It’s late – 11:28. For a Sunday, I mean. Doesn’t matter. The thing is that I can’t sleep. And not because it’s the normal, “stayed up too late on Friday and Saturday, and now here I am tossing in turning.” In my defense, I actually have a legitimate reason. I found out two hours ago that my sister tested positive for cocaine use.
It’s strange, you know? I don’t consider myself to be a novice when it comes to drug use – I smoked more than my fair share of weed in high school, tried mushrooms a couple times. But that’s pretty much it. I guess I was fortunate never to have been presented with the opportunity to try the harder stuff. In all honesty, I could have easily gotten my hands around crank or crack or meth…that stuff was pretty rampant around my high school. But eventually I came around, figured out that getting high wasn’t all there was to life, and that being terrified of being robbed or worse when I was hanging out with my friends who dealed pretty much sealed the deal in my not smoking weed anymore.
I have this problem of assuming that, just because I took one path, everybody else must take that same path. That doesn’t make much sense. I guess I figured that you start out low, right? One thing leads to another – that sort of thing. For instance, I never smoked cigarettes in high school, but I started out with weed and beer; pretty normal stuff for high school these days. I’m not an idiot – my sister is 17, I know she has had plenty of opportunities to get her hands around a joint or bong or bottle. But coke?
I don’t know. I’m rambling here. I guess I just assumed that she would play around with the stuff I did – after all, she same me doing it. Well, not directly; I would come home stoned or buzzed occasionally, but I would never fire up a bowl or slam Jack Daniel’s in front of her or anything like that. Plus, she was witness to the fights and arguments my mom and I would always get into – I’m sure that had something to do with it.
Cocaine, though? Crazy. I guess I should explain a bit. My sister works at a small coffee shop. Because the shop was small, she got to know the owner: a 35 year old woman who apparently has a penchant for the white stuff. I’m not sure – nor do I even really care to know at this point – how their relationship was able to advanced past employer/employee to dealer*/user, but I guess that’s how it ended up. Anyhow, my sister has been working at this place for quite some time, maybe more than a year, I’m not too sure. But she’s always loved it, and, current circumstances excluded, has been really good for her. My sister’s always been dreadfully shy; she’s probably the most private person I have ever met. She has control of her emotions and can bluff her way through just about anything.
Of the 17 years that I have known her, I’ve never once really known her. Sure, she’s my sister, but she’s a skelaton, a shall of a person. She can be anyone she needs to be, just as long as that person doesn’t get physically or emotionally attached to anyone else. That’s my sister’s ace card, I think. By not getting emotionally involved with anything, she never get’s hurt; she doesn’t take risks because she puts herself in a position not to get burned by them.
Until now.
Apparently this past Friday night, someone called her dad (technically, she’s my step-sister, but I was there when she was born and held her in my arm’s and wept and smiled and said, “She’s my baby sister”) and told him that she had been using cocaine and that she was getting it through her work. When confronted, my sister denied it and consented to a drug test. Needless to say, it was positive. I guess the business was shut down, the woman’s kids taken away and was arrested. The police searched the shop and found a “substantial quantitiy” – whatever the hell that means.
It’s sad, I suppose. The shop owner really got along with my sister because she reminded her of her first kid down in California. She got to know my sister, hired her on part-time, and became good friends with her. And then, with a serious case of insanity, she offered my sister a hit or a line. And my sister, for once in her estranged, silent life, was accepted. Not for what she could do or offer, but for who she is.
She said she’s only been doing it for a few months now, but who knows. She’s probably telling the truth, I don’t know.
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Fuck. Should I be this torn up? After all, she’s a kid, right? I’m 25; I’m not that far away from that age. But then maybe things are different. Then again, maybe they’re not. All I know is that cocaine isn’t something you play around with; it’s not some recreational thing like cigarettes or even weed. It’s highly addictive and highly dangerous, especially when dealing with the kind of people…
I don’t know. I knew plenty of dealers. They were friends. Same thing here, probably. Well, certainly. My sister was friends with her dealer; she trusted and confided in her, took chances with her. Which, on the one hand, I’m almost a little proud of her – she’s never taken chances, never pushed a limit in her life. I just wish the limit wasn’t cocaine. Why couldn’t she go joy riding or steal some cigarettes or clothes or something?
Man. I don’t know. It’s going to be a long night. Fuck.
