“The older I get, the less I know.”
Yeah, I believe it. There are whole
swaths of life and experience I have no clue about. When I was 14,
reaching that pinnacle of freedom and ridiculous self-confidence, I
was damn sure about the world around me. I could figure it out. I
was quick witted, insolent and right. That was before life got me in
it's teeth and shook me like a rag dog a few times, that'll take the
air out of you. What did it? Terminal illnesses. I came to find out
my paltry powers were nothing against the World.
Now at my age I fully understand to
shut my damn mouth because I don't know it all.
Every now and then I get a booster shot
to shore up that belief.
Tonight, I came across an old co-worker
who is still in the social service field. He had moved on from group
home work to rehab homes where they try to dry out drug addicts. He
then regales me with war stories of some of the patients he's come
across. Yeah, it's a complete violation of HIPPA laws but guess what,
it's violated all the time. The most harrowing stories are about
crack whores in and about Providence.
Daniela was a NYC born Puerto Rican
girl who fell into the hell of the Latin Kings at the age of 15. She
had been kicked out of her home at 14 when she and her step-dad could
not get along, and Mom wasn't about to lose her new beau, so out goes
the daughter. She hung with friends when one suggested she could get
easy money by selling heroin for the local gang. She did it and made
enough cash to survive. That slow spiral into a shit storm was when
she was introduced to crack.
She became addicted and with that, you
tend to do anything to get that next hit so she ventured (but it
sounded like forced) into being a teen slut for the gang members.
“$20 Latin King Party Girl” she called herself then my friend
says.
Gang life being was it was, it seemed
far safer for her “go on her own” doing tricks and she was right.
At least the beatings pretty much stopped unless she came across a
John who didn't pay, except with his fists.
“She made her best money before 22”
he tells me. “Girls that age are still cute looking and not worn
out so they can command higher prices...Yay for the free market!”
But as you get older and dragged assed from drug use, your commodity
suffers and so does the price. So life gets dicier and perhaps it's
time for a fresh start in newer fields.
She comes to Providence, works as a CNA
a bit and to supplement the cash, she does the prostitution. Lucky
for her, she had never been convicted of any crime that would prevent
her from doing that work so at least there was that. But the drugs
were nagging at her still. Looking like your 35 when you're 28 ain't
the life to lead. She checks into a drug rehab unit and with some
determination, and a lot of luck, manages to shake herself of the
drugs. She's been clean for several years I was told but still looks
years older than her current age.
**
I hear this story, which had a bit more
detail than I'm letting on here and I felt a bit shocked. I know
nothing of that life. I've known no one who has personally lived it.
I was reminded again of lives I have NO clue about and it would be a
cheap attempt to try understand it. I don't.
I”ve never lived in China, but I have
read about it. Want me to tell you all about it? I know jack-shit
about China compared to someone who's lived there. It's simple as
that.
There was once a noir TV series called
the “Naked City” that aired a zillion years ago. It ended each
episode with the line, “There are 8 million stories in the Naked
City, this has been one of them.”
I know my own story intimately well,
perhaps a hundred more marginally well and the other 7,999,899 I know
precious little of.
At 14 I could bray about what I knew of
everyone, not so much now. You tend to grow up.
So I keep quiet. I know now how to.
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