I knew Herbert since I was in the seventh grade. His kind and affable nature was a rarity in my high school; most folks kept to their particular social groups and were seldom open to others. Herbert, however, floated around from group to group with an unparalleled grace. College scouts had their eyes on him for both basketball and tennis. His future appeared to be full of promise. Later that year everything changed. Herbert's baby brother was killed by a drunk driver on his birthday, which really affected Herbert's outlook on his own life. He often thought about where his brother's soul had gone after he died. As time went by, he started hanging around with one particular group more than the others. These were the club kids. Even on school nights they'd go out clubbing until sunrise. They were an attractive and popular group, mostly from affluent families. Possibly bored of mere material contentment, possibly just influenced by older people, they started doing hard drugs. Herbert was the first one of my friends to get into coke. He simply loved it. He started to crave the edge it gave him. Homeroom started at 7:30am and when Herbert and his new friends went out, they'd seldom be home before 7. On those mornings they'd all gather in the parking lot before the first bell and snort cocaine. After we were shooting hoops one day, I told him that I thought he was changing. A dismissing chuckle and a light punch on the arm was all that came out of that. He wasn't going to admit there was anything the least bit wrong, especially to me. If there was something wrong, it meant he was not in control. In his competitive eyes, not to be in control was a sign of weakness. Eventually, he stopped getting up early for classes, stopped going to class regularly and even started sniffing coke between the few classes he actually did attend. One Wednesday night we were driving to a club called Gravity. Somehow Herbert had convinced me to sneak out and go with him. He and his friend Randall picked me up at midnight at the end of my street. Herbert had some pills, or "rolls", of ecstasy on him. "Here, man. It’s for you," he said, offering me a pill, "It's really good, like you. It’ll make you feel truly wonderful." I politely declined, although I was nonetheless curious. " Okay then, more for us." He swallowed three then put one in Randall's mouth, as both his hands were on the steering wheel. Then he started tapping a drum beat on the dashboard. I asked Herbert if it was safe to take. "Sure its safe——safe as Advil, though infinitely more moving," he stated. I told him I meant if it was safe to be driving on it. "Yeah, sure. Certainly. Of course," he said. When we arrived at Gravity, Herbert and Randall were all glassy eyed and messed up. They had each just sniffed two lines of cocaine. Randall got out of the car and walked over to us like he was walking for the first time and was amazed at how easy it was. "Beeeeeaaaar," he said funnily, "you the man, Bear, you the man." I laughed at the state they were in, amused but simultaneously worried. Their pupils were gigantic. They were utterly stupefied. When we got to the front of the line outside, the bouncer carded us. "Yeah, all right Mr. Jackson," he said mockingly, and then turned to the other bouncer and showed him our ID's. The bouncer pocketed them and told us to scram. On the road again Randall took out a little plastic gadget and attached it to a small container of cocaine. He shook it upside down, and then proceeded to place it in his nostril and snort. He did the same with his other nostril and then handed it to Herbert. I sat alone in the back seat. Their chatter was aimless and endless. They talked and talked but were actually saying little. Then Randall's nose started bleeding. "Dammit!" he exclaimed, "Dammit! Hold the wheel, Herb." Randall took out a tissue and tore off a piece, twisting it into a little ball. He stuck it into his nose and took the wheel back. "Hey man," he said to Herbert, "you just went twice, man...gimme that!" Randall grabbed the coke and shook it up. Then he snorted harshly with his other nostril——thfump!——I had seen enough. "I think maybe I should drive, man. You're pretty messed up...I really don't feel safe," I said. Randall just stared at me through the rearview mirror with the hugest eyes I had ever seen. Herbert started nodding off. I knocked his head lightly with my knuckles. "Herb...her-erb!" I said, worried. There was no reply. Randall's other nostril started streaming blood. Then an unmarked police car appeared directly behind us, sirens blaring. "Herbert, get up man. Get up!" Randall yelled. "We're getting pulled over, wake up!" There was no reply. Randall quickly pulled out another tissue and pressed it against his nose. He pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket and stuffed it down Herbert's pants. He cursed and hit the steering wheel with both his fists, dropping the bloody tissues onto his lap. Suddenly two cops came up to the car on both sides. Randall and I were thrown against his car forcefully. They dragged Herbert onto the side of the road and futilely attempted resuscitation. His eyes were open, staring blankly into the dark sky. One of the cops checked Herbert's pulse, then lightly closed his eyes. He looked at Randall and me and shook his head disgustedly. Herbert was taken away in a bright white ambulance. They threw Randall in a cell and I was interrogated for an hour or so, then told to call my mother. She asked me what was wrong and what I was doing out so late. "I lost him Mom. He's gone." I knew Herbert since the seventh grade.
Story © by Josh Fleitas, Hearts and Minds Volunteer |
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