The Dark Journey
Chapter 13 - Downward Spiral
The dancer spins her minuet
feet seeming to float above the floor
and the menfolk watch lustfully
their faces folded against one another
the dancer spins on unheedingly
her grace and beauty shine
like a diamond seen through
mid-day sunlight
and the men jostle for position
to get a better view
to watch the dancer spin and twist
and, perhaps, to take a turn with her
upon the great dance floor
But the dancer is oblivious to all
her eyes open, but seeing not the throng,
but something deep inside herself
and she feels not the hands of the men
upon her flame scarred flesh
nor the hot cruel kisses
nor the biting, grinding pressures
she is lost in another world
where men do not exist
where there is no such thing as
pain or rape
endlessly she spins
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It didn't take long to find a cocaine dealer. You just have to know what to look for. There was a lot of crack on the streets, but I wasn't into that stuff. I much preferred the real thing. Now the problem was money. I would need at least a hundred fifty dollars to make a purchase. That meant a bit more than pan-handling. I couldn't help it, I needed to get high, I needed to get drunk, I needed ...
I cleaned myself up, using the utility sink in my basement abode, dressed in my best clothes, and went out. It didn't take long before I had my first customer. Twenty minutes later I was Forty dollars richer than I was. I went home, cleaned up, and went back out. By midnight I had another eighty dollars in my pocket and decided that I could call it a night.
The next day I approached one of the guys I had seen making deals and asked about scoring a gram of coke. He looked me over and decided I wasn't a cop, told me to meet him in an hour over at Hobart Park. I asked how much and he told me one-forty. I started to turn away, saying I only had one-twenty. He told me we could work something out that would be beneficial to us both. I said ok. So, for a hundred dollars and an hour of my time, I got my gram.
Over the following weeks this became a fairly regular routine. Sometimes I would find a willing buyer to get me a bottle or two of wine. I cared less and less about my personal hygiene and appearance and more and more about scoring coke and getting drunk. I also got more and more careless in keeping myself safe. All of these things led to what was to happen as May faded into the summer heat of June.
I was sitting on the grass at Dickey Park late one night, pleasantly stoned and about halfway through a bottle of cheap wine when the boys found me. There were six of them, probably partying after graduation or something. They were all around me before I knew what was happening. One of them grabbed my wine bottle and drank from it, then passed it on. He sat on the grass near me and began kissing me and rubbing various parts of my body. What happened next is kind of a blur as they all took turns with me. When I tried to fight them they hit me and continued.
I gave up my struggles and let my mind wander off to far off realms as the night went on. Early the next morning I awoke feeling sick and very sore. My face was bruised and bloody. My clothes were scattered among the bushes and I collected them slowly. After I dressed, I found that my coke and my cash were all gone. I staggered across the park to one of the local churches, went inside and peered around until I saw a priest preparing for Sunday morning services. I walked up to him and asked if he could help me. I told him about the boys of the previous night.
He glared at me for a few moments before he told me that he had seen me around luring men into having sex with me and that what I had gotten last night was probably deserved. He looked scornful as he asked me to leave, saying he had a lot of work to do in order to be ready for services and had no time to spare for those who do Satan's bidding. He told me that I should repent of my sinful ways and find Jesus. I told him as I walked out that I would look for Him, but it was obvious to me that He didn't reside in this place. He just stared at me and then yelled at me to get out of his church. I said that I thought that this was God's church. I didn't catch his reply as I was running rapidly down the steps, wiping the tears away as I went.
I went back to my hideaway, washed myself up, collected my things, and took to the highway again. I eventually wound up in Modesto, broke, hungry and desperate. I spent my first rainy night there in a dumpster behind a furniture store. The next day was bright and sunny, and as I climbed out of my shelter and walked up the alley, a woman I hadn't noticed stepped quickly up to me, placed something in my hand and went back to the doorway she had been standing in. I stared at her in abject terror at first, then looked at what was in my hand. It was a business card for the 2nd hand shop we were behind. On the back was an address printed in blue ink.
'If you need anything, go there.' The woman said as I made my way out of the alley toward the street. 'They can help you and they won't ask any questions.'
I pondered this for the rest of the day, and as dusk began to fall, I found myself standing across the street from the address on the card. It was a rescue mission, one of those church sponsored things. I decided against going in. So far my luck with churches had been bad. I could make it on my own, I told myself. I had done pretty good so far hadn't I? I contemplated that question for the rest of that sleepless night. Had I really done so well for myself? Or was I just fooling myself into believing that what I had could be called a life? The next day I went back and, after much gathering of strength and nerve, walked through the doors into the main hallway of the rescue mission.
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