I was in my second year of college at Appalachian State. I remember I had moved to King’s street in Boone, NC and had absolutely no cell phone service. At this time, I was prescribed perk 10’s and Ativan for anxiety and Fibromyalgia. Didn’t think anything of it, “I’m taking it just like the doctor prescribed,” or so I thought. The bottle doesn’t say, crush this finely up and snort it up your nose, once in a while. Semantic and poetic meaning, right? It’ll get a philosophy major every time. I remember driving to the Boone mall, going into At&t and being thrilled to get the latest iPhone. I worked my ass off in college. I didn’t want to live paycheck to paycheck- and I felt like my mother made so many sacrifices for me to have a better life. I didn’t want to piss away all that passion. I woke up every day with this sparkle in my eye- I’ve always been a bit of a cynic- but it’s like I am so in love with the world, with people- just as I can feel this grandiose sense of purpose, I can feel that level of sadness.
The employee at At&t was wonderful. Super nice, explained everything, shit talked Sprint with me. I’m a sucker for those that can witty banter with me. These small ripples in time, with this person. Human connection seems to be a lost art form to some. I had just transferred my contacts over, my phone rang. The timing immaculate. I could not place the number, but it said Charlotte, NC and it looked familiar. I told the employee I needed to answer it. I answered the phone, “Is this Kristan Cox?” I said yes, with hesitation. “This is your Aunt Patricia.” I think the last time I had spoken to my father’s sister was when I still used swimmies to jump off her dock at Lake Norman. I didn’t know why she was calling. I felt a rush of concern. In a plain, non-emotive manner, she simply said this to me.
“Your father has had a blood stroke, he had surgery, he’s currently in a coma, you’re his next of kin, so can you come do this paperwork. You need to make arrangements.” I stood shocked, the blood had left my body.
For a brief moment, I wasn’t human. The teenage angst I had for my dad had left me. I could only think so selfishly. Who will walk me down the aisle? I still held onto that dream. Holy shit, is he going to die, thinking I hate him. Guilt, pain, confusion.
The last time I saw my father, I was 15 years old. My life had finally begun to settle down from moving from Charlotte, to Concord to Mount Pleasant. From a seemingly nice Suburbia in the city, to the complete hood in downtown Concord to the middle of nowhere in the country. From bagged lunches to free school lunch. I was 20 years old now. I remember being so cruel to my father. He just showed up at my school, not drunk or high on crack, so I was pretty pleased with that. But I feel like that’s being happy with a husband for only leaving domestic violence bruises on areas you can cover up. I guess what I mean, is that it was all so fucked. I was tired of compromising. I was tired of worrying. Is my dad under a bridge somewhere, half dead? Is he giving head again to some man, contracting some disease, because he’s too lit to be safe?
I came back to reality, my Aunt Patty said, “Kristan, did you hear me?” That brief human connection I had with the At&T employee, he looked at my face, ghost white, he ran over to me. I collapsed in the store, dropped the phone and started screaming. I remember sobbing into this man’s shirt. I thought I was past memories like this. Every time my cell phone rang wondering what catastrophe had gone wrong. Who overdosed? Who is dead, who isn’t? Every time in high school on the way home from a cross country meet when I saw an ambulance close to home. I wondered, are they going to my house, is mom okay. Dad didn’t send a birthday card this year, is he ok?
I finally got out to my car, I called my friend Lori. She came straight to the mall and sat with me in my car as I cried, I attempted to prioritize what to do. Who is going to watch my cat? I need to email my professors. I need to let work know I have a family emergency. I shook a couple perks and Ativan out of my bottles and downed them with expresso. I felt so tired, but my mind was so awake, racing.
All I remember next is calling my mom. I was her rock. My mother and father had their differences, but she was everything to him. And my mother never stopped caring. It broke me to hear my mother cry, to have to be the reason she was crying. I went to my apartment, grabbed my things. My roommates met me at the door, compassionate good people, two guys and one girl. They would watch the cat. My boss at Gap understood. I was close to my professors. I listened to Alice in Chains the whole way down the mountain, remembered my dad listening to them in his Camaro, T-tops out. Smoking Marlboro reds and asking, “Is that too much wind on you, boog?” My blonde hair in pigtails flying in every direction.The tears came and went. Got a speeding ticket on the way to the hospital. Didn’t care. Stopped and bought a pack of Marlboro Reds. I remembered the cigarettes tasted strangely like waffles. I thought of that Vonnegut quote from Slaughterhouse Five. And so it fucking goes, I thought.
The Ironic Junkie 