Soon after losing the house he and his wife bought because of his divorce and bad habits, Randall started neglecting his personal hygiene and health. He slowly opened his tired eyes and rubbed his hands through his hair. Last night was a long night; he sold all he had bagged and made a lot of money. He and Bobbie spent some of the money on beer, alcohol and food but he still had most of it left. That night, Randall forgot about buying any crack because he was so busy making so much money.

Slowly, he dragged his tired body across the carpeted floor of the old doublewide trailer. Seconds later, he entered the opened door of the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror greeted him as he flicked the light switch on the wall. Still hazy from the lack of sleep, he didn’t recognize himself and thought someone else was there. Surprised, he let out a loud scream and a tiny stream of urine down his leg.
Randall bolted out the bathroom into the hallway.

‘Ahhhhhh,’

The loud ear piercing noise woke Bobbie from her sleep. Startled, she jumped out of her bed, grabbed her robe off the chair by the bed and rushed barefooted into the hallway. In the hall, Randall stood with his back pressed against the wall and his head buried in the palm of his hands.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

She tied the mix matched belt around the front of the flowery satin robe as he tried to steady his nerves.

‘Randall, you got the Jones bad.’

She knew about his crack habit and thought he was just in need a hit. Speaking gently, she leaned toward him.

‘You want me to call Jackson and get you a hit?’

She reached out and stroked his hair with her fingers. Randall didn’t move; he just stood still for a moment longer.

‘Nah, that’s not it.’

Slowly, he wiped his bloodshot eyes, and stood up to go back into the bathroom. He was embarrassed that he looked so bad. What was worse, no one told him. They just watched as he wasted away over the years to only a shadow of his former self.

‘I saw my reflection in the mirror and scared myself. Why didn’t you tell me that I looked so bad?’

‘I tried to tell you everyday, Randall. Why do you think I would come and get you from the firehouse? You just wouldn’t listen. But you’ll be alright. With the money you can make from the weed, you can go and get yourself clean. I know you can; I have faith in you.’

She rubbed her hands across his face again. He looked at her, remembering all the times he would spend the night at her house because he had gotten drunk or to high from a night out with the guys. When his wife left, Bobbie stood by him. Then a few months after the divorce, he found crack or it found him. He thought the first time he took a hit of crack the high was better than sex; now he was stuck trying to find that same high. When he lost the house, Bobbie offered to let him move in with her for a while. He refused because his pride wouldn’t let him.

‘Yeah, I’ll be okay as long as I stop scaring myself every time I look into the mirror.’

They laughed together for a moment. Walking back into the bathroom, he stepped on the scale to check his weight. The dial stopped on one hundred and thirty pounds.

‘Shit, I lost seventy pounds. Damn, I’m skinny and a fucking crack head.’

He stepped off the scale and washed his face in the sink. Leaving the bathroom, he walked to the back bedroom and took twenty dollars from inside the gym bag.

‘Hey, I’m walking up to Shorty’s; do you want anything?’

Bobbie, now in the bathroom inside her bedroom and getting undressed for a shower, answered him.

‘Yeah, bring me two of those breakfast sausage and biscuits and an orange juice.’

Randall stepped out of the trailer into the bright sunlight and strolled toward Thompson Circle to the corner store. It was still early in the day, but the heat was stifling. Tiny semi transparent slivers of heat rose from the hot asphalt. A few minutes later, stepping on the small concrete step of the store, he peered at his reflection as he slowly opened the mirrored glass door. His pants looked baggy and the shirt he wore draped over his torso like a sheet.

Damn, I’ve fucked myself up. I look like shit. You got to stop drinking and everything and get back in shape, Randall.

He entered the almost empty store and questioned Jessie Mitchell, the store clerk.

‘Hey, where you keep the sandwich bags,’

Without saying a word, the graying old man pointed to the rear of the store and continued to help the customer at the register. Returning to the counter, Randall laid the sandwich bags and the other stuff he came for on the counter.

‘That’s all you need. You’re moving around early today.’

‘I stayed at Bobbie’s last night. Ahh, give me a pack of ‘Ports and a pack of rolling papers.’

‘She’s a good woman; always trying to help people. I don’t know what she sees in a crack head like you though.’

Jessie turned and retrieved the items and placed them on the counter as Randall put down a bag of chips. Those words stung Randall, but they were true. She was a good woman and he was a crack addict.

‘Man, just give me a lighter. Nobody asked for your opinion anyway.’

‘Don’t get mad at the truth, man. Look at you, you hooked on crack and stuck standing on Stupid Street sucking on a glass dick like a hoe. You let Jackson and those dope pushers take all your money. Shit, you lost your house, wife and your fucking pride in less than four years chasing behind that shit. Now, I hear last night, they put you to work selling weed for them. Whatever you’ve done got yourself into, son; it’s time to wake the fuck up before you get messed the fuck up.’

Jessie handed Randall the blue plastic lighter. Every time Randall came into the store, he heard the same thing from old man Jessie. He always preached about Randall changing his ways and going to church. This time it hit, home.

‘Man, I want to quit but really, I don’t know if I can. Shit, it’s like fighting a demon. I’m possessed sometimes with the need to get high and it just takes control of me.’

‘That’s easy, man, ain’t nothing to it but to do it. When I lived in Chi Town in the seventies, I used to be hooked like you but I was on smack. Took me almost three years and moving back here to this small town, in spite of the pains from my withdrawal from that junk, I hung in until I was though with it before it got through with me first. Been almost twenty-five years son, I’m still fighting but I took a control of myself.’

‘There you go talking crazy again, Jessie. What you mean you took back control?’

‘I mean just take back control. Remember, you are the captain of your own fate and the master of your soul. Just take control and refuse to use anymore. Get in touch with the maker of your soul, ask for help and take back control of your life. Right now, son, you’re spending out of control and headed towards self-destruction.’

A few minutes before Randall ended his talk with Jessie and he left the corner store; Jackson Sneed departed from a friend’s house on Eutaw Street and ventured east toward the corner of Thompson Street and Aurelia Street. He needed to get rid of some of the crack he just cooked and was looking for a sell. Turning into Thompson Circle, he spotted Randall coming out of the store. Seconds later, Jackson slowed the classic Ford LTD down to a crawl and rolled down the passenger side window and turned down his stereo.

‘Hey man, you looking?’

‘Nah, man, I’m alright.’

Randall lied; his body screamed for a hit. He could almost hear it calling to him. Nevertheless, after seeing himself as a crack head and really hearing what Jessie said, he was determined not to use anymore. He continued to walk down Thompson Circle.

‘Well, you got my cell number. When you need, call me first. Say, do you have any of that Purple Kush you had last night on you.’

Jackson stopped the car in the middle of the street.

Randall stopped and looked at the ground, making lines in the dirt as he slid his foot side to side. It was time for him to make a decision. Will he continue to be a pawn in their games or stand up and be a man? Jackson fed off his habit for years and had his ways of making sure Randall stayed hooked. Every time he got paid Jackson came around with dope or he would send a crack addict to look for him. Because Randall received a retirement check every month, when he was broke Jackson would gladly credit him some until his check arrived. He would spend at least seven hundred dollars every month on the stuff. If he didn’t have the money, he swapped his pain pill prescription for some crack.

Why am I lying to this punk? I just have to get control of myself again and I can break this habit. I just have to focus and be a man.

Walking to the car, he leaned on the door and peered at the drug dealer.

‘Look, Jackson, I’m going to be straight with you! I’ve decided to quit because I’ve started looking bad, doing bad and I’m just plan tired of it. I mean look at me. I lost everything behind that rock and I look like shit on top of it. That shit’s bad news and I’m through.’

Randall threw his hands up in the air and stepped back from the car. Jackson briefly believed Randall was serious; but he could not afford to lose him.

‘Yeah, you do look bad. I will admit that.’

He laughed because Randall looked just how Jackson wants him to look; like a needy addict-- a dollar sign to a dope dealer.

‘I know you won’t quit though because you need this stuff like a fish needs water.’

Reaching under his seat, he retrieved a clear plastic freezer bag full of tiny plastic packets of crack.

‘Tell you what, since it’s a money thing, trade me a fifty for this.’

Taking three nice size rocks out the large freezer bag, he offered them to Randall. Jackson smiled, showing off a glistening row of gold caps on his bottom row of teeth. Badly wanting to accept the offer, Randall instead lied.

‘I sold out last night; I might have some more later on today. I’ll have to see if my boy will front me some more first. I can’t trade, though. It got to be cash.’

The two men finished talking and Randall walked to Bobbie’s trailer.

‘I’m back.’

He announce after stepping inside and strolling toward the kitchen.

‘Okay, I’m still in the tub.’

Bobbie hollered through the closed bathroom door.

‘Put my sandwiches in the microwave and put the drink in the refrigerator. I’ll be out in a minute.’

Randall put everything up and placed the sandwich bags he bought on the table. Walking to the other bedroom, he retrieved the rest of the open bundle, returned to the kitchen and dumped it on the table. When he was packaging the remaining weed, Bobbie came from the bathroom into the kitchen. He lit a cigarette. Randall was not a weed smoker, but Bobbie smoked almost everyday with her girlfriends

‘Hey, what’s Purple Kush?’

‘Oh, that’s some good weed and it cost. I mean it cost like one hundred and sixty dollars an ounce for that stuff. I had a blunt of it when I went to New Orleans last year to visit my daughter. Why?’

Smiling, he looked at her.

‘Oh, nothing; it’s just that’s what I’ve been selling. You know how much money I gave away last night. My dime bags should’ve been twenty and the twenties should’ve been forty or fifty. I won’t make that mistake again.’

This was the first time anyone in Marion ever sold Purple Kush; so the marijuana left like crazy. It took Randall and Bobbie less than three days to sell the rest of the weed from the first ten pound bale.