Honest Addict, Chapter Eighteen

18

Peter was somewhere in the middle of Fresno County when the pungent odor of cow shit hit him in the face. Although the Jag was enveloped in an inky darkness on the moonless night, Peter knew he was only a few miles from the Harris Ranch, which is located with its thousands of cows just off Interstate 5. He rued the nighttime, as he had in the past enjoyed seeing the mass of animals as he drove by. On a seemingly endless and very boring road, it had on previous trips been a welcomed distraction.

Just as his olfactory senses had finished grappling with and were becoming even pleased by the scent which was spreading from the ranch, Peter’s mind wandered over a number of anxieties which he had been avoiding since that day which seemed so long ago, when he believed he had severed all ties with the life he was leading. What was awaiting him back in the Bay Area? Would he begin working again? He knew that financial management as an avenue of employment was out of the question, though he would have gotten back in the business in a second if Caroline had desired it. But could he really change fields? What else did he know how to do at this point? A part of him thought he would take a job at Starbucks or Blockbuster Video just to fill the time. What difference did it make, anyway? It wasn’t about the money – at least not in the immediate future – but rather was a question of ethics.

The hum of the road became a focal point in his mind and caused Peter to slip for several minutes into an unplanned meditation. At some point during this time the revelation descended on him. Its power was overwhelming.

It had always been there, since the first day he could remember. A force, a presence, an intelligence, a love: it didn’t matter if you called it God, Creator, Jehovah, Rah or the “Universal Consciousness.” And it didn’t matter if you believed in it or not. It had always been there, inside and outside of him, at every moment, everywhere. It was there now. He could sense it. He could even taste it in the flavor of compost on his tongue.

It had been there when Carol was dying and when Jeanette was passed out drunk; it was there in fancy restaurants, in the flesh of the creatures that had been killed to satiate the insatiable American diner; it was there at four in the morning when the cocaine party was just kicking into high gear; it was in the eyes of the abject gambler who had lost it all again; it was on cold street corners in the heart of the desperate bum; it was at the track; it was in bars and at the bottom of glasses; it was in the chemical residue that coated the inside of Caroline’s beloved pipe; it was inhaled in cigarette smoke; it was present in the gray dust that remains when we die. There was nowhere it was not.

For a moment Peter was outside of himself, raised high above the everyday by the thought’s potency. The answer had been transmitted and was understood. But as is almost always the case with moments of clarity, it slipped like a small pool of water slowly through his fingers, despite the fact his hands were tightly cupped. And in a matter of only a few moments, all was as it had been before.

He turned on the radio and got the Golden State Warriors’ game, distant though the signal was. Basketball had somehow totally slipped his mind. He wished he had the cell phone so he could check out the second half line. There was nothing like driving through the night and listening to a game when you had money riding.

Jeanette’s face entered his thoughts. He would call her soon, maybe tomorrow. Even knowing that some difficulty was waiting for him at the other end of this idea, he was excited, even thrilled about the prospect. And then he knew that he wanted it that way, and this too had always been the case.

But he would have to get his cell. That was clearly the first priority. This meant he would have to go to Violet’s house immediately upon arrival.

And he wanted to get high so badly.

And he knew that the pattern was to be repeated over again and would probably be repeated yet another time and again after that. He wondered if it was all a mistake, or if it was his fault, a crucial flaw in character. He wondered if things would ever change, then told himself that they wouldn’t. And he was both cheered and distressed by this thought. But these musings were interrupted when heard the announcer on the radio call out: “And the buzzer sounds. At the end of a very entertaining half of basketball the score is tied Golden State 55, Washington 55. Stay tuned for the halftime show and a wrap up of all today’s NBA action.”

He pulled the car off the freeway and into the parking lot of a Shell station and ran inside. The attendant gave him quarters in exchange for a five dollar bill, insisting however that his customer purchase a box of Tic-Tacs to consummate the transaction. He went outside and fed change into the pay phone: two dollars and seventy-five cents for a three minute call. The phone rang four times and he almost lost heart. Finally, the voice appeared magically at the other end.

“Who is this?”
“Mark, don’t hang up. It’s Peter.”
“Oh, hey man. Long time since I heard from you. You missed the playoffs, you bastard.”
“I know. I’ve been out of touch for a while.”
“How can I help you, my friend?”
Peter’s heart raced in the split second before he said the words. “I need to get some action on the game.”

THE END