I finally see him.  He’s with all his friends.  I start walking toward him.
    “Oh, there you are.  I was wondering where you were.” He says.
    “Well, here I am.  Where are we going?”  I ask.
    “My house, don’t worry, you’re going to have fun.” He answers.
    Ten minutes later, we enter the run-down apartment buildings a few miles away.  We walk up three floors and go into room 3B.  When we walk in, I hear music from down the hall. His mom is asleep on the couch.  She has an empty beer bottle in her hand and there are cigarettes still smoking in the ashtray on the coffee table.  We keep going.  We walk into, what I assume is, his room.  There are six other kids in here.  I start feeling really nervous and just as I’m about to fake the flu, Derek turns around with a needle full of something.
    “Ready for this, Claire?” He says.
    “What is it?” I ask.  Everyone in the rooms starts laughing at me.  I start sweating.
    “Junk.”
    “What?” I ask.
    “Heroin!  Come one, I’ve seen you in class, you’re so stressed out.  You need this.  It makes you feel so relaxed.” He says.
    I don’t know what to do.  Heroin? That’s a class-a drug.  This stuff is heavy.  What am I going to do?  I know I shouldn’t, but suddenly my rebellious side kicks in.  I figure, who cares?  It’s just once, right?
    Right?
    I comply.  Derek comes closer and drags me down onto his bed.  He tells me to lay down because then it’ll be better.  I lie down.  I’m so scared.
    “Relax.” he says, “you’re going to love this.”
    He grabs my arm and I feel him slip the needle into a vein.  It hurts at first and I wince.  Suddenly, everything is...bright.  Bright.  Sunlight.  I can see Derek smiling, but I feel like I’m running through a sunny field full of flowers.  No, not running.  Flying.  This is euphoria.  Complete ecstacy behind anything I’d imagined.  I can’t put words to this.  They don’t compare.  Bright, warm, soaring, weightless, pure joy.  I am smiling so big, I’m afraid I’ll rip my cheeks.  But the fear of that doesn’t dim the bliss.  This is awesome...I love this.  I don’t want it to ever end.  I’ve never been so happy in my life.  Derek keeps hugging me and it feels so good.
    About another 15 euphoric minutes of floating through my clouds, then I start coming down.  As I regain my normal thoughts back, I can’t help but think that heroin really is all it’s cracked up to be.  The high of it is 10 times better than pot.  I can’t go back to normal life after this, it was too...amazing.  I sit up and notice I’m on the floor.  Derek is staring at me.
    “Well?” he says, “what do you think?”
    “I...I can’t even begin to explain.” I say.
    “What did I tell you?  I knew it!” He says.
    I stand up to go.  I look back at Derek just as he’s injecting the needle in his arm.  His pupils are getting smaller and smaller.
    “See you later, Claire.”
    “Bye Derek, have fun.”  But it’s too late, he’s not listening anymore.

          *   *   *   *   *
    This is too weird, I’ve only been home for half an hour.  I can already feel a nagging for more junk.  I shake my head to get rid of the need.  I’m not doing it again.  It was a one time thing.

          *   *   *   *   *

    “Derek, what are you doing today?”  I fervently ask him the next day at school.
    “Why? You want more?” He asks.
    “Well...”  I reply.
    “Say no more.  Don’t worry, I’ll have some this Saturday.”  He says.
    “Ok.” I reply, defeated.  Saturday isn’t too far away.  I can do it.  But that’s it, Saturday will be the last time.
    With that, I turn around and march off to join Natty for lunch.
    “Hey bud.”  She says, “what did you and Derek do yesterday?”
    “Not much,” I lie, “just hung out.”
    She turns around to pay.  I can’t believe I just lied to her.  I’ve never lied to Natty.  I can honestly say that.  Until now.  It’s ok, I’m only going to do it one more time, anyway.
    When we sit down, Natty notices something on my arm.
    “What’s that?” she asks.  I look down.  She’s talking about the needle track.  I hurriedly pull my sleeve down.
    “Nothing.”  I say, perhaps a little too quickly.
    “Sure.”  She says.  We eat in silence.
    At 3:20 I get home.  I quickly run upstairs so I don’t have to talk to my mom.  Once in my room, I look at my arm.  It’s not too bad.  I just need to wear long sleeve shirts from now on.  I can’t wait until Saturday.

                            *   *   *   *   *
    Saturday!  Finally it’s Saturday!  Derek told me to come over at 6:00.  It’s only 9 a.m.  I take an extra long time to get ready, just to pass time away.  It’s now 11:00.  I need another time filler.  I pull out all my homework and finish it.  I take my notebook out.  The familiar feeling of nothing comes back.  No words.  I figure it’s ok, still 8 more months.  It’s 12:15.  This is going to be a long day.
     After about ten days, the clock finally says 5:45.  Close enough, time to go.  After wasting five minutes of begging my mom to take me, she finally gives in.
    As I’m getting out of the car, she tells me she’s coming back to get me at 10:30.  Great.  That gives me plenty of time.  After all, heroin only lasts for about 15 minutes.
    I walk up the three floors, and go to room 3B.  I knock on the door.  No one answers.  I hear the same loud music that was on last time.  I decide to just walk in.  I open the door very slowly.  It creaks open.  I don’t see anyone in the living room, so I walk down the hall to Derek’s room.  This time, he’s alone.  He looks up at me with glazed eyes, the needle still in his arm.
    “Claire, I’m glad you’re here.” he says, “Get down here.”
    I walk over to his bed and sit next to him.  Before I have any time to say anything, he sticks the needle in my arm, only this time it’s a few inches up but it’s the same vein.  I feel myself slipping out of my own body...

           *   *   *   *   *

    My thoughts seems fuzzy, yet blank.  I can feel myself coming down.  Since I’ve gotten here at six, we’ve gotten high twice.  I look over at Derek, he’s coming down too.  His eyes are almost back to normal.  Derek and I are both lying in his bed.  This is so awesome.  I know why Derek does so many drugs now.  In the back of my mind, I hear a voice calling for more junk.  I try to tell myself no, but I want more so badly.  I decide to call my mom to come get me so I don’t take anymore.  This is, after all, going to be my last time.  I slowly get up to call my mom.  I pick up the phone and start dialing.
    “Derek, I’m going home now.”  I say.
    “Go for it.” he says lazily.

           *   *   *   *   *

    “So why did you decide to come home?” Mom asks as we’re on our way home.
    “I dunno, I was just getting tired, I guess.” I say.
    No one talks for the test of the way home.  It’s almost as if my mom can sense something is up.
    That night, when everyone’s asleep, I wake up sweating and shaking.  I need junk so bad.  I don’t know what to do.  To calm myself, I bust into my parent’s liquor cabinet and grab a bottle of vodka.  If I can’t get high, I’ll get drunk.
    I wake up the next morning with the worst hangover in my life.  There’s still quite a bit of vodka left.  I sneak downstairs to try to put it back without anyone noticing.  There’s no one home.  Perfect.  I love being home alone.  To get the nagging feeling out of my head, I work on my poem.
    The next couple of days at school, I can tell Natty knows something is up.  It’s really hard, but I don’t tell her.  This whole week, all I can think about is Saturday, because Derek told me to come over again.
    For the next two weeks, I go over and shoot junk with Derek on Saturdays.  I think I can
handle it, that it won’t suck me in, that I won’t get addicted.  To stop the guilty feeling, I tell myself that I’ll only shoot on Saturdays.  After a while, I start doing it on Tuesdays, then Fridays, till pretty soon, I’m doing it everyday.  I see my grades slipping.  My once honor student status is now almost failing.  But I don’t care, all I ever think about is junk.  It’s my obsession.
    Derek says I have to start paying for it.  I run into the bathroom and break down crying.  Where am I going to get the money?  What will I do if I don’t get some?  By the time I get home, I’m shaking.  The withdrawal symptoms keep getting worse and worse.  I start feeling so sick, I get extremely nauseous.  I know I’m going to puke.  I rush into the bathroom and throw up.
    My mom runs in after me.  What is she doing?
    “Are you ok, sweetie?” She asks.
    “Shut up mom! Get out.  Leave me alone!”  I scream.  Why is she in here? I want her to leave me alone.  “It’s one of your business! Get out!” I yell.
    “What’s wrong with you?  What’s going on?” she cries.  Why can’t she just go away?  I need junk.  I need to find Derek.  I need money.  I start crying.  I fall on the floor and scream.  My mom drops to her knees to try to hug me.
    “Leave me alone!”  I scream.  Mom looks so hurt, but she turns around and walks out.  I don’t care.  I need to get money.
    When my mom leaves to go to the store, I sneak into her room.  I know where she keeps her cash.  I’ve never stolen from her before, and I feel bad, but I’m desperate.  I get into the box in her bottom drawer and take out $400.  This should last me awhile.  I pick up the phone to call Derek.
    “Hello?” someone asks.
    “Derek?” I say, in a state of panic.
    “Claire, is that you?” he says.
    “Yes!  Listen, I’ve got money.” I say.
    “Good! Bring it to school tomorrow, we’ll have some stuff by the time school’s over.” he says.
    I say bye then hang up.  Thank heavens.  I decide to go to bed, and I’m ready for a long night of nausea and shaking.  Tomorrow it will be ok.

          *   *   *   *   *

    The past few months have been a blur.  I shoot at least twice a day now.  Today, I have about five and a half months left until my application poem is due.  It seems as though it’s not even that important anymore.  Ever since I started shooting everyday, all my energy is put into getting money.  I just went to check my grades.  I have an F in everything.  Derek no longer comes to school.  His mom is hardly ever sober so he stays home and smokes pot all day until I get there.  Then we shoot.  Junk is what I live for.  I have no motivation for much else.
    I think my mom suspects.  She refuses to take me to Derek’s I have to walk over when I go.  Today I have to go home first and find money before I go.  Once I walk in, I try to avoid my mom.  I walk into her room to get the cash.  Now I’m off to Derek’s.
    During third hour yesterday, they called me down to the office.  I sit on Derek’s bed and
tell him this.
    “Why?” he asks.
    I tell him that they said I have twenty-nine unexcused absences, fifty-six tardies and I have gone from A’s to F’s in about three months.
    “So?” he says, “Why should they care?”
    “I don’t know, but I think they know something.”  I say.
    “How could they know?” He asks.
    “They told me I’m going to start getting drug tested, and my mom is giving them permission.”
    “What!” he screams, “They can’t do that, refuse! It’s a violation of privacy!”
    “How can I?” I shout, “I’m going to get caught.  I’ve had the worst headache today, we need more.”
    “Where are we going to get it?  My mom is broke.” He says.
    “I’ll find a way.” I say.
    The next day, once home, I know what I have to do.  I feel so bad stealing from my mom.  Each time I steal, I tell myself that it’ll be the last time.  It’s the heroin, though.  I can’t help it.  As I’m pulling out a hundred, my mom walks in.
    “What is going on in here!” she shouts.
    “Ummm...I...I.”  I stutter.
    “You’re stealing my money!  What is wrong with you?  What is going on?  Tell me!  I want to know.  Include me.  What’s going on?” she says.
    “Mom!  I just...I need money!”  I yell.
    “Why?  What do you steal?  What do you need hundreds of dollars for? she asks.
    “Nothing, just leave me alone!”  I storm out of the house.  I can hear my mom crying behind me.
    “Please, let me in!  I want to help you.  Something is wrong, please include me in on your life.”
    Now Derek is going to be so mad.  We’re both completely broke and haven’t shot for two days.  I’m throwing up and I break out into cold sweats and I have rashes all over.  I’m so scared.  I  now know that I have to stop, but I can’t.  My mind is consumed with the prospect of getting more junk.  I’ve been avoiding Natty all day.  I know she’s mad at me, but I don’t care right now.
    When I walk up my front side walk, I see Natty’s car.  What’s she doing here?  I open the front door.  Mom and Natty are sitting at the table.  My mom is staring off into space.  Natty is crying.  There’s a box on the table.  I know what that is.  I carefully inch forward.  My heart sinks as my suspicions are confirmed.  This is the box I hide under my bed.  I close my eyes in shame as I see all the needles I use and my emergency stash of pot.  Natty looks up at me, her eyes pleading.
    “Natty, what did you do?” I say.
    “Claire, I... I had to.”  She gets up to hug me.  She tries to hug me?  She just told my mom everything!  How dare she!  I push her away.  She starts crying harder.  Mom gets up.
    “Is this true?”  She’s completely heartbroken.  “Natty, are you sure?  How do you know?”
    Natty turns to me, sobbing.
    “I have to do this, Claire, I’m sorry.”  Without warning, she pulls up my sleeve.  All my huge, ugly needle tracks are exposed.
    “No!” I scream, trying to cover them up.  My mom erupts into tears and she crumples to the floor at my feet.
    She’s screaming, “Honey, I’m so sorry that this has been what’s happening.” She holds my scarred up arm in her hands and kisses it.
    “Claire, I love you.”
    I can’t take this anymore.  I fall to the floor crying.  I’ve stolen thousands from my mom.  I’ve been so mean to her.  But after all of it, she tells me she loves me.  We just sit here, holding each other, crying.
   “I love you more than anything.  You are my life.”  She says.

          *   *   *   *   *

    The past five months have been the hardest, lowest times of my life.  I’ve been in rehab.  Everyday in there, I screamed and cried and was so sick.  I had the worst convulsions I’ve ever had.  It was the worst pain I’ve felt in my life.
    But one day, the pain slowly started to ease.  My never ceasing need for junk, didn’t feel quite so intense.
    A few weeks later, they let me take care of myself on my own.  I felt almost back to normal.  Finally, they let me go home.  My mom is my best friend now.  So is Natty.  I am eternally grateful to her.  The day I got back, I went to see her.  I was completely speechless.  I only looked down, tears streaming down my face, too ashamed to look at her.  She immediately gave me a hug.  She understood.
    I’ve learned a lot of things.  First of all, I know that this is one of the biggest cliches ever, but, drugs really do destroy and imprison you.  Ironically, people think that they are meant to liberate you and to introduce you to a whole new world.
    I saw Derek a few weeks ago.  He was being brought down by a drug dog.  He looked like he was 50.  He kept fighting so the cops had to beat him down.  I’m so sorry all of this had to happen.  I couldn’t do anything, so I simply wept silently and said a prayer for him.
    I’ve been clean for five months, and I intend to stay that way.  My life?  It’s improved drastically.  My grades?  I’m a 4.0 student now.  My poem?  Finished, and I had the perfect inspiration.  Those summer writing classes?  I’ve been accepted!

Description

                                JUNK

    “One girl, alone and confused”  I sighed and ripped up my pathetic attempt at poetry.  I’ve always written down my thoughts and feelings.  After journals and journals full of my writing, I decided to start writing poetry.  I like the flow, the way you can say anything you want.  There are no rules, no boundaries.  Just a blank sheet of paper.  That’s my bible.  Alone with my thoughts and a pencil.  That’s my sanctuary.  My passion is writing.  Until today, when I realize I suck.  Everything I come up with is so morbid, so typical of my generation.
    The deadline to get my poem in is still 8 months away.  I have plenty of time, but if I don’t get anything good now, then it’s hopeless to get accepted.  I saw the info on the internet.  This really prestigious writing school is now taking applications for summer classes.  You’re required to write an essay and a poem.  I’ve got the essay, it’s the poem I’m worried about.  But I don’t care what it takes, I’m determined to get in.  First I just have to break through into poetry.
    “Was I mixed up, or did I find myself?”  I like this, I’m not sure how to incorporate it in, but it sounds profound.  I have all these lines and words running through my head, but nothing feels right.  They say you should write through your confusion, but right now, nothing is coming together.  Nothing makes sense.
    I need to call Natty.  She’s my best friend, she’ll help.  She tells me that in about an hour, there’s going to be a party at Chant’s house.  I agree to go.  I need to clear my head.
    When we get there, his whole basement is full of smoke.  It’s ok, I don’t mind.  It’s only pot, I’ve already done it a few times.  Natty and I decide to go find Derek, the local supplier.  He always has weed.  After searching through the smoke and all the drunks, we finally see him.  He’s surrounded by about 10 kids and they’re all passing around his ceramic pipe.  After he takes a deep hit, he looks up and sees me.
    “Hey Claire, come over here, this is some good stuff.” He says.
    His pupils are huge and his eyes are already completely bloodshot.  I can tell tonight is going to be fun.

        *   *   *   *   *
    It feels like I’ve been here for hours, but the clock says I’ve only been here for about 40 minutes.  I look over at Natty.  Her eyes are bloodshot and she’s laughing her head off, but no one said anything.  The sight of her laughing makes me laugh.  She hears me and turns her head in my direction.  Suddenly, her mouth looks like it’s taking up her whole face.  Behind her are all these little purple and black swirly dots.  It’s so crazy that I start tripping again. Kevin tells me to come over and play guitar with him so he hands me the pick.  In my hand, the pick gets really big and heavy.  I give it back because I can’t play with a pick that big.  Everything starts to get really foggy, I can barely see what’s going on.  I plop down onto a couch where some kids are playing video games.  My body feels so heavy, that I just stay glued to my spot and finish the remainder of my trip.  I drift off into a comfortable blackness.
    “Claire.  Claire!”  Someone was shaking me.  I look up into Natty’s face.  Everything is really blurry and I feel like I’m dreaming.  I’m still kind of stoned.  That pot last night was strong.
    “Claire, we need to go now.”  She says.
    “Where are we?”  I ask.
    “We fell asleep at Chant’s house, we have to get home before out parents wake up.”  She replies.
    I can’t believe it.  We’re so dumb.  If my parents see me stoned, they’ll freak.  I jump up, and look at the clock.  It’s 6:00.  We still have time if we hurry.
    When Natty drops me off at my house, I run to the backyard as fast as I can.  There’s a fire escape right outside my bedroom window.  That’s what I use when I sneak in and out.  I climb up, and slide open my window.  I realize I smell like marijuana really bad.  I take off all my smoky clothes and I put on my pajamas.  I take my perfume and spray it all over me, then I dive into bed.  I’m safe.  No one’s going to find out.  With that knowledge, I drift again into a peaceful, stoned sleep.

           *   *   *   *   *
    I hear knocking on my door.  I look over at my clock and it’s 11:39.
    “Honey, it’s time to get up!  You can’t sleep all day!” My mom says.
    In spite of my dizziness, I giggle to myself.  She has no clue!  Home free, again.  But then I remember my poem.  I’m trying to finish it and get it in early.  Maybe then they’ll see that I’m dedicated.
    The next Monday at school, I’m sitting in my history class.  Only I’m not taking notes like I’m supposed to.  I’m working on my poem.  I can’t think of anything.  I’m so stressed out.  Derek leans forward from his chair right behind me.
    “Hey Claire, you ok?”  He asks.
    “Yeah, it’s just this stupid poem, I’m stumped.  The words aren’t flowing.”  I reply.
    “That sucks.  You seem stressed, come find me after school, I need to take you somewhere.”  He says with a little smile.  I figure whatever it is must be important.
    “Ok.”  I agree.  I see Natty in the hall afterwards.  I tell her about my frustration.
    “Hun, you know you’re talented,” she says, “you’ll do great.  Just write what you feel.  If you feel confused then write about your confusion.”
    She smiles at me then walks off.  I practically stop in my tracks.  Write about my confusion.  That’s absolutely brilliant.  Wow, snaps for Natty!  I must remember to thank her later.
    Throughout the rest of the day, all I come up with are just phrases and lines.  I decide to write them all down, I might need them later.  Finally, the bell rings.  I decide I should go find Derek.  On the way to the commons to find him, I see Natty.
    “Hey.”  I say.
    “Hey,” she says back, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
    “Well, Paul said he needed to take me somewhere.” I say.
    “And you’re going?” She shrieks.
    “Why not?”  I inquire.
    “Well, he’s only done about every drug there is.  Look, I’m not going to preach.  Just be careful, ok?”  She says.
    “I will.” I promise, “See you later.”
    I continue down the hall in my pursuit of Derek.  I finally see him.  He’s with all his friends.  I start walking toward him.
    “Oh, there you are.  I was wondering where you were.” He says.
    “Well, here I am.  Where are we going?”  I ask.
    “My house, don’t worry, you’re going to have fun.” He answers.
    Ten minutes later, we enter the run-down apartment buildings a few miles away.  We walk up three floors and go into room 3B.  When we walk in, I hear music from down the hall. His mom is asleep on the couch.  She has an empty beer bottle in her hand and there are cigarettes still smoking in the ashtray on the coffee table.  We keep going.  We walk into, what I assume is, his room.  There are six other kids in here.  I start feeling really nervous and just as I’m about to fake the flu, Derek turns around with a needle full of something.
    “Ready for this, Claire?” He says.
    “What is it?” I ask.  Everyone in the rooms starts laughing at me.  I start sweating.
    “Junk.”
    “What?” I ask.
    “Heroin!  Come one, I’ve seen you in class, you’re so stressed out.  You need this.  It makes you feel so relaxed.” He says.
    I don’t know what to do.  Heroin? That’s a class-a drug.  This stuff is heavy.  What am I going to do?  I know I shouldn’t, but suddenly my rebellious side kicks in.  I figure, who cares?  It’s just once, right?
    Right?
    I comply.  Derek comes closer and drags me down onto his bed.  He tells me to lay down because then it’ll be better.  I lie down.  I’m so scared.
    “Relax.” he says, “you’re going to love this.”
    He grabs my arm and I feel him slip the needle into a vein.  It hurts at first and I wince.  Suddenly, everything is...bright.  Bright.  Sunlight.  I can see Derek smiling, but I feel like I’m running through a sunny field full of flowers.  No, not running.  Flying.  This is euphoria.  Complete ecstacy behind anything I’d imagined.  I can’t put words to this.  They don’t compare.  Bright, warm, soaring, weightless, pure joy.  I am smiling so big, I’m afraid I’ll rip my cheeks.  But the fear of that doesn’t dim the bliss.  This is awesome...I love this.  I don’t want it to ever end.  I’ve never been so happy in my life.  Derek keeps hugging me and it feels so good.
    About another 15 euphoric minutes of floating through my clouds, then I start coming down.  As I regain my normal thoughts back, I can’t help but think that heroin really is all it’s cracked up to be.  The high of it is 10 times better than pot.  I can’t go back to normal life after this, it was too...amazing.  I sit up and notice I’m on the floor.  Derek is staring at me.
    “Well?” he says, “what do you think?”
    “I...I can’t even begin to explain.” I say.
    “What did I tell you?  I knew it!” He says.
    I stand up to go.  I look back at Derek just as he’s injecting the needle in his arm.  His pupils are getting smaller and smaller.
    “See you later, Claire.”
    “Bye Derek, have fun.”  But it’s too late, he’s not listening anymore.

          *   *   *   *   *
    This is too weird, I’ve only been home for half an hour.  I can already feel a nagging for more junk.  I shake my head to get rid of the need.  I’m not doing it again.  It was a one time thing.

          *   *   *   *   *

    “Derek, what are you doing today?”  I fervently ask him the next day at school.
    “Why? You want more?” He asks.
    “Well...”  I reply.
    “Say no more.  Don’t worry, I’ll have some this Saturday.”  He says.
    “Ok.” I reply, defeated.  Saturday isn’t too far away.  I can do it.  But that’s it, Saturday will be the last time.
    With that, I turn around and march off to join Natty for lunch.
    “Hey bud.”  She says, “what did you and Derek do yesterday?”
    “Not much,” I lie, “just hung out.”
    She turns around to pay.  I can’t believe I just lied to her.  I’ve never lied to Natty.  I can honestly say that.  Until now.  It’s ok, I’m only going to do it one more time, anyway.
    When we sit down, Natty notices something on my arm.
    “What’s that?” she asks.  I look down.  She’s talking about the needle track.  I hurriedly pull my sleeve down.
    “Nothing.”  I say, perhaps a little too quickly.
    “Sure.”  She says.  We eat in silence.
    At 3:20 I get home.  I quickly run upstairs so I don’t have to talk to my mom.  Once in my room, I look at my arm.  It’s not too bad.  I just need to wear long sleeve shirts from now on.  I can’t wait until Saturday.

                            *   *   *   *   *
    Saturday!  Finally it’s Saturday!  Derek told me to come over at 6:00.  It’s only 9 a.m.  I take an extra long time to get ready, just to pass time away.  It’s now 11:00.  I need another time filler.  I pull out all my homework and finish it.  I take my notebook out.  The familiar feeling of nothing comes back.  No words.  I figure it’s ok, still 8 more months.  It’s 12:15.  This is going to be a long day.
     After about ten days, the clock finally says 5:45.  Close enough, time to go.  After wasting five minutes of begging my mom to take me, she finally gives in.
    As I’m getting out of the car, she tells me she’s coming back to get me at 10:30.  Great.  That gives me plenty of time.  After all, heroin only lasts for about 15 minutes.
    I walk up the three floors, and go to room 3B.  I knock on the door.  No one answers.  I hear the same loud music that was on last time.  I decide to just walk in.  I open the door very slowly.  It creaks open.  I don’t see anyone in the living room, so I walk down the hall to Derek’s room.  This time, he’s alone.  He looks up at me with glazed eyes, the needle still in his arm.
    “Claire, I’m glad you’re here.” he says, “Get down here.”
    I walk over to his bed and sit next to him.  Before I have any time to say anything, he sticks the needle in my arm, only this time it’s a few inches up but it’s the same vein.  I feel myself slipping out of my own body...

           *   *   *   *   *

    My thoughts seems fuzzy, yet blank.  I can feel myself coming down.  Since I’ve gotten here at six, we’ve gotten high twice.  I look over at Derek, he’s coming down too.  His eyes are almost back to normal.  Derek and I are both lying in his bed.  This is so awesome.  I know why Derek does so many drugs now.  In the back of my mind, I hear a voice calling for more junk.  I try to tell myself no, but I want more so badly.  I decide to call my mom to come get me so I don’t take anymore.  This is, after all, going to be my last time.  I slowly get up to call my mom.  I pick up the phone and start dialing.
    “Derek, I’m going home now.”  I say.
    “Go for it.” he says lazily.

           *   *   *   *   *

    “So why did you decide to come home?” Mom asks as we’re on our way home.
    “I dunno, I was just getting tired, I guess.” I say.
    No one talks for the test of the way home.  It’s almost as if my mom can sense something is up.
    That night, when everyone’s asleep, I wake up sweating and shaking.  I need junk so bad.  I don’t know what to do.  To calm myself, I bust into my parent’s liquor cabinet and grab a bottle of vodka.  If I can’t get high, I’ll get drunk.
    I wake up the next morning with the worst hangover in my life.  There’s still quite a bit of vodka left.  I sneak downstairs to try to put it back without anyone noticing.  There’s no one home.  Perfect.  I love being home alone.  To get the nagging feeling out of my head, I work on my poem.
    The next couple of days at school, I can tell Natty knows something is up.  It’s really hard, but I don’t tell her.  This whole week, all I can think about is Saturday, because Derek told me to come over again.
    For the next two weeks, I go over and shoot junk with Derek on Saturdays.  I think I can
handle it, that it won’t suck me in, that I won’t get addicted.  To stop the guilty feeling, I tell myself that I’ll only shoot on Saturdays.  After a while, I start doing it on Tuesdays, then Fridays, till pretty soon, I’m doing it everyday.  I see my grades slipping.  My once honor student status is now almost failing.  But I don’t care, all I ever think about is junk.  It’s my obsession.
    Derek says I have to start paying for it.  I run into the bathroom and break down crying.  Where am I going to get the money?  What will I do if I don’t get some?  By the time I get home, I’m shaking.  The withdrawal symptoms keep getting worse and worse.  I start feeling so sick, I get extremely nauseous.  I know I’m going to puke.  I rush into the bathroom and throw up.
    My mom runs in after me.  What is she doing?
    “Are you ok, sweetie?” She asks.
    “Shut up mom! Get out.  Leave me alone!”  I scream.  Why is she in here? I want her to leave me alone.  “It’s one of your business! Get out!” I yell.
    “What’s wrong with you?  What’s going on?” she cries.  Why can’t she just go away?  I need junk.  I need to find Derek.  I need money.  I start crying.  I fall on the floor and scream.  My mom drops to her knees to try to hug me.
    “Leave me alone!”  I scream.  Mom looks so hurt, but she turns around and walks out.  I don’t care.  I need to get money.
    When my mom leaves to go to the store, I sneak into her room.  I know where she keeps her cash.  I’ve never stolen from her before, and I feel bad, but I’m desperate.  I get into the box in her bottom drawer and take out $400.  This should last me awhile.  I pick up the phone to call Derek.
    “Hello?” someone asks.
    “Derek?” I say, in a state of panic.
    “Claire, is that you?” he says.
    “Yes!  Listen, I’ve got money.” I say.
    “Good! Bring it to school tomorrow, we’ll have some stuff by the time school’s over.” he says.
    I say bye then hang up.  Thank heavens.  I decide to go to bed, and I’m ready for a long night of nausea and shaking.  Tomorrow it will be ok.

          *   *   *   *   *

    The past few months have been a blur.  I shoot at least twice a day now.  Today, I have about five and a half months left until my application poem is due.  It seems as though it’s not even that important anymore.  Ever since I started shooting everyday, all my energy is put into getting money.  I just went to check my grades.  I have an F in everything.  Derek no longer comes to school.  His mom is hardly ever sober so he stays home and smokes pot all day until I get there.  Then we shoot.  Junk is what I live for.  I have no motivation for much else.
    I think my mom suspects.  She refuses to take me to Derek’s I have to walk over when I go.  Today I have to go home first and find money before I go.  Once I walk in, I try to avoid my mom.  I walk into her room to get the cash.  Now I’m off to Derek’s.
    During third hour yesterday, they called me down to the office.  I sit on Derek’s bed and
tell him this.
    “Why?” he asks.
    I tell him that they said I have twenty-nine unexcused absences, fifty-six tardies and I have gone from A’s to F’s in about three months.
    “So?” he says, “Why should they care?”
    “I don’t know, but I think they know something.”  I say.
    “How could they know?” He asks.
    “They told me I’m going to start getting drug tested, and my mom is giving them permission.”
    “What!” he screams, “They can’t do that, refuse! It’s a violation of privacy!”
    “How can I?” I shout, “I’m going to get caught.  I’ve had the worst headache today, we need more.”
    “Where are we going to get it?  My mom is broke.” He says.
    “I’ll find a way.” I say.
    The next day, once home, I know what I have to do.  I feel so bad stealing from my mom.  Each time I steal, I tell myself that it’ll be the last time.  It’s the heroin, though.  I can’t help it.  As I’m pulling out a hundred, my mom walks in.
    “What is going on in here!” she shouts.
    “Ummm...I...I.”  I stutter.
    “You’re stealing my money!  What is wrong with you?  What is going on?  Tell me!  I want to know.  Include me.  What’s going on?” she says.
    “Mom!  I just...I need money!”  I yell.
    “Why?  What do you steal?  What do you need hundreds of dollars for? she asks.
    “Nothing, just leave me alone!”  I storm out of the house.  I can hear my mom crying behind me.
    “Please, let me in!  I want to help you.  Something is wrong, please include me in on your life.”
    Now Derek is going to be so mad.  We’re both completely broke and haven’t shot for two days.  I’m throwing up and I break out into cold sweats and I have rashes all over.  I’m so scared.  I  now know that I have to stop, but I can’t.  My mind is consumed with the prospect of getting more junk.  I’ve been avoiding Natty all day.  I know she’s mad at me, but I don’t care right now.
    When I walk up my front side walk, I see Natty’s car.  What’s she doing here?  I open the front door.  Mom and Natty are sitting at the table.  My mom is staring off into space.  Natty is crying.  There’s a box on the table.  I know what that is.  I carefully inch forward.  My heart sinks as my suspicions are confirmed.  This is the box I hide under my bed.  I close my eyes in shame as I see all the needles I use and my emergency stash of pot.  Natty looks up at me, her eyes pleading.
    “Natty, what did you do?” I say.
    “Claire, I... I had to.”  She gets up to hug me.  She tries to hug me?  She just told my mom everything!  How dare she!  I push her away.  She starts crying harder.  Mom gets up.
    “Is this true?”  She’s completely heartbroken.  “Natty, are you sure?  How do you know?”
    Natty turns to me, sobbing.
    “I have to do this, Claire, I’m sorry.”  Without warning, she pulls up my sleeve.  All my huge, ugly needle tracks are exposed.
    “No!” I scream, trying to cover them up.  My mom erupts into tears and she crumples to the floor at my feet.
    She’s screaming, “Honey, I’m so sorry that this has been what’s happening.” She holds my scarred up arm in her hands and kisses it.
    “Claire, I love you.”
    I can’t take this anymore.  I fall to the floor crying.  I’ve stolen thousands from my mom.  I’ve been so mean to her.  But after all of it, she tells me she loves me.  We just sit here, holding each other, crying.
   “I love you more than anything.  You are my life.”  She says.

          *   *   *   *   *

    The past five months have been the hardest, lowest times of my life.  I’ve been in rehab.  Everyday in there, I screamed and cried and was so sick.  I had the worst convulsions I’ve ever had.  It was the worst pain I’ve felt in my life.
    But one day, the pain slowly started to ease.  My never ceasing need for junk, didn’t feel quite so intense.
    A few weeks later, they let me take care of myself on my own.  I felt almost back to normal.  Finally, they let me go home.  My mom is my best friend now.  So is Natty.  I am eternally grateful to her.  The day I got back, I went to see her.  I was completely speechless.  I only looked down, tears streaming down my face, too ashamed to look at her.  She immediately gave me a hug.  She understood.
    I’ve learned a lot of things.  First of all, I know that this is one of the biggest cliches ever, but, drugs really do destroy and imprison you.  Ironically, people think that they are meant to liberate you and to introduce you to a whole new world.
    I saw Derek a few weeks ago.  He was being brought down by a drug dog.  He looked like he was 50.  He kept fighting so the cops had to beat him down.  I’m so sorry all of this had to happen.  I couldn’t do anything, so I simply wept silently and said a prayer for him.
    I’ve been clean for five months, and I intend to stay that way.  My life?  It’s improved drastically.  My grades?  I’m a 4.0 student now.  My poem?  Finished, and I had the perfect inspiration.  Those summer writing classes?  I’ve been accepted!