Ding-dong, bell.

Tom said he was coming over, forgot… guess I should get up, pull curtains to the side, squint the bright sunlight, and open the window to yell, “Hey! Come get the keys,” he walked down the stoop, over to my bedroom window, and I passed them through the grate. I pulled on a shirt and sweatpants before he entered and came down to my room, turning on the light, illuminating my dungeon.

“Gotta get up at some point today, don’t you?”

“I guess.”

“Something smells sour in here.”
“Hope it’s just the herb.”

Stems, shake and colostomy cutout scraps on my desk.

“You’re still not walking?”

“I can, but uncomfortably.”

“Did they tell you what the fuck is going on?”

“Orthopedist said it’s osteonecrosis, which is a loss of blood flow in the cartilage in my knee joints.”

“Shit. Did he say how it happened? Seems like it came out of nowhere.”

“It’s common with people who take a slugger’s dose of steroids, bone degeneration.”

Probably should’ve gotten the surgery sooner, but maybe I was right to be scared, hasn’t gone according to plan.

“Can you get up the stairs?”

“Yeah, can lean on the railing. I’ve been using crutches for short distances now, which makes things easier.”

“So your knees are getting better?”
“The inflammation went down, so it’s not painful, except when I step with my legs bent at certain angles, like walking up the stairs without using the railing, doctor said that’s the bone-on-bone feeling where the bad cartilage is.”

“Jesus. They can’t fix it?”

“I got opinions from a couple orthopedists, the first one said I’m eventually gonna need knee replacements and that all he can do to hold that off for a while is to prescribe some pills, and the other said the damage isn’t that bad and shouldn’t get any worse. But my dad also found this surgeon, Williams at the Hospital for Special Surgery, who’s the team orthopedist for the Nets, he said he can replace my cartilage with some from a cadaver… a dead donor, probably from a car crash, kinda creepy.”

“You’d be like Frankenstein.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can handle any more surgeries, have to do my stomach first and that hasn’t gone according to plan. I’m hoping they just get better with some physical therapy.” 

“Well, it feels depressing in here, and it’s actually kinda warm today, fifty something, and my parents are gone so let’s go over to my house, get you outta here for a little bit.”

“Not sure I can make it all the way over there, can only walk like half a block.”

“We’ll wheel ya over. Don’t even have to get up any stairs if we go under the stoops.”

“Uhh…”

Bag well sealed? Not too itchy. Could bring supplies? Changed it last night, should be fine until I eat something. Only a few blocks away… 

“Come on, picked up some fresh piff, spark one in my backyard.”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Up out of bed with help on to atrophied legs. Lace and tie sneakers with orthotic insoles for extra cushion, jacket on, knees straight like stilts to avoid pain, and cautious step by step out the door into the unseasonably warm late winter day, leaning on Tom to get over the curb, then down in the chair and get a push smooth ride over the schoolyard pavement, he picked up speed to a sprint, wheels whizzing, grip the armrest, “Woah slow down!”

“Don’t worry I got you!” he replied with a laugh, tilting me back as he pulled up gradually before the other side, “whew, this thing’s got good wheels,” up the concrete ramp through the gate and back on the sidewalk bumpumpumpump over uneven cracks until his brownstone with ivy and potted plants, walk in under the stoop to the backyard patio, pull back the lever to lock the wheelchair brakes.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem, warm enough to chill out here, yeah?”

I nodded, leaning back into the sunlight, “Yeah, thanks for getting me out.”

“Arite, lemme grab de herb,” he said, walking back inside.

Still no green buds on the branches, a few sparrows and pigeons fitting winter’s brownish gray palette, except that one’s not a sparrow, robin’s breast slightly redder than brown, a little color.

Tom came back out with water and joint supplies.

“Check it out, Strawberry Cough, like from Children of Men,” he took out a nug, put it into his grinder, and threw me the ziploc about a quarter full with bright green flower plastered with sparkling white crystals, open and nose in, extra pungent to the tonsils.

“Woah.”

“Yeah, nice right? You like it? That’s for you.”

“No way man, this is too much.”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s just the extra from a pound I divided into zips, cause an ounce is a bit more than 28 grams, so there’s extra on top.”

“Wow, thanks man. Was low on rations, this should last me through the next surgery. So business is good?”

“Yeah man, got a new connect, this hipster Mark, I met him at a bar in Williamsburg, he was drunk and explaining to me his whole operation where he buys all kinds of drugs online.”

“Online? How?”

“It’s called the Silk Road, like Marco Polo, except it’s a website where you can pay people to mail you stuff.”

“Can’t the government just shut it down?”

“It’s on the dark web which you can’t see unless you use this software called Tor, which makes you anonymous.”

“How do you send payment?”

“He said he buys stuff in bitcoin which is this untraceable digital currency.”

“Sounds like sci-fi.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy, he said he can get high quality of whatever he wants in quantity at a good price, cause it’s a competitive marketplace where vendors want good reviews, like eBay for drugs. Way better than having one connect who’ll try fuck you if you don’t have other good options.”

“Do you still see the guy over in Flatbush?”

“Yeah, I still pick up from him sometimes cause he’s reliable, I don’t know how long Mark’s thing will last, and he takes forever to get back to my texts sometimes, he parties pretty hard. But I’ve been able to sell some full pounds without having to break them down since my price points are way lower. I have a few connections now so I can take the best deals, and they sell to me for less if they know I have other options.”

“Who’s buying pounds off you?”

“Mostly this friend of Foster’s who took over Foster’s downtown serve after he moved.”

“Where’d Foster go?”

“Somewhere in Virginia I think.”

“Well damn, maybe I should skip going back to college and just work for you.”

“It would be useful to have someone always in the neighborhood.

“Okay, I’ll consider it, but I’ve got to sample to product first.”  

“Working on it,” cutting a cardboard filter for the joint, “check out these super thin papers, look how much ash it makes when you burn one,” he lit a brown leaf from the packet which withered into a grey wisp.

“Not much, but who cares?”
“You’re inhaling less burnt paper, so it’s better for your lungs, and they’re unbleached. I bought them in bulk, so take that pack. Trying to stay in match shape so I can keep playing at Brooklyn Bridge Park, gets competitive. When you’re ready you’ll have to come play.”

“If I’m ever ready, I’ll be there.”

“I know you will.”

Lit, curling cloud, any linearity an illusion.

“I actually just started selling to this girl Cleo who Daniel used to have a crush on. You know who I’m talking about?”

“Oh yeah, she was best friends with this girl on my middle school bus.”

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but I think she’s got what you’ve got.”

“Really? She told you that?”

 “Yeah, she said that’s why she’s been picking up so much. I told her about you and said I know what she’s dealing with kinda so I’ve just been hooking her up with herb at cost and doing prerolls for her.”

“Damn, her medications aren’t working?”

“I guess not, she looks thin and tired. Like you before you got the bag.”

“She’s gonna have surgery then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should introduce you guys. When’s your next surgery?”
“Coming right up, few weeks away, nervous about it since it didn’t go so well last time. Worried that it’s not the solution they told me it would be, don’t wanna be stuck like this forever.”

“It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

Deep breath, huhhhhuhhh…

– – –