Excerpt:

“Today we discussed all of the benefits we’ve been reaping from our journey to purity. We discussed the hardships, the misery and the joy of this grand journey. We discussed- Blah blah blah blah blah.” The earnest, measured voice continued. I wasn’t particularly interested in what Allison had to say, it was always the same uplifting shit. As I looked around the flourescently lighted room, I saw my feelings mirrored in the eyes of my companions. James, an overweight, balding man, had dozed slightly in his chair, fighting to keep his bloodshot eyes open. Clarrissa was fiddling with her fingernails. Three others were passing notes as if this were detention, which, in a way, it was. Rich was the only one pretending to pay attention; I think he was only doing that because he wants to get into Allison’s pants. Or any female tweaker’s pants. I hear they’re pretty loosely tied. I wouldn’t know. I’m not a tweaker , I am a casual user with no compulsion to continue. As I thought this harmless little self-deception, I realized how good a fix sounded. To the outside observer, this might be proof positive of my condition. The outside observer would be wrong, of course. I don’t expect someone looking in to understand what’s going on inside my head. As I barely listened to Allison say the prayer for understanding, wisdom and all that other bullshit, I glanced at my watch. Nearly nine thirty.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for this wonderful meeting. We’ll gather again on Friday.” As the bored former tweakers gathered their notebooks and disused pencils and filed out, I made to do the same. “Oh, Ceres?”
Yes, my name is Ceres. Ceres Larson. My mother loved The Tempest, and almost named me Ariel for the tree sprite, but decided ‘Arial’ was far too tame. I guess Miranda was too tame too. I just thank God I wasn’t named Claribell or, even worse, Alonso.
“Uh-yeah, Allison?” I said, pausing with my hand on the doorknob, my foot in the jamb.
“I was just-well I was just wondering, you know, how you were doing?” She said hesitantly, standing and moving next to me. She was a prettily plain woman, if that makes any sense, of about thirty. Sweet was the only word I could use to describe her. I doubt she ever stole the change out of a phone booth dispenser, let alone snorted blow or shot heroine.
I smiled, giving her my best innocently interested expression. “Well, thank you Allison, I’m doing fine.”
Allison smiled weakly, and leaned in earnestly, whispering confidentially, “I couldn’t help notice the bruise and cut on your forehead.” Damn, I thought I had covered it well enough with makeup and my sufficiently dark hair. “You know, you can talk to me about anything. I can help you, if you’d let me, hon.”
I was shocked to feel a slight lump in my throat, she was so sincere and I could tell she really meant it. I swallowed hard and shook my head, “thanks, Allison, but really, I’m fine. I bonked my head on the corner of my coffee table is all.”
“You hit it, or someone knocked you down?” Allison asked solemnly.
“You know, I really appreciate your concern, Allison, but I’m fine. So if you could just let me get on with my fucking evening, I’d appreciate it.” I opened the door and pulled away from her gentle hold on my shoulder. Who the hell did she think she was? I was fine and I would handle my own shit. “Damn.” I snarled, kicking an old-fashioned tin garbage bin, causing a satisfyingly loud clamor as it tipped over against the brick wall.
“You all right?” I jumped and spun, then relaxed as I recognized the face.
“Fuck off.”
He shrugged and padded next to me.
“I’m sorry.” I said grumpily, and felt the swish of his tail against my leg. “It’s been an awful day.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I grimaced and touched the bump on my forehead.
“Why do you let him do that to you?”
“You know, Charlie, just-” I stopped myself, feeling myself tense up with defensive anger, “just, never mind. Don’t you have mice to catch or cats to chase or something?”
Charlie is a dog; kind of. He’s a really pretty dog, a two year old pure-bred Belgium Shepherd, so he’s huge. He’s also a twenty-six year old man, or he was, anyway. I sometimes think my life is as fantastic as those old Shakespeare comedies. I’ve been blessed with the ability to see the comic in most circumstances, even really rotten ones. Despite this gift, sometimes a shit situation is just that and only that. Anyway, back to my friend Charlie, the dog-man. I love getting to call him dog-face. He hates it. When young Mr. Charlie Rold got up to go to his prestigious job at a prestigious corporate law firm. It was all going well, until he went outside to feed his stray cats, the birds, and pretty much commune with nature and the simpler side of life. He didn’t seem to understand that birds and cats don’t go well together, and dead animals attract feral predators, like, you know, rabid Belgium shepherds. That morning his cologne must have smelled really tasty, cause the rabid Belgium shepherd took a chunk out of his butt. Really, out of his butt. And then I guess the rabid shepherd liked how he tasted, cause he went for the jugular next. Charlie still feels a bit pissy about being stuck into a Belgium shepherd’s body.
Charlie was quiet for a second, before he muttered, “I don’t chase cats.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, sometimes his voice becomes a little unclear, especially when he’s sullen.
“I said, ‘I don’t chase cats’.” He repeated, slower.
“Ah.” I said, turning onto Washington St., dodging an evening jogger. “Why no cats for you, Charlie?” The runner, a woman, gave me a queer look and sprinted past me before resuming a slower pace.
“Because,” Charlie said patiently, “I am a dog, yes, but I am a man first and foremost. I love cats. A cat didn’t take a chunk out of my ass, or kill me.”
Fair enough. I let it go at that. Charlie is a good person, I like him a lot. I’d say it’s safe it say he’s my best friend.
Just so you don’t have any nuts vision of a big furry dog speaking English out of his mouth, let me explain to you how he communicates with me. I’ll start by saying that I don’t understand it myself. It’s almost a telepathic thing, except it’s got range, just like speech, I can hear him down the street if he ‘yells’, but I won’t be able to hear him if he’s a mile away or whatever. Though we’re always kind of aware of each other. It’s kind of strange.
We walked in silence, my fingers entwined in the ruff of fur around his neck, his tail swishing lazily against my legs.
“How’s AA going?” He asked, breaking our comfortable silence. I would have preferred he’d kept his furry muzzle shut.
“It’s fine.” I lied, knowing his opinion of my extra-curricular activities.
“‘Fine’?” He repeated doubtfully.
“Is there an echo?” I asked, earning another strange look from a passerby. I cannot speak to him with my mind, as far as I know. But his ears are acute, so if I whisper so quietly I can hardly hear it, he hears me good. He often accuses me of yelling. I NEVER yell.
His silence was an accusation and a demand, I ignored it for a while. He finally pulled away from me and sat his 75 pound bulk in front of me. His sweet green brown eyes were focused on me in an unsettling way.
I stopped too and glared at him.
“Truth.” He said grimly. “Come on.”
“It’s not very good, okay?” I snapped, annoyance creeping up on me.
“Have you been using?” He sniffed at me, but I knew he’d find nothing. His nose was incredible, and I took precautions.
“No.” I said with suitable indignation that I hoped he’d let it go at that.
“You’re lying to me.”
“Fuck off.”
“You swear too much.”
I crouched down, matching his stare, “really? I’m sorry. Let me try again...fuck off. Oops, I guess that’s the only phrase I know to communicate my sentiments to you, babe. I’ve not been using.” My gut tightened, like it always does when I lie really deliberately, to someone’s face, someone I care about.
“Whatever.” Charlie said, and he stood up and trotted away. He stopped at the corner of the street, “I don’t want to find you passed out in your own vomit. I’ll leave you there if I do.” He disappeared around the corner. I made a rude gesture at the spot he’d been in and muttered to myself.
All that A.A. crap is just crap. I’ll quit when I want to quit and not a minute sooner. Those meetings were saving me from jail time, and that was nice and all, but really, the charge ‘intent to sell’ is bull. I’d never sell my stuff, especially not to innocent, idiotic teenagers. I’m twenty-three, old enough to mess up my own life if I choose. I’d never be involved in ruining those stupid kids’ lives. But whatever.
The night was bright, as it always was in the city. It was further brightened by a thin veneer of new white snow that hadn’t been turned black by pollution yet. The flakes had stopped falling, which I was glad for, snowflakes mess with my flat-ironed hair. I admit to looking a bit white-trash. I admit to being more than a little bit white-trash in more than appearance. I’m proud to say that I live in a house that I own, on a quiet little ghetto street that only had one gang in residence and a conveniently located drug-dealer. Alright, you might be disgusted by me at this point, as you should be. Nothing is more ridiculous than a drug-addict, which I am but I’m not, if you get that at all. But just wait, I’m really not that bad, you’ll see. At the point that these events happened I was a hopeless addict and I wouldn’t face it. In hindsight, which is twenty twenty, of course, I’m capable of seeing this. I’m writing this all down so that if I die today, or someday soon, which I might, there will be a written record of my days preceding my end. I need it to matter, I need it to be precious.
As I entered my quiet little ghetto I hopped over a cache of broken beer bottles and skirted the overgrown yards dusted with melting snow. One never knows what property-oriented crazed man with a shotgun might live in your neighborhood. I don’t talk to my neighbors. My apartment is pretty nice for a dump. It’s got heating-sometimes, and indoor plumbing that sometimes had clean water. Frankly, I was just thankful for the indoor plumbing. I couldn’t imagine climbing my four flights of steps (the elevator is suspect and I’ve been trapped in it for hours on two separate occasions, I no longer use this amenity) every time I have to answer the call of nature. Sometimes I only pay half the bill and my boyfriend pays the other half, this is nice- when it happens.