She hands him the cash, and he hands her the stuff. He watches her walk off to catch the city bus that takes her to campus. No place for someone like me, he thought, too stupid and lazy. At least that was what his teachers, parents, and preachers would have him believe. Of course they never said it to him. Their eyes and frowns said it for them when they saw him. Maybe they were right or maybe they weren’t. Who really knows? Some of his “good” qualities were that he was clever enough to keep the cuffs off, knowing the streets, reading people, and stuff like that. Plus, if his self-esteem felt dangerously low, he would think of the most desperate addicts that needed what he could provide. All shaky and sick, he looked at them like how those who looked down on him.
But for the past several months, he never felt as good as when he started selling to the girl that studied at the university. Sure, it wasn’t the first time he sold to some guy or chick who needed to pull an all-nighter with little something in his system, but this girl was different. “Sandy” was her name. A Freshman. Majoring in…some shit, he couldn’t remember or have a reason to care. Just someone more useful to society than me, he thought, making her mommy and daddy proud. Pretty face. Probably played sports in high school and had a few trophies that weren’t just for participation. Honor roll, maybe. Always raised her hand when the teacher asked a question. But here she would come, in this part of town asking for something to help her study. “I just, you know, gotta keep my mind straight.” She would tell him, expecting him to judge her. She even thanked him sweetly after the deal was done, as if he had just bagged her groceries for her. Though, it became less and less awkward for her. Deep down he enjoyed seeing her. Not just because of her looks, but more so of how a girl like this, though so much better than he was, fawned over by society, needed him. As special and bright as she was, she needed this no-good, low-life, sinner.
As the rain fell and the siren of an ambulance blared near Joyce Street, she started to talk to him. A little conversation, after class. On the benches near a food truck, she complained about her life as they ate. The pressures she faced from school and everyone expecting her to do well. Most of what he could do was listen. It was not like he could relate that much. He had said, “Fuck all that.” After he dropped out of high school. He did ask her why she can’t just drop out of college. He knew what the shit he sold did to people, and he really didn’t want to see the same happen to her. She scoffed at the suggestion, but saw how serious he was, then explained how hard it would be for her to explain herself to her family, friends, and other people she wanted to please. Or maybe she wouldn’t know what else to do, he thought. In middle-school, the teachers had told him and the rest of the class that when they grew up they could be anything they want. Of course, the teacher’s examples for “anything” were being a fireman, cop, lawyer, accountant or just another businessman. Anything you want, huh? He mused. Yeah, who wouldn’t want to climb ten flights when the elevators were out in sweat-filled suit just to take shit from their asshole boss? But hey, everyone tries to do what they think is best for themselves, he concluded. When she had finished eating, she smiled at him and said “I don’t know, maybe you’re right.” Then she left, just like that. It was weird. No one he had ever sold to sought him out and just started talking to him. If anything, they wanted to be as far from him as long as other people could see.
It was early December when he decided to go to her. He took the bus that went to campus. He felt more out-of-place than ever. He was one of the few people who were students. Some even recognized him, but a quick glance was all he got. He had had his doubts even before he got on. Though he was college-aged, he would be some random guy that walked around a school he didn’t belong to. But then again, he never belonged to any school. He wanted to see her, and that’s what he was going to do.
Outside the window, blue and red lights flashed. Cop cars, a firetruck and an ambulance were parked outside the dorms. He got off the bus and joined the big crowd outside. He craned his neck, trying to see what was going on, but the murmur around him elucidated things. The words “drugs” and “overdose” swimming through the air had him running back to the bus he just got out of. He slid back in while the driver was helping a guy in a wheelchair get on board. He didn’t see anyone get carried out nor did he hear anyone’s name being mentioned. All he got was that it was a “she.”
Sandy never came back. He thought she would be back in March after her break, but as the weeks passed and the school year progressed, he didn’t see her at all. He has carried the guilt since that day he visited the campus. No one from the university came to him since then, so he never knew for sure who the ambulance was for. He never gave much thought about the ones who bought the stuff. In the beginning, guilt had slowly faded away once he got used to telling himself that he wasn’t really forcing the stuff into their hands. If someone wanted to mess up their lives, then he’d let him. He had to eat too, after all. Though, he knew what the drugs did to people. He could never get rid of that dark stain in his soul. The darkness of living in peace and guiltlessness as he went through his life, taking a role in the destruction of another poor person’s life.
Now, it was more than a stain. Sandy’s face, how she talked to him, their deals, the ambulance on campus and students in shock, it all made him think about the power he had over her. Then he thought of the power others had over her. All those pushing her to be successful, in turn pushed her to him. Maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault. Hell, maybe it wasn’t his at all. Perhaps, it was all her parents and teachers. Society, itself? Or was it all her? Just Sandy and Sandy’s choices. No matter how many people breathe down our necks, tell us what is best for us and what we ought to do, in the end, the drug dealer thought, all we have is choice.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
