Under Pressure (A New Story)

Under Pressure

Several people look to me as their savior. Charles, you're the only one who makes me feel better. Charles, you're the only one who can help me. Charles, you're the only one I can be myself around. Charles, you're the one. The only one. You're the one.

But I am only one person which is why the robbery that has recently taken place is almost a blessing. Almost.

It's been a long time and there's so much I haven't written here. So many funny and sad stories of my time becoming an independent adult here in Austin, Texas. I've neglected to document these times and I regret it now. However, it's not too late. This robbery was a blessing in disguise, because it gave me the angst I needed to return here.

Enough with the formalities. WHATS UP!! I really need to catch up on all of you! The only person I've remotely kept up with is my twin Marz! Sitting here typing this I can't believe I stopped to begin with.

A New Story

Sigh. I don't even know where to begin! There's so much backstory that you need to fully appreciate this story, but I will try to break it down. After a series of unfortunate events, I decided to leave my native land of Dallas/Fort Worth/Denton to move and get an apartment in Austin. My most viable option was to move into a large college apartment complex with three total strangers.

One of those strangers being Gerald. All of youwho have heard me say his name before have just instantly burst into hysterical laughter. How to describe Gerald... he's the 26 year old (who looks 40) ex-heroine addict, recovering cocaine & methadone addict, Hurricane Katrina victim, filer of two law suits, and convict... with a heart of gold. Yes, this is who I live with.

More on him and his personal defects later. Now imagine a portly Latino male in his late 20s with a pimp hat on. This is the charming fellow who stole from me. Being the compassionate (read: dumb) person that I tend to be, I let his gentleman use my cell phone only to discover that he had absconded with it.

The Theft

The gentleman in question is Big D. Big D is a major drug dealer who will most likely soon be going to prison when I find him again. The day I discovered my phone was missing, I had my room mate Greg call it multiple times. Finally Big D answered and said he would bring the phone to my apartment. That was a motha fuckin lie, because immediately afterward he just turned my phone off and went on about his business.

My mom says I should have chalked it up to a lesson learned and let it go. Most thinking adults would say the same. Of course that means I did the exact opposite and set out into the streets to find the fucker.

Dragging Gerald by his long hippie hair, we got in my car and headed for the ghetto which means we took about two steps. Actually we got into my vehicle and headed for the main locations we suspected Big D would be at. Now being a drug dealer, Big D wouldn't tell Gerald where he lived because of police matters. What he didn't count on was that a crackhead will say just about anything for something that will get him (or her) fucked up.

Cracked

Gerald summoned a local crackhead named Conrad to the vehicle.

Gerald: Hey, man, you seen Big D?

Conrad: *shaking like Tyrone Biggums* Why?

Gerald: He's got my room mates' cell phone... I'm just trying to get it back.

Conrad: Yeah, yeah I know where he at. For a price.

Gerald: What do ya need?

Conrad: I tell ya where he at for a cooooold beer.

We agreed to his crack terms as he got into my backseat. (CHARLES, YOU LET A CRACKHEAD INTO YOUR CAR?) Yes! Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Conrad: Don't stop for nooooooobody. Don't tell NOBODY I told you where he at. Now you just keep on drivin' even after I tell you where he at. Nasty mothafucka. That motha fucka deserves his ass to be WHOOPED!

I tried to just keep focused on the road.

Conrad: You hearin' me? That stupid motha fucka. That motha fucka- I wanna whoop that motha fucka's ass. You heard he stiffed some old dude? Yep yep stiffed some old dude, left him high and dry! Stupid motha fucka! NASTY motha fucka too. Yeah I'ma help ya I'ma help ya.

An obviously drugged up white woman ran off into the woods.

Conrad: Where the fuck is this bitch goin? Stupid ho. I'ma fuck her.

Thinking about how I had just been previously clutching to the blankets I purchased at Garden Ridge and how I was now playing hood detective in a world or drugs was too much to handle. He showed us the location, we paid him in alcohol, and he went on about his way.

Grandmother's Crack Den

Gerald hinted that I should stay in the car, but I wasn't going to risk him fucking it up. The one they call Grandmother answered the door with great caution and then agitation. Gerald attempted to step past her and walk into her home; a move I would have never dared. Her looks could slice apples. Standing at about my height of 5'7, Grandmother's face showed the signs of years of drug use.

Grandmother: And just WHO is you?
Gerald: I'm Gerald. Is Big D around? He has my room mate's phone and-
Grandmother: (holding the door almost closed) He ain't here!
Gerald: Please, if we could just come in.. we really need to talk to Big D.
Grandmother: He ain't here!

She almost closed the door when someone occupying the living room recognized Gerald. It was one of Gerald's friends who was arrested outside my apartment for making a crackass scene. Think of a minituare Being Bobby Brown Whitney Houston with dread locks and you have this woman. I think her name is Denise.

Denise gestured for Grandmother to accept us into the living room. I entered relunctantly as I saw their drugs strung all over the place. Denise hugged me and told me how I was her savior and demanded that I write her life story.

Denise: It's yours, baby, it's yours! Oh you saved my life, baby, YOU SAVED MY LIFE!

I weakly hugged her back as she bounced about the room sputtering nonsense and scribbling in coloring books.

Grandmother eyed Gerald and I suspiciously as we tried to appeal to her sympathies. Being the charmer I am, it worked. She vowed to aid us in our quest to retreive the stolen phone. It turned out Big D was living with her but hadn't paid rent. She was also discovering more and more of his lies every day. Really? A drug dealer lied to you? Naw..

Grandmother: I cannot believe he up and stole this poor chile's phone. What the hell is wrong witchu, boy, lettin him use yo phone?

I said I don't know and I still don't. I should evaluate that.

I left some contact info with Grandmother and we bid adieu. This was after she wrestled the crazed Denise away from blocking our exit.

Confrontation

Our last stop was a place called The Third Floor. The Third Floor is apparently a druggie hotspot in these parts. After about fifty black males propositioned Gerald (not me) to buy cocaine, we made it to the third floor where we found Big D exiting one of the apartments. Unfortunately, valued viewer, the following is anticlimatic. Acting nonchalantly, Big D informed me (read: lied) that my phone was in a vehicle that was stolen from him. He said that on Friday (tomorrow) he would be giving me 200 to 300 dollars to cover it. Now I don't believe that shit for one second, but best believe I will be looking for him tomorrow or he will be going to jail!

This shit is to be continued n shit. (That was unnecessary.)

So, blogworld, tell me something good.