Requiem for a Dream (28 page)

Harry fidgeted in the movie. He continually squirmed,
trying to find a comfortable position, but each time he thought he
had his back would start hurting, or his ass got sore or his legs
started cramping and so he continually adjusted his position, smoking
one cigarette after the other. He couldnt stay in one position more
than a few minutes so he got up to get some candy, Want somethin man?
Yeah, Snickers. He got a couple of candy bars and came back and
started the routine all over again. One movie wasnt too bad, an old
Randy Scott shootim up, but the other one was a fuckin drag, a real
fuckin drag. A would be romantic comedy that musta had a budget of a
dollar ninety eight. Jesus, what a bunch a shit. From time to time he
would glance at Tyrone, from the corner of his eye, and he was just
staring at the screen, diggin what was goin on. He tried to
concentrate on the dumb ass flick but his head kept fighting him and
telling him he was an asshole for even waiting for the broad, that
she was there for a while man and forget it. Shes up there with a
heavy weight dude with a pile of shit and youre going to sit and wait
in a funky ass coffee shop for her? Shit, youre outta ya fuckin mind.
Shes up there fuckin the ass off that dude man and youre here chewing
them fuckin Chuckles until theyre all stuck all over your fuckin
teeth and watchin some dumb ass flick made by a bunch of fuckin
assholes. He moved around again and grunted out loud. Tyrone
continued to stare at the screen, but reached over and patted him on
the back, Its cool man. Everything cool. He turned and smiled a big,
white toothed smile and patted him again. Harry nodded and shoved a
few more Chuckles in his mouth.

Big Tim was leaning against the doorjamb, naked,
rubbing his chest, smiling, and feeling gooooood all over, as he
watched Marion brush her hair. He was bouncing the package of ten
bags in his hand. You know, you cut this shit loose an I can turn you
out an make you some real braid baby. Marion smiled into the mirror
and continued brushing her hair, Not today. And Im not really hooked.
Big Tim laughed his jolly old St. Nick laugh, Yeah, ah know, and
tossed the package to her when she finished brushing her hair. Marion
clutched it for a moment, then put it in her pocketbook. What the
fuck you doin? Marion was startled and stared at him for a moment,
then shook her head, Nothing. Im— Damn! he laughed and laughed, the
sound so happy that Marion started smiling and chuckling without the
slightest idea why, Damn! haha-haha, ah got me some kind a fuckin
virgin. Now you got to be kiddin ol Tim, you just got to be. Marion
was still smiling and shaking her head. I dont kn— You mean you not
goin to count whats there but you jus going to be puttin it in your
pocketbook an jus walk out in the street???? Damn! You sure aint been
aroun long, have you baby? and his smile broadened and his expression
and tone were amused and gentle. Marion flushed and shrugged, and
started to protest, Im not exactly naive school girl, she fidgeted
with her pocketbook as Big Tim continued to smile down on her, I ...
I ..her head and shoulders jerking about, Ive been all through
Europe, an ... an ... and Im just not— Big Tim was nodding and
smiling, Sheeit, aint nothing to be ashamed of baby, we all gotta git
down with it for the firs time. Ah aint bad rappin ya. Ah jus want to
set you straight so you doan get ripped off. Sheeit, you earned that
baby—Marion flushed slightly and blinked—an you sure as hell doan
want to donate it to some purse snatcher. He laughed again and Marion
smiled, You Tyrones bitch? the smile still in his voice and on his
face. Marion shook her head. Then there be a couple a dudes waitin
for you? Yes. I do — Well, lookit here, there be one place you can
stash ol doogie without you worryin about it be accidently getting in
the wrong hands, you dig? Aint no purse snatcher or mugger goin to
rip you off there baby. Marion flushed, then smiled and shook her
head. When she realized how dumb she must look to Tim, she flushed
even "lore. An if you smart you make two packages, you dig? and
you keep one for yourself. He laughed again and walked back to the
living room and poured himself another glass of bourbon. Marion
opened the package and put two bags in a separate package and put
that up her snatch first, then put the other package in too. When
Marion went back to the living room Big Tim was still naked and
standing near the stereo, his glass in one hand, a cigarette hanging
from his mouth, looking cool and nodding in time to the music. He
glanced at her then smiled, Jus a minute, I want to dig this. He
listened until the sax faded then he started walking to the door,
I'll hear from you soon. Well ... I dont... I... Marion shrugged and
blinked involuntarily— Big Tim just kept smiling, opened the door,
Catch you later baby.

Tyrone and Harry were sitting in the rear booth of
the coffee shop when Marion got there. The movie was bad enough, but
this past hour or so, or however fuckin long it was, was a real
fuckin drag. Somehow the movie took care of some of the action in
him, but sittin in a fuckin coffee shop, waitin, made his fuckin
crotch squirm. Jesus, it was drivin him fuckin bananas. He kept
adjusting himself and rubbing and scratching until Tyrone started to
giggle, Watch you doin to your thang jim. You look like you fixin to
take the mutha fucka out and whip the table with it. I'll beatya over
the fuckin head with it, and Harry smiled in spite of himself and put
his hands on the table, Hows that, and continued fidgeting until
Marion walked into the shop. She and Harry looked at each other for a
moment, each frantically searching for some way to start a
conversation without saying what was on their minds. Then Tyrone
asked how it went. Marion nodded. He gave me eight bags. Harry gave a
silent and inner sigh of relief. That aint a bad tase. How mah man
Tim? Marion nodded. Yeah, he be a cool mutha jim. Ah mean coooooool.
Harry stood, Lets split. Crazy. Good. Im dying to get home.

Marion stashed her two bags just as soon as she
could, and when Harry left to sell some dope and cop some more she
sat with them in her hand, fondling them, caressing them, closing her
eyes from time to time and sighing, rubbing the bags of dope between
the tips of her fingers, securely nestled on her couch listening to
Mahlers Resurrection Symphony.

Sara trembled with such terror when she heard the
food cart in the distance, even with the massive doses of
tranquil-izers she was being given, that they stopped trying to get
her to eat and force fed her. They strapped her in a wheelchair and
shoved a rubber hose up her nose and down into her stomach, Sara
retching and gagging, then taped the end to her head. Her feeble
attempts to defend herself and try to speak were quickly overcome as
they simply slammed her against the back o£ the chair and
tightened the straps. When they finished she reached up to tug at the
hose and they told her to get her hands off that hose, and tied her
hands to the arms of the chair, Weve had enough trouble from you.
Youre just going to stay tied in that chair until you learn to
cooperate and stop thinking that youre some kind of a queen. She
continued to retch until her stomach felt like it was torn apart and
she exhausted herself and no longer had enough energy to retch and
she sat in her mute and immobile terror, staring at the world around
her through her tear filled eyes, struggling to break through the
haze of tears and drugs and understand what was happening. She tried
to keep her head up, but it continually fell forward and she
struggled to get it erect, but the energy was not there and it would
hang like a gourd for a few moments, then fall back on her chest,
each movement a monumental effort, each failure a death knell. With
each breath the tears seemed to build up within her and she could
feel and hear them swishing around, feeling them threaten to drown
her as her lungs seem to hang limp in her chest. She wanted to cry
out, at least to herself, but she forgot that there was someone,
something to call out to. There seemed to be a vague sense of
recollection in the back of her mind and when she tried to dig it out
she once again fell exhausted, and if she hadnt, the drugs and shock
treatment would not have allowed her to recognize the word God. The
straps seemed to be tighter, but there was nothing she could do. They
were cutting into her wrists and were pressing so hard against her
chest they were restricting her breathing, but she could say and do
nothing. She wanted desperately to go to the bathroom, but when she
tried to call for someone to help her she gagged on the hose and only
spittle dribbled down her chin as she fought to withstand the pain
the hose caused in her throat. For hours she fought against her
bladder and bowels, and when someone came by she looked, hoping they
would look at her and see she needed help, but when they saw her they
just walked on by and her head would fall once again on her chest and
then she would start the long, long struggle of trying to raise it to
get help, but they continued to simply walk on by, and still she
fought, harder and harder, but eventually nature won, as always, and
her bladder and bowels relieved themselves and she felt the warmth
and moisture and her last semblance of dignity fled from her, along
with her tears, as her mind called out for help . . . called, begged,
pleaded, and then a nurse walked by and stopped, looked at her for a
minute, came over, looked, twisted her face in disgust, You ought to
be ashamed of yourself. Even animals dont do that. Well, you can just
sit in it. Maybe that will teach you a lesson. Two days later Sara
was still sitting in it, no longer attempting to lift her head,
allowing it to hang in her shame, her tears streaking her face,
blotting her gown, and filling her soul.Two days later she was still
strapped in the chair and chained to her indignity until they came to
prepare her for her next shock treatment.

Marion called Big Tim and went to see him again.
Harry was out when she called and was watching TV when she got back.
Harry didnt ask where she had been and she said nothing. He had
copped a bundle, offd some for a lot of bread, and was holding out
dope and bread from her. She stashed her two bags with the others and
felt a warm glow as she looked at them and couldnt wait until she was
alone so she could take them out and hold them and caress them. She
gave Harry the other eight bags, then took one of them and got off.
She joined him on the couch, Howd it go tonight? Pretty good. Lucked
out. Ran into something almost right away. Good. She pulled her legs
up on the couch. Thats really good stuff, isnt it? Yeah. Dont find
that out on the streets. Lets not sell that, alright Harry? Just the
other. You dont see me passing it out, do you? No, but I ... you know
what I mean. Yeah. Dont sweat it. Im not going to part with the good
shit. Marion stared at the television for a few minutes, not knowing
what she was looking at, not caring, not trying, just biding time and
waiting for the words .. . Harry? Yeah? Do we have to tell Tyrone
about these bags? He looked at her, a voice inside saying, fuck no.
Me and him are tight. He set the whole thing up. I know, I know,
Marion looked up into Harrys eyes, but Im the one who went up there.
Harry could feel the burning flush seeping out from his inner being
somewhere and was hoping to krist he didnt turn red. He nodded his
head, Okay. I guess what he dont know wont killim.

Tyrone was stretched out on the couch, alone,
watching television. Alice had split, gone back to her family in some
jerk town in Georgia. Couldnt take the cold or the heat. She was a
fine fox, but Tyrone was happy and relieved not to have another vein
to feed. She sure didnt dig bein sick. Like to scare her to death.
Sheeit, ah sure doan dig it. Dont dig the hassles either. But it aint
so bad. Las night we cop right away and get back some heavy braid.
Things going to be better soon enough. There doan seem to be too much
hassle now. Tyrone C. Love watched the television for a while,
wondering, anticipating, chuckling, using the images and sounds from
the set, along with the heroin in his system, to quiet a little
gnawing of questioning confusion that seemed to be scratching him
from time to time. He'd been spending many hours of each day and
night scufflin and hustlin in those streets an man its a cold mutha
fuckin bitch out there an this panics a bitch jim, a mutha fuckin
bitch. Yeah . . . a bitch baby, an hes all caught up in the mutha. Ol
Ty was caught up in it for so long it didnt seem so bad anymore. It
seemed less and less like a hassle. But what the fuck, a habit aint
no real hassle. A habit you do in your sleep. You caint think about
it. You jus do it. An a habit create its own habits. And he lay on
his couch, staring at the set, getting his kicks, and when he
wondered why he was happy to be alone, he just stopped wondering and
got back in the spoon and turned the channel. These things sort of
itched Tyrone, but he soothed them away from his consciousness with
his habit and the tube and jus didnt worry about not havin the
energy—the desire—to get himself another bitch. No, he jus take
care of his own self till things gets a little cooler. Right now
he'll jus hang tough and take care of the little jones he had goin.
Later for the bitches man. Yeah, mah names Tyrone C. Love and ah
loves nobody but Tyrone C., an ahm goin to take good care o you baby.

Sara was tied in her wheelchair each morning and she
sat mutely and docilely watching the people coming, going, giving
medication, caring for patients, making beds, mopping floors, going
about their daily and various chores, her mind and eyes moist with
tears. Voices and noises mingled and clanged through the ward
unnoticed by Sara. She sat mutely. They continued to pass her by as
she waited . . . waited for someone to come to her, to talk to her
... to help her. They did come to her. They came to prepare her for
another shock treatment. Sara wept.