Day Three
Addiction: Consecutive Substack Story 1018
Sucking back air and saliva, his teeth felt like wet chunks of concrete made by a kid in his first day of trade school and the kid flunked the assignment.
Whatever his blood pressure was supposed to be, it wasn’t this, and his sight was getting gauzy rings around it as though he had been taken hostage and his head wrapped in an Irish Lace doily.
Eric Lund was rawdogging detox, day three.
Samantha Lawrence begged him not to do it alone, so he said “do it with me, get clean,” and she said that wasn’t what she meant, she meant rehab, supervised, medication, she thought the one in Olive County had a masseuse, for god’s sake.
Taggy Bendicetti texted him.
He had told Taggy where he would be in case he died, in case Samantha was right, in case his heart gave out, because Taggy was tough, he could handle a body, especially Eric’s body, because everyone was shocked E made it this far, thirty eight, holy marathon, high every day he was alive and not in jail since he was sixteen.
Taggy pulled up in a panel truck.
E panicked, thought it was an intervention, all his friends gonna pile out of the back of the truck, and sob at him, but wait, he had like 52 hours clean, something like that, what time was it? He had a lot, a lotta hours clean, you couldn’t intervene that.
Panel truck will get attention, screeching bright lights, Eric didn’t want attention, he wasn’t supposed to be here, and Taggy pulled a ramp out, the ramp sounded like Godzilla man, metal on metal, pulling out.
He had a hand truck, big goofy 6’6” fucker with a handtruck, was this an hallucination?
Eric wiped sweat from his knuckles, he thought it was sweat, pretty sure, wiped sweat and looked at Taggy, fucker had a vending machine, straight up hallucination why would Taggy bring him a vending machine.
Taggy spoke, it was Taggy’s voice exactly, brought the vending machine inside the Lassbrek Paper satellite warehouse.
They didn’t use it anymore, Eric had the key, just abandoned, hole in the roof but locked.
Sleeping bag and titty rags and a shitter, Eric Lund was getting clean,
Taggy wheeled the vending machine in, water, the thing was full of Glacier Prime water, bad hallucination, but he could smell Taggy, that sweaty big guy smell fighting cheap cologne.
Taggy handed him two wads of bills.
Their hands were touching, E and Big Tag, this shit was real man.
Taggy backed him into a corner, Taggy would never hurt him man, not on purpose.
E’s blood pressure was doing full roller coaster loops, his toes were sweating, felt like blood, and Taggy said “Buy the water from the vending machine. Ronny Sacht sent it over.
Said if you’re serious about clean, you’ll feed these damn bills into the machine, drink the water. Don’t stick your head under the tap in this shithole like I know you been doing.”
Eric Lund never heard such serious in Taggy’s voice.
His saliva felt like peanuts now, like if salt came in a juice,he had money in his hands, singles, like fresh dope house singles, like he had gone lower than he thought.
Taggy kissed him on the forehead,
“Gordo and Laura said they’ll pay for rehab.”
Taggy bent and plugged in the vending machine. It hummed and the frame of the glass glowed.
It looked like a weird spaceship, looked like something Willy Wonka would sell at a garage sale.
“Drink the fucking water, E. When that machine is outta water, you’re clean.”
Taggy hugged Eric, kissed him on the forehead again.
“We’re proud of you,psycho. We weren’t looking forward to your funeral,though every band in Detroit was ready to play it for free.”
Taggy dragged the hand truck out behind him.
Eric looked at the vending machine.
A small green LED scroll was telling him to insert bills.
His tongue was pregnant, and someone stole a bit of his balance.
53 hours.
Maybe 54.
The light from the machine was too bright, but he didn’t want to unplug the machine.
The LED scroll said “this unit does not make change.”
Eric Lund began to feed the bills into it, to see if it would say anything else.
***
A note: I purposely threw grammar out the window in favor of the urgency and insanity of self detox, which I personally experienced and do not recommend. Thanks for reading.
***
Disorienting, horrifying, and loving… but no guarantee of redemption.
There is no guarantee, is there?
Once again in awe of your writing talent. I am always immediately placed in the story like an unseen silent observer in the background from the very first line.