Hassan - Suburban Junky: From Honor Roll, To Heroin Addict

SUBURBAN JUNKY:

From Honor Roll, To Heroin Addict

By Jude Hassan

A note to the reader:

I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. Certain episodes are imaginative recreation, and are not intended to portray actual events. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances I have changed the names of individuals and places, I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties,

Prologue

There are deep secrets that every family holds onto for dear life. Deep, ruining secrets that remain hidden but stay visible enough to remind everyone that the fabric of their family was once tested, nearly destroyed, and will always remain flawed.

Seven years, thats how long Ive held onto this secret. Seven years, thirty days, and twenty-one hours, to be exact. The worst part about burying a bunch of painful memories and pretending like theyre not there is that they uncover themselves at the worst possible times and in the worst possible ways. I can be sitting at the dinner table with relatives or on my way to see a concert with friends, and outta nowhere, something hits me deep inside, and before I know whats happening to me, Im swimming in tears. Of course, I cant tell anyone the truth about why Im crying, so I quickly hide my face and pull myself together and bury the stuff even deeper into my consciousness.

The unbelievable part is that theres really no reason to hide anymore. Theres no reason to lie and cover up and pretend. Im the happiest Ive ever beenbut thats just it. I deceive because I dont want my happiness to end. I deceive because Im afraid that if people find out who I really am, theyll never look at me the same again. Naturally, theyll pretend like what I did doesnt matter, but Ill be able to tell just by looking into their eyes that it does. And thats the last thing I want, for people to feel sorry for me or feel like Im inadequate or troubled or untrustworthy because of a bunch of old painful shit that I did when I was completely different. So I chose to deal with my demons the best way I knew howby avoiding them altogether.

Then, my wife told me over the phone a while before we got married that if a person gets to be a certain age and doesnt have something to be ashamed ofthen somethings not right. I forget what we were talking about, but when she said it, I knew it was my chance to come clean. I just couldnt keep lying to her anymore. She deserved better. Although wed just reconnected after years and years apart and had only been dating for a month at the time, I still wanted her to be the first one to know. She had to know the truththe truth about what happened to me in high school and why I skipped town and why nobody had heard from me for so long. It was eating at me, that damn secret of mine. I had to tell her.

I was a heroin addict. No, I am a heroin addict, I began. The whole time we went to school together, I was going into bathrooms between classes and shooting up and stuff. Thats why I disappeared. Thats why I fell off the face of the Earth, because I was a heroin addict. No, I mean, I am one, but Im better now.

I paused for a second before continuing. The silence was deafening.

Theres a lot more to it than that, of course, but thats the part that stings most, I guess. If you never wanna talk to me again, Ill understand. Im sorry I never told you.

I stopped again, and she still said nothing. I started to panic, and I started to sweat, and I wanted to cry, all at the same time. I was sure that Id lost her. I just knew it.

And thats when she said it.

I love you.

It was sincere and heartfelt and unexpected and breathtaking. I knew right then and there that it was time to stop running. It was time to uncover my demons and face them head on with everything I had. Thats the moment when I finally became, well, free.

It became clear to everyone who knew me that my life was coming to an end. My mom was so sure of it that shed actually started collecting mementos from my room to remember me bya picture of me on my fifth birthday, a small bag of trimmings from my first haircut, and a pillowcase that held my scent. She kept it all in an old shoebox underneath her bed.

I wanted to smile when I remembered you in case you left us, she later told me. I wanted to think back to when things were better, and you were that innocent, adoring son that everyone loved. Now whenever I hear your name, I cry. I just cant help it. Youve hurt us so much, Son. But thats not how I want to remember you, so I put this box together to remind me of the good times we had together.

My mothers words pierced through my heart like a jagged shard of glass. Everything had happened so fast and my mind had been numb for so long that I didnt really have a chance to reflect on how much Id hurt my family. But reflection and redemption are two different things, and the damage from living recklessly had already been done. There was no bringing my father back. There was no bringing my best friend back. There was no wiping away the past, period. Theyre gone forever, and Im the one who has to live with that guilt. I feel like I deserve it.

Im not gonna bore you with a bunch of stories from my childhood, except to tell you that before things got really bad, I was actually a pretty normal kid living a pretty normal life. I had an older brother and a younger sister and two perfect parents who lived to serve. My father worked as a drug counselor and social worker in inner city St. Louis, and my mother worked as the director of a daycare/shelter for poverty-stricken mothers in the heart of downtown. My favorite part of the day was when my parents got home from work and the five of us all sat down to dinner in the kitchen of our old wonderful home. My mother was a great cook. We didnt have much money growing up, but she always managed to put together the most amazing dishes, almost every one of them accompanied by rice. Once everyone was fed and all our homework was done, shed tuck the three of us into bed and read us stories from our favorite Dr. Seuss book. Shed take turns tracing her finger behind our tiny little ears and wed all fall asleep, one-by-one. I was so happy back then. It didnt matter that we didnt grow up rich or live in a lavish house or anything like that, we were happy and secure, and life was as uncomplicated as it ever would be.

It wasnt until I turned fourteen and we moved out to the suburbs that things took a turn for the worse. My parents had been planning the move for a very long time and theyd been saving up for even longer. I mean, we were leaving for all the right reasonsbetter schools, fresher air, a bigger house, less crimethe same reasons every other person moves their families outta the city. But mostly, we were leaving because of me. My parents didnt want me going to the local public high school that I wouldve been forced to attend if wed stayed. The school had a reputation for ruining kids, at least thats what my dad told me. Up until then, I was a perfect student and a perfect sonjust like my parents raised me to be. The worst thing Id ever done was roll a bunch of tea leaves into a piece of newspaper and nearly burn the house down trying to smoke it, but that was just because I was young and curiousnot because I thought Id get high from the stuff. Nevertheless, my parents decided that it was time to leave and thats exactly what we did. We packed every last worldly possession of ours into a U-Haul truck and headed for greener pastures.

There was no comparison between our old home in the city and our new place in affluent West St. Louis County. It was like every other suburban town outside of a major city, big, green, and fresh. There was a small creek behind our home, a forest of trees directly behind it, and an ice cream parlor a few steps away from the front entrance of our neighborhood. The place seemed so perfect, and almost unreal. It was as if an oil painting had come alive to form this perfect community, far removed from the commotion and insanity of the city. Id never seen my parents happier than they were on the day we settled into our new surroundings. My father, usually more reserved in his emotions, even started to tear up a little bit as we pulled up to our palace in the woods for the very first time.