Misery, Lust, Company

Alexis Luna

November 2005

Friday Number Two

The week passed uneventfully, and Kunda actually attempted to stop drinking. He succeeded for a few days. Then it was Friday again. Kunda called me from work and said he wanted to take me out to dinner. I thought he sounded a little too happy to be sober.

Turns out I was right. As soon as he picked me up, he got out of the car and told me to drive.

"Have you been drinking?"

"I had a few beers," he answered.

"Why?"

"I have to be relaxed at work. I'm on the phone all day talking to people, I have to be calm."

I did not answer, but rolled my eyes and took my seat behind the wheel.

"I wanna go to Garcia's," I said in a rude tone of voice.

"No, I'm not going to Citrus Heights. We'll go somewhere in Roseville."

"I thought you were taking me out to dinner? Doesn't that mean I get to pick the place?"

"Are you paying?"

"Fuck you, Kunda."

"Don't start with me, I had a good day, I wanna take you out to dinner, I wanna do something nice for you. Can you please just drive to Roseville?"

"No. And you only had a good day because you're drinking again, and you don't wanna do anything nice for me. You want to take me where you wanna eat, you wanna remind me you're paying."

Once in Roseville, my mood had only gotten worse. "Where do you wanna go? PF Chang? TGIF's? Mexican food?" he asked.

"No, no, no."

"If you're going to be difficult, I can drop you back off and I'll go out by myself."

"I hate all these places. There isn't anywhere nice to eat dinner here. I wanted to go to Garcia's."

"Look, this isn't New York. I'm sorry, there's no little Vietnamese restaurant, or Thai places, or French places. You're in Sacramento, deal with it."

Kunda decided on TGIF's, and I was in the midst of a violent mood swing. I was pissed. Pissed I had dressed up to see him, in yet another Betsey Johnson dress. Pissed I had carefully cut off the feet of my black fishnets for him. Had decided on silver flats. Had put on burgundy eyeshadow. He didn't care. Didn't give a fuck. Once inside the gaudy establishment, I wanted to order a margarita, to take the edge off per say; and came to the realization I had forgotten my I.D. This pissed me off way more than it should have, and I got up and stormed out of the restaurant.

I waited at the car for about half an hour. Finally Kunda appeared, strutting in my direction."What was that little outburst for?" he asked. "Are you just determined for us to have a shitty night?"

"I guess if we're in shitty Sacramento, we're gonna have a shitty night."

"Well I'm never living in New York."

"Fine." Then, my next words came as a surprise to both of us. "Let's get some coke."

"You're gonna make me do drugs?" He asked in a stupefied voice. "You know coke is bad for me."

"But crack's not?"

"I said sorry about last weekend."

"Okay, I'm sorry about tonight. I want some fucking coke. And not a little bit, I want a lot, at least an eight-ball."

"No, I'm not spending my whole paycheck on coke."

"Only because you wanna spend it all on alcohol." He gave me a dirty look and sped past the Galleria mall.

"I fucking own Sacramento," he yelled out the window. We pulled up alongside an SUV full of wanna be thugs. "I fucking own this town, people give me respect," he continued yelling.

"Shut up," I said, "You're so fucking annoying sometimes."

"Oh sweetie, you're just a ray of sunshine," he replied, rolled his eyes, and laughed. "You want fucking coke? I'll get you some."

We drove to the spot, apartments off of Walerga in Antelope. He got out, went to the trunk, and returned with a 24 ounce can of Natural Ice Beer. "Look, Alexis, I'm just trying to make you happy. I got my hair cut today and I spent the whole time talking to the lady about how much I love you; how I just wanna make you happy and I can't."

"I'm sorry if I hate myself and nothing makes me happy. It's not you. It's me."

"I still bug out that we're together. A troll like me with a beautiful woman like you," he held his hand out and rubbed the side of my face, played with my hair. "You're so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You know, every girl I've ever gone out with, I measure up to you. And I've never found another woman who even comes close to your beauty or intelligence."

I turned in the car seat and looked at him. He was slumped over in his seat, his right hand on my face, his left holding the beer. I hated it- that I loved him. Hated it that the two years we were apart I thought of him every day. Every song was about us, every movie documented our lives. I despised the holiday season, for with it came memories of past holiday seasons when we were together; and fantasies of future seasons spent with one another. Every Thanksgiving I dreamed about cooking dinner for him, being with him.

"I'm sorry you're not happy. I'm not happy either, but I know I love you. And I just want it to work," he whispered.

"Just hurry and go get it, I don't wanna sit here too long."

With that, he tilted his head back and let the remainder of the beer flow down his throat. Then he was gone, disappearing into the numerous walkways connecting the apartments to each other.

I played our theme song, Joy Division's "Love Will Tear us Apart," and smoked another disgusting Newport. Love will definitely tear us apart again. I hoped not though. It seemed that our love for each other, was just as destructive as our hatred for ourselves. But I hoped it wouldn't always be that way. We were once happy. Parties at my mother's house were considered "bad", now, there was nothing we wouldn't do. To escape.

Everyone thought we were bad together. The drugs, alcohol. But it was worse being alone. Doing drugs alone. Escaping from myself, by myself. At least Kunda understood. At least I was with someone who loved me, and whom I loved.

His tall figure appeared in the rear view mirror, and I started the car. He got in with a look of disappointment on his face and I exclaimed, "What happened?"

He was silent for a moment, and I worried our attempt at getting drugged had failed. Then he smiled and said, "I got it, baby. Don't worry, Daddy got you the candy."

I threw my head back and laughed at his comment. After discussing the best place to inhale the powder, we decided a side street near Lone Oak Park would be best. While I was driving there I made sure he had a CD case and my NYU I.D. in his hands. That way, as soon as we stopped, I could begin crushing up the coke.

After parking, he took a plastic bag out of his sock and handed it to me. Carefully examining the contents, I happily noticed the powder was not white, but slightly beige. "Right on, it's good shit," I said to Kunda.

"Aw, my little cokehead girlfriend, how sweet," he gave me a feigned look of love. I poured out the powder, ignoring him when he said not to pour it all out.

"It's only a gram, Kunda." I pressed the powder between the CD case and my i.d. card until all the lumps were out, and divided it up into two fat lines.

"You wanna blow it all at once? Shouldn't we save some?"

"Naw, do you wanna get fucked up or not?" I teased. "Don't be a pussy."

"Fine, I'm going first, you always take the biggest line for yourself." Kunda rolled up a dollar bill and sniffed the coke up his nose, in plain sight of anyone who was nearby. Then he handed it to me and I expertly snorted the entire line- half a gram, up my nose all at once. "Way to go, champ," said Kunda. "What do you want to do? I don't think we should drive."

"Let's go to the park," I suggested. We got out of the car and Kunda threw the CD case and bill down a drain in the side of the street. We joined hands and walked to the park. I gagged as the drip ran down my throat, feeling for a second that I was going to be sick. The feeling passed and all of the sudden everything became more vibrant. The grass, greener, the stars, brighter.

"Shit!" cried Kunda. "Have you got the drip yet? It's hella gross."

"I just got mine; I almost threw up." I looked around again and said, "awesome," for no reason at all. Finally, I was happy.

We arrived at some benches and sat down. Kunda sat on top of the table, his feet resting on the bench. I sat on the bench, between his legs. "Do you remember the first time I did coke?" he asked. "You brought an eight-ball home from New York, and we did it all night."

I laughed and said, "Do you remember how little your dick got?"

"Ha, ha, ha," he answered, sarcastically. "I try and forget that part."

"It looked like a turtle, with it's head pulled back in it's shell!" I couldn't stop laughing. I was shaking all over and everything seemed so hilarious.

"Come with me into the bathroom," Kunda began, "I have to show you something." Once in the bathroom he ordered me to stand facing the wall. He got behind me, lifted up my skirt and began eating me out.

"Kunda! What are you doing?" I laughed.

"Hey, don't laugh if you ever want me to do this again," he replied. Then he jumped up right as someone entered the bathroom. We walked out and spotted some police cars patrolling the exterior of the premises. We decided it would be best to leave, but didn't want to drive, so we walked to the deli, got a six-pack of Mike's Hard Cranberry, and traveled to Dudley elementary school. We hid in the back, behind the playground and drank and made love, with me on top of him. After a few hours the coke had worn off. Kunda used my phone to call the dealer- he was out. But he offered us a good deal on e, so we decided to take him up on it.

We spent the rest of the night tripping.

The Messages on my VoiceMail.

I wake as the plane leaves air and slams against pavement. I sit up, pull open the window and see snow. Quite a contrast from the beautiful Northern California weather; New York City was a cold island filled with snow. Matching my mood appropriately. I close my eyes and picture Kunda, wondering if he was still sleeping; wincing inside while remembering our last day.

He had taken the day off work and the fighting started immediately. He didn't want me to go. Back to New York, to the city and man who he imagined had stole me away. I tried to console him, tried to make him believe this was all temporary. I was only living with Mr. X because I had no other place to go. Soon I would get out. I'd get a job, who knows where I'll be in a month? I tried to tell him. Maybe we would be together. He grew increasingly distraught and increased his alcohol intake. This, although he refused to believe it, only fueled our fighting.

Soon he wanted money. Money for cocaine. I didn't argue. Fuck it, I thought. He wanted to put up the title of his car for a loan. It was illegal. Then he turned towards me and asked how much my ring had cost. It was a beautiful ring. In Kunda's Christian opinion; it was demonic. It was a custom made 18 karat gold skull, surrounded by wings, with diamonds crafted into eyes. I loved it. It was $900, I answered. And off to the Pawn Shops we drove. We let it go for only $40. And although he promised he would buy it back for me; I wasn't holding my breath.

The coke was fabulous. I threw up mere milliseconds after inhaling. But Kunda wouldn't stop drinking. I felt I had nothing to say since I was snorting coke and thus did little to discourage him. I had to bum a ride to the airport. Once there, I drank up a storm at Capital City Brewery and passed out waiting for the plane.

I drove through Queens, down the Van Wyck Expressway, to my apartment. My own little version of hell. As I pulled up Mr. X was out front waiting for me. I felt ill.

Mr. X payed the driver and without offering to help me with my bags, walked into the apartment. The tension was tangible. I went to bed. And there I remained for two days. The jet lag, the trip, drugging myself, it had all taken a lot out of me. Immediately upon awaking, I checked my voicemail, not sure if Kunda would call. His recorded voice greeted me, "Call me tonight if you ain't gonna call me no more," he sounded tired and scared. "Call me in the morning if you ain't gonna talk to me anymore. I just want to know what's going on," his second message said.

I dialed his number. "Hello?"

"Kunda, it's me."

"So, you're done? You're done with me? You come here, ruin my life, and now you're not going to talk to me?" He sounded sick with sadness.

"No baby, not at all. I was tired, I've been sleeping."

"Look Alexis, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for drinking, I'm sorry for everything."

"I'm sorry too. For being so difficult."

"I don't know what do to with myself, Alexis," he cried. "I'm such an alcoholic."

"Well, do you think you're the only one with problems?"

"No, you just don't admit yours." I ignored the comment, we said our 'I love you's, and I went back to bed.

The next day I went to my shrink appointment. I got a prescription for Adderall, went home and took four. Four times my actual dosage. Then I took four Xanax and begged Mr. X to smoke a blunt with me. We had been sleeping in different rooms and our contact was limited to me needing money and him telling me how much he despised me. Although he didn't use that word, it was too big for him. I spent the night watching TV and making an ass out of myself on the phone to who ever would listen. Finally, I got in touch with Kunda.

"Feeling pretty good?" he asked.

"Yeah," I giggled.

"You're so fucking stupid, Alexis," he yelled. I was shocked.

"What is your problem?" I slurred.

"You're noticeably fucked up. Got your Adderall today, huh?"

"And then some," I answered, trying to annoy him.

"I don't wanna talk to you right now," he started, but I cut him off.

"Oh, so I have to listen to you when you're drunk but I take a few pills and we can't talk?"

"What are you doing to yourself?" he asked, then hung up on me.

Left by myself, holding a dead phone, I wondered. Shit. I have a drug problem. I'm not sure why I chose that exact moment to admit to myself that I was an addict, but the gravity of the situation shocked me. For years, for years I've had a drug problem. I realized it a year ago, after I woke up from a two year sleep, that I had a problem with Xanax, but I stopped taking it every day and since then I figured I was fine. But it wasn't just xanax, it was any drug. All drugs. Any substance that could be abused; I abused it. Like father like daughter. Like mother like daughter. Goddammit!

I was so high off the Adderall that night that I opened a G-mail account for Kunda and filled it with my interpretations of Sleater Kinney songs regarding feminism, what it's like to be girl, and my undying love for him. I was still up at 10 in the morning when he called me. It was another Friday, and by that time in the morning I was starting to come down.

"Hello," I answered.

"You still high?" He asked.

"What do you wanna hear?"

"The truth," he said.

"You can't handle the truth," I joked. This pissed him off. "Just kidding, I don't know if I'm high. I'm awake, but that could just be my bipolarity flaring up."

"Yeah? Are you rapidly cycling out of control?"

I laughed at him. "You spin me right round baby right round, like a record baby round round round round," I sang to him.

"Shut up with your 80's shit."

"You looked so cute when you danced at Pyramid," I said, referring to one of the times Kunda had visited me in New York.

"Yeah, that was really cool, my jacket got stolen," he said, forever a pessimist. Then he said, "Get some sleep, I'm going to work, to pick up my paycheck. I'll call you later."

"I love you."

"Love you to, bye." And he was gone. I didn't fall asleep all day, but whereas normally I would take a xanax, I refused to. I was a drug addict. I was not a "partier", a "crack-head" (well, maybe), a "dopper", or anything cute. I was an addict. Shit, how did this happen? I sniffed some coke when I was 18, all of the sudden I'm 24? What the hell was going on? At first it was recreational. But only for awhile. I started every weekend, all weekend, then that moved to a couple of weeks on and off. Soon it was a month straight I'd been using. Then I hooked up with Dr. Feelgood and I was intoxicated for 2 years. This last year I have been doing good- not perfect, and ya, the past two weeks were bad, but before that I was doing all right. Let me think...March of last year; wait! May of last year I was in prison for meth and assault, so it hadn't been a year yet. Ok, I did good for six months... Fuck. I was still a drug addict. But now I will stop. Except for weed. Weed is not a drug; it's an herb. I could practically have a prescription if I lived in Cali.

I spent the day crying and connecting as I watched the E True Hollywood Story about Judy Garland. She was a speed freak in the morning and a doper at night. Just like me. I feel asleep, although all day I was aware that Kunda never called me back. And when I called he was not there.

The room was dark when I opened my eyes, the clock showed seven something. And no phone ring. My reactions to the most mundane events are skewed to their most dramatic conclusions; false or real, and my anxiety drives me insane! Every little thing, so important. It's extremely tiring. I realized my phone had a missed call.

"Hey Baby, I got my job back. I decided I was going to walk back in here and take care of business. So you can call me back at 1-800-912-4144. Thanks, look forward to hearing from you," Kunda's voice rang out in obvious drunkenness.

Great, I thought. This is going to be hard. Yes, this is what we've been talking about. Us getting sober, me getting un-crazy, and us being together. This is going to be hard. But I can do it. I'm 24 years old, I need to get my shit together. I was serious about being done with pills, coke, e, dust, crack, meth, LSD, k, mescaline, salvia, whippets, what ever else should go there, I can't remember... I was serious. I'll still smoke weed socially; which meant every day for me, but I considered this attempt at sobriety very seriously. Kunda had mentioned going back into the program, and this I was, at first, not very happy about. I felt Sacramento Valley Teen Challenge was a cult. Kunda felt he had been saved and that this would cure him. I told him it was trading one addiction for another. But this night I decided I would stop that. I would try. I was scared for him to go. Scared he would come out a totally different person. I mean, he would just be a Christian. The thought sounded sour to me. That is so different from me. What if he wanted a nice Christian girl? What if the taunts of Jezebel and Satania stuck with me, and when he got out I seemed vile?

I can't object to this, if it can make him better. I was terrified of myself but happy that I would do it alone. No AA or in-house rehabilitations for me. Fuck that. Those are for people who are weak. I may be an addict, and I may have poor impulse control, but I will not relinquish control over my actions to a "higher power". That is so obviously weak. Kunda would say, "Believing one's self-reliant is a curse from the Devil. Meant to keep men out of God's reach." Ugh, I can't take that crap. I can't do it. Where were we headed? So different? Was I fooling myself thinking the old Kunda would shine through. Not addict Kunda, or saved Kunda; but my Kunda. The Kunda only I know; and have known for the past eight years.

I have a problem with living in the present. I know this. I'm not happy so I have to either return to a time when I was happy, or daydream about a time when I will be happy. I escape the current reality with substances. Remaining inebriated I was able to never face reality. That has to stop. It will. It stopped.

Mr. X called me into the living room and asked if I wanted to smoke a blunt. It's Friday night, I thought. Smoking a blunt seemed alright. As long as I didn't shove a million pills down my throat, or sniff any powders, I would be alright.

Mr. X and I smoked up and I played on my computer, and watched TV. Soon it was past 10. I found my phone in my jacket pocket on vibrate, and saw I had nine missed calls and seven messages. I was not the only one in the relationship with severe separation anxiety issues.

"Call me if you're not fucking your man, peace," was the first message.

"Your man loves you now? He gives you weed now? Fuck you Alexis, fuck you. I'm going into the program and that's it. I'm not talking to you, I don't care if you call here or not, peace," he was definitely in the process of getting fucked up.

"Answer! Why won't you answer?! Fuck you, you fucking slut! Go smoke weed with your man. I don't care. I don't care if I never make it anywhere (burp) I'm going to kill myself (burp). Don't call back. Fuck you."

Message number four rang out in my ear, "You fucking bitch, I should go out and fuck fucking broads since you're fucking your man. Call my mom's house in half an hour I'll be there. Bye, fucking slut, fucking whore."

"Not gonna call me back huh? Fuck you, fuck you fuck you, you fucking slut. Fuck your man, tell him you were manic tell him you were on too many pills you do what you gotta do. You didn't fucking call me back. FUCK YOU, get high, get drugged, whatever I'm never fucking talking to you again."

Shit, is that what I sounded like? In a strange and sick way the messages were comforting. Kunda, in his inebriated state, was distraught over me not answering. That must mean he really loved me, because that is how I react when I can't get in touch with him. Or when I used to not be able to. Well I wasn't about to call his mother's house. Fuck that bitch. Just then my phone vibrated in my hand. The familiar phone number popped up. I answered.

"Hello Kunda," I began.

"Did you have fun fucking your man?"

"I didn't fuck anyone."

"I KNOW YOU DID! You fucked him ten days before you got here, you think I'm stupid? You think I don't know you're fucking him?" In the background I could hear his mother telling him not to speak like that in her house. God forbid foul language in her house.

"Baby, I swear, I'm never fucking any one else besides you again. I only want you forever." I didn't know what else to say. I wish he knew how I felt about him. How he made me feel. I wish I new the converse for my own sanity.

"I'm going home, I'll call you then," and our conversation ended. When he got home he was even more belligerent. He said something about wishing I was pregnant so I would never be able to leave him.

It was Monday morning. I'd been sober for five days and today was Kunda's first day in the program. We spent the morning on the phone; talking about how different we were both going to be in a year, even in thirty days. He talked about being a Christian for real; loving his wife and children above all else, being a good person. When we talked about no premarital sex, I said, "Ten years is a long time to wait for sex."

"Ten years? I was thinking we'd get married within the year at least," Kunda replied. The smile that that comment brought to my face was not a smile; but a face splitting chasm. I even giggled. I love Kunda because he made me feel so fucking good inside.

"Do you really feel that way?" I asked.

"How can you not know?" he replied.

Alexis Luna is a recent NYU graduate with a B.A. in journalism and a B.S. in communications. She is currently as a Field Manager at Working Families Party in New York City.

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