Las Biuty Queens: Stories

OverdoseNight falls. I haven’t slept in three days. My pupils are dilated and my eyes are red. Sprawled out on the bed, almost motionless, I’m convinced my body smells of ether. When I turn out the lights in my room, everything falls into shadows. Little by little, piles of clothing start to take human shape. Immobile forms everywhere I turn. As night draws on, they look more and more like the silhouettes of people. It must be the effect of not having closed my eyes in days. It’s the middle of summer, and the room I’m renting is on the third floor of a house in the Bronx. A house made of wood that holds in all the heat. I don’t have air conditioning and the fan does nothing to regulate the rising temperature of my body. I sweat something that smells like chemicals and artificial sweetener. I have a big bottle of water next to my bed, but I can’t bring myself to move, not even to reach for a drink. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t had a drop of water in over ten hours.  My intestines feel all crunchy because my stomach is empty, but I’m not hungry. I have enough money to order delivery, but something keeps me from picking up the phone. I can’t let anyone hear my voice. The last time I made a call on my cell, my friend asked what was going on, why my voice sounded all metallic, like I was calling from beyond the grave. Calling 9-11 isn’t an option. I know from experience that nothing good can come of it. First they’ll cart me off to the emergency room, and then straight to the psych ward at Bellevue. I pick up the rosary just as I always have since the age of ten whenever I feel rage or fear coming on. I try to pray, but I don’t have the patience. I barely make it through seven Ave Marias.  I get used to the dark. I can distinguish between objects, but I can’t let my eyes focus on anything in particular. I know that, if I do, I’ll see someone.  Without wanting to, I look toward the closet. The door’s cracked open. I make out a pair of shoes, and then, all of a sudden, the shoes are attached to a pair of legs. There’s someone inside my closet. I can see him clearly. He has long legs. I sit up in bed and whisper to him to leave me alone. Then I see my silk kimono shining in the semi-darkness. It’s draped over a suitcase. In a second, it transforms before my eyes into the silhouette of a woman who is face-down, kneeling. I can’t bear to look at her face. I squeeze my eyes shut.  I lay back down on the bed, which is damp and has a sweet smell. I take a deep breath and decide to start opening my eyes very, very slowly. On the opposite end of the bed, just beyond my feet, the only window in the room opens onto a giant tree that must be over a century old. A faint wind rustles its branches. Little by little, the swaying starts to accelerate and I hear what sounds like voices repeating an unintelligible mantra.  I close my eyes again and try to breathe deeply. Something tells me it’s all in my head, or it must be the effect of so many sleepless nights. I try to snap out of it. I look for the bottle of water at the foot of the bed. I’m not thirsty, but I know I should drink something. I feel better. Better than I’ve felt in many hours. I promise myself this really will be the last time. I pull the glass pipe out from under my pillow and open the little plastic bag of crystal meth. I empty some of it into the pipe. I take the lighter and begin heating up the glass bulb. When I see the white smoke building up in the center of the bulb, I take a long hit. I repeat this four times. I wait for the pipe to cool down and put it back under the pillow. I lie face up on the bed. I think of the time I told a friend that whenever I’m high on crystal meth and haven’t slept for a few days, I start seeing human forms. This isn't the first time. My friend said they must be the ghosts of people who overdosed. Looking me straight in the eye, she warned me never to talk to the shadows, never to make any kind of contact with them. I should ignore them. It was for my own good, she said. I close my eyes and try to get them out of my head. But suddenly, everything starts spinning very slowly, in a way that feels almost pleasant, until just as suddenly, everything falls still. I muster the courage to sit down on the edge of the bed. I open my eyes and look toward the closet with the open doors. There are the shoes, which now connect to a pair of legs and the shadow of a man. I whisper to him without fear. I tell him this can’t be real, that what I’m seeing is no ghost. I ask if he’s really there, but the shadow doesn’t reply. I say it over and over again until I hear a voice saying no, none of us are dead. We are only shadows. I turn my head to see who’s speaking. My kimono is still being worn by the woman who, just a moment ago, was kneeling, face-down. Now she’s raised her head. I can’t help but stare. She tells me not to worry. Not to be afraid. She tells me to lie down and try to close my eyes. It’s time to rest. They’ll watch over me as I dream. And then the voices disappear and with them go all of the colors.