Part 2

(go here for part 1)
She put up a fight getting into the car, wondering where we were going and why. I couldn’t tell her, of course, that we were taking her into the emergency room for an overdose. She’d probably get violent. She was coherent enough to walk herself to the car, but she mumbled bullshit about not wanting to leave the house the whole while. I helped her light a cig once we were headed down Lake Dr. to Columbia St. Mary’s. She passed out, letting it burn to a stick of ash, and woke up once we pulled into the emergency lane of the hospital.

“oh no. no. no. no. no.”

“C’mon, Nat, get outta the car.”

“i don’t… i don’t need to go to a hospital”

Her face shrunk and her eyes pinched shut as she gasped for air. Her red, snot-covered face became drenched in tears as she begged us not to make her go. She clutched Hubert’s journal at her chest and tears drip-dropped onto the binding.

“i told you…. i did not do that much…. let’s go home”

“Get out of this car. Do this for me.”

“i’m fine. this is fucking stupid”

Matt and Tom walked around the outside of the car having a cigarette, peering in at me, waiting for me to open the door. I didn’t know what to do. What if I was completely overreacting and she was totally fine?

Earlier in the week, I had tried to get ahold of Natalie. I was calling a guy I knew she was staying with, but often the calls would go to voicemail. I think it was the Tuesday before all this when the stranger finally answered his phone.

“Hey, can I talk to Natalie?”

“Naw I’m at work. She’ll call you back tonight.”

“Great, tell her it was Sarah calling!”

“Oh, Sarah? She was talking about you. Did you hear what happened?”

“No.” I got chills.

“Hubert’s dead. Killed himself.”

Hubert, Natalie’s everything, just no longer existed. I knew what this meant. Natalie was devastated, and if I’m lucky, still breathing. I awaited her call like my own life depended on it, ill with anxiety. Natalie and Hubert had only stayed with me two days before he was arrested for shoplifting a few blocks from my house. There was a warrant out for him in Illinois, so he was shipped back as fast as he got here. I did all I could to keep her spirits up while he was gone with beers and parties, but I didn’t know the person he’d left with me in Milwaukee. She wasn’t the Natbat I’d grown up with. We didn’t have a thing in common, and she was hopelessly dope sick the whole time she was here. It was almost a relief when she’d gone back to Illinois. And now, Hubert’s dead. How? I hadn’t a clue, but I assumed he’d overdosed once they let him out of jail. Natalie didn’t even get to say goodbye, the stranger told me.

Finally, I said it. 

“Do it for Hubert, Natalie. Get out of this goddamn car.”

She sobbed. Matt opened the door of the car and I pushed her out, picking up her things as they hit the pavement. I held her at the elbow like I was escorting her to the dance floor at prom as the automatic ER doors slid open. I took her to sit down and watched as Matt and Tom explained the situation. She was coming in and out again, being conscious just long enough to ask me for a cigarette and for me to explain that we were in a hospital. People stared and I wanted to cry.

“So Natalie, you took some drugs?” The nurse said in the high pitched tone one uses to speak to a toddler.

“yeaaa so?”

 

“Well, why did your friends bring ya here, Natalie?”

“they said i took too much”

“We’re gonna check on that, alright?”

Matt, Tom and I stood outside the room speaking with some other nurses in the ER. I dug through Natalie’s purse to find her ID so we could check her in. It was coated in clumpy tan lumps of powder. Again, I wanted to cry. Matt quickly wiped it off with a tissue and soaked it in hand sanitizer. 

Matt and Tom are cousins, the Schweitzer boys. Originally hailing from Neenah, Wisconsin, they are the nicest guys I’ve ever met. I’m in love with both of them. I recognize, of course, that doesn’t sit well with people. Matt and I have been dating for a few months now. 

As I had searched through Nat’s fiery red leather tote, I happened upon a spoon, some bags and needles. I nudged Matt and opened the bag. 

“What are we supposed to do with that?” he spit out, annoyed.

“Like I know?”

“Ask a nurse if there’s a drop box or something,” Tom suggested.

There wasn’t. And the nurse wasn’t nice about it. Now we were stuck with this stuff, and the hospital staff knew. My only hope was that they didn’t pin us all as dope fiends. We walked around this seemingly vacant hospital, Natalie’s purse hanging off Matt’s shoulder. I told him I’d hold it, but apparently it complimented his tall and slender physique. 

The doctor left Natalie’s room.

“She’s stable, just really high. Here’s a prescription for an antibiotic for that infection on her hand. We cleaned and wrapped it up. She’ll be free to go in 20 minutes or so when we finish this paperwork. You can see her if you’d like.”

I left the boys in the hall and slid into the room. I picked her hand up from the bed.

“i told you. i’m fine. let’s go.”

“I just wanted to be sure, Nat.”

She stared at the white wall in front of her. 

“Nat?”

She squeezed my hand and her glossy eyes let a few tears fall.

“did i… tell you… how Hubert died?” she asked me.

“I assumed overdose.”

“No. he hung himself….we had a pact. A FUCKING PACT. we were going to die together. i tried. i fucking tried the other day, but i didnt do enough. fuck.” 

She paused to wipe her nose. 

“i did 12 bags, Sarah, i should be dead!” snot and tears flew from her face as she passionately spoke and sobbed, “i [breath] cant [sob] believe [snot] i [gasp] woke uuuuuuup,” she wailed.

I couldn’t say a word; I was absolutely stunned. She said too much at once. I was already crying. Now I wanted to throw up.

“Baby, he hung himself?” was all I could squeak out of my lungs.

“…in…jail,” she clarified, “i didnt even get to say bye. and i missed his service. it was fucking today.”

We were released, and we headed back to my house. Natalie made us stop to get cigarettes from Walgreens since we “took all her drugs.”

“those were worth 200 dollaaaars” she cried and whined the whole way home as she banged her head on the car window.

“Honestly, Natalie. I don’t give a fuck.”

I decided to write about this, if only for the sake of my mental health. Part 1.

It was almost a month ago now, and I still randomly get upset about the ordeal. And where do I even begin? I don't know what amount of back story would instill enough emotion to feel compassion for this girl. I don't know if in all of this, I am the selfish one. I don't know if I've been duped by a dope head, just looking for the attention she always needed, and the money she could use to prolong her addiction a little longer.


It was a Friday night. Natalie called me in a panic. I hadn't spoken to her in a few days. Previously she had been squatting at my place with her boyfriend Hubert, but one day she took off for a "doctor appointment" and didn't come back. She cried on the phone to me that she had no where to go again, and asked if I'd buy her a bus ticket back to Milwaukee. Wanting her away from Chicago and the drug scene, I gave in. I expected her to arrive at my place about one a.m.. I went out that night to film for a horror movie project, leaving notes on the doors (since she had no cell phone) about making herself comfortable, and I went off to Matt's.

After falling asleep at Matt's, I made it back to my house around noon on Saturday. Immediately I noticed the Newport aroma-- Natalie was definitely here. And despite my earlier scoldings, she had smoked in the house. Oh well. She was fast asleep on the couch, and she surely looked like she needed it. I had never seen her in such a horrible condition. She had scratches and sores all over her face, a crater-like infection on the back of her hand, and her skin was ghostly white.

Then I noticed the bags. There were probably twenty tiny bags, shredded open, still lightly dusted in a white/tan powder. She didn't. She did not do all those drugs. I looked around frantically. On the coffee table, on a photo of a couple people I've never seen, she had piled a hefty mound of heroin.

Gah I was so angry. I let her into my home and she brings this shit, this vile, life-ruining, home-wrecking, mind-destroying substance. I left her to her dreams and got in the shower. I did not want to start my day like that, I could at least be clean first. I deeply regretted this, however, once I was fresh.

Natalie was face down in the mountain of H. She had organized lines and attempted to do them all in the 10 minutes I had been preoccupied. Now she was in a pool of her own snot, unconscious. I ripped her head up from the table and tried to look into her eyes. They rolled around in the sockets and then locked on mine.

"How much did you do?"

"not even that much"

"Like enough to kill a person?"

"no, i'm not fucking stupid."

"You should see yourself right now."

"why? what do I look like?"

"Seriously? You used to hide this shit from me. You're not doing this to me today. How much did you do?"

I went into the kitchen to start coffee and wet a rag. If she hadn't done that much, I'd just try to sober her up and let her mellow. At this point, I had some hope that I'd help her get clean. I thought, this would be the last of this. And if she doesn't like it, we'll check her into detox. When I came back into the living room, she was face down in the fluffy stuff again, snot and all. She had tried to do more.

"Oh fuck you. Pick up your goddamn head."

"whaaaa?"

"Let me wipe your nose. Do you want coffee?"

"yeaaa"

I let her slink into the couch. I picked up the photograph and moved it into the kitchen. There was still a decent amount left, but I had no idea how much she did. She couldn't form sentences anymore. Her nose was a goopy waterfall and she'd fall asleep halfway through a gulp of coffee, letting it dribble down her powder frosted Chicago sweatshirt and black leggings. I had no phone. No computer. I left it all at Matt's. Was this girl overdosing? I threw my shit together and ran three blocks to his house.

"I don't know what to do. Nat's at my house. She did a lot of drugs. I guess I don't really know what a lot of heroin is... any is too much. It looks like a lot."

"Should I get my car?" Matt spits out, but Tom interrupts, "Get your car, dude. We'll take her to the hospital."

(Part 2)

Drain City

Matt took me and T.J. into the ghetto last night. We all hopped out of the Lexus, stepped around to the trunk, took our backpacks out, put them on and strode down Capitol as if all in one motion.
Matt, looking serious as ever and staring straight ahead said, “On three, you’re following me over this wall. One, two… whoa shit that’s higher than I expected,” and yet, he still leaped over the concrete barrier.
I didn’t hesitate to follow him over, and T.J. immediately behind me. Instantly upon hitting the grassy riverbed, we heard sirens. Not one of us thought we were in trouble. We’re in the ghetto— the last of their worries should be a couple Upper East Side kids trespassing. And we we’re right. An ambulance pulled up right where we had jumped over. It seemed the perfect distraction; no one would notice the three of us slinking away into the Milwaukee drain system.

With boots on and lamps in hand, we quickly tagged and entered one of the 8 by 10 foot rectangle drains. After miles, we came across a knife here, some spoons there, a Walmart gift card, and some guy named Rashid’s driver’s license. It’s seemed this drain was a bummer; we hadn’t intersected with any others or found anything worthwhile. Matt flashed his bright light one last time before we turned around, and both Matt and T.J. let out an excited giggle (what we refer to as “geeking out”).

It was an intersection where three drains united. We chose the route down the 12-footer, and by this I mean a round pipe 12 feet in diameter. It wasn’t as big as the drain we refer to as “Pillar” but it was still breathtaking. Within minutes of walking we could hear the roar of another drain emptying into ours. Sure enough, a few pipes were emptying into the 12-footer and in one of the rarest, most “gnarly” forms.

It was a drop shaft, made entirely of brick, and at the very top near the manhole, it was cream city brick, the oldest in Milwaukee. We climbed the service ladder up into another drain about 10 feet above. We reached similar shafts 3 more times before the higher drains were too small to explore.

Of all events last night, the most exhilaration I experienced was from the tallest drop shaft we climbed. Heading back out, it’s like shimmying down next to a man-made waterfall. Ya know, the beauty of drains is that it’s always between 60 and 70 degrees. It doesn’t smell like some might think; in fact, for a stretch of drain I was overwhelmed with the scent of laundry detergent. And lastly, there’s no one around; at least, no one but whom you invite. And while you’re down there, you feel like the only people in the world.

It’s utter darkness, black nothingness, that we walk through and leave behind as we stroll with our lamps. It’s as if these places don’t exist until we decide to invade them.

I ought not glamorize this too much. It’d take away from the sanctuary it is if people began flocking to all the city’s drains at night. I’ll just make the safe bet that this doesn’t sound as nice to all of you as it does to me.