Teacher

By Andre Simpson

Chapter 7

I placed my shaky hand on the doorknob, scanning the room in search of Daddy. I saw a half made bed, a TV playing a football game, and a dresser with the white powdery substance on it. I think it was a Dallas vs. Washington game, because my Daddy had his Danny White #11 Dallas Jersey on.  He loved his Cowboys, especially head Coach Tom Landry. And when my Daddy cheered on his team, his voice always sounded a level up.  I asked him about this, and he said his tongue touches a place just behind his front teeth. I always wanted to make that sound, but my two front teeth was missing.  When I saw him, I smiled.

But what was I becoming? I felt different, older than twelve.

I had never stayed this long in the room.  Why didn’t he tell me to leave? Was his team winning the game?  Or was he trying to make me a man too early?  Either way, I asked for it and before I knew it, I was sitting on his knee, eagerly anticipating whatever was going to happen next. 

He took a playing card that was cut in half and put some of the white stuff on it.  Then he placed the card under my nose.  “Now inhale it in,” he said.  I closed my eyes and took it inside. It burned a little.  He did it again on the other side of my nose. Then everyone inside the room was making gestures and watching me, because it was my first time. But what was I becoming? I felt different, older than twelve.

The effects of the heroin finally took over, and I fell asleep on his bed. When I awoke, I was back in my own bed.  As I played back the events of the night, I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me. Surprisingly, my father came into the room.  This was strange because he never spent the night at our house.  So now this tall, dark-skinned, skinny frame of a man, my father, was standing by my bedside.  He said good morning and asked me if I was all right. Then he took a seat on the bed. My little mind was still trying to take it all in.  But before I could say anything, he took out what appeared to be a folded up dollar bill with that same white powdery substance as I just seen before.

Instead of him showing me how to read, ride a bike, or the million other things I missed in my childhood, Dad graduated me to the hard knocks of life as a dopefiend junkie. Before that you couldn’t tell me I was going to be using or selling drugs.  My childhood dream was to be a fireman. I had a positive expectation of achieving success and would take all setbacks as temporary.  But I was addicted to heroin and needed it daily to even walk to the store.  Seneca HBC: “Our plans miscarry because they have no aim.  When a man does not know what harbor he is making for, no wind is the right wind.”