DREAM REQUIEM
After thirty nights of the same nightmare I can still recall every vivid detail of the dream. I am standing in a white clay desert, the ground looks like broken pottery. Far off in the distance, against the blur of reflected heat, I can see the dust plume created by galloping horses. I try to turn and run away but I am unable to move at all, as if I am stuck to the ground. When the riders draw nearer, I instantly recognize them as the four horsemen of the apocalypse. The white, black, and fiery red horses have riders that aren’t clearly visible. In contrast the pale horse whose rider is death appears to me in perfect clarity. At which point, our eyes lock in each other’s gaze, he begins to speak and I wake up, bathed in sweat.I was never one to believe that dreams have meanings; however this was causing me to wonder. I had never been the religious type, so the metaphor of the horsemen baffled me. The part that most concerned me was death speaking to me. What was he about to say? Why did I always awaken before I could hear his words?I tied the white laces of my Doc Martens and headed out the door, still exhausted from the tumultuous visions of my sleep. I met up with a bunch of the guys from the Woodpile, title given to any group of “haters”, at Starbuck’s to plan out a day of nefarious deeds. Some of these guys I had met in the joint, anyways we all knew each other from the time spent as wards of the state. Crime was a common denominator. Assault the most common. The other people lived at the south end of town, consequently the greatest portion of the illicit attacks we engaged in occurred at the south end of town. We would roll the young ones for beer money, catch a good buzz and then set out to conquer the gangs closer to our own age. Occasionally somebody would bring a knife or maybe a chain, but only used them if the brawl became one-sided.Today was to be the day of Revelation. We happened upon a group of about dozen guys, a number only slightly larger than our own. The thing about fighting on this end of town, rarely did the skirmish require any provocation. This time proved no different. Once out of the car we straight away became engaged. The fight had been going only moments when I heard the gunfire, a sound distinctly identifiable even if you never have heard it before. Instantly I felt a searing burn in my side and fell to the ground. The combatants disbursed leaving me there alone except for the sound of sirens.I felt a chill and opened my eyes, the pale horse’s rider looks down upon me and again our gaze met. He starts to speak and I hear these words, “I have come to take your life.”
Monday, November 19, 2007
Friday, November 2, 2007
AT THE TOP OF THE SLIDE | NON-FICTION
AT THE TOP OF THE SLIDE
I remember a week or so earlier, than that fateful march day, when my girlfriend asked me if I wanted to go with her out to Denver and watch the Rockies play baseball. It was their inaugural season. I answered with, “sure, if I am not at work” which really meant “no I‘ll be working.” I worked on a mineral exploration drilling rig and little did I know then that I would see the Colorado Rockies play baseball in April that year, but I wasn’t going to work for awhile either.
March 23rd, 1993 I cut off the ends of all four of the fingers on my left hand, as the result of an industrial accident. In an environment where the use of illicit drugs was no less than a daily practice, the twenty-third was an exception because I was not high.
A guard missing from over a 9 inch guide sprocket that directed 180mm chain is the most apparent reason, even though, and I hate to say this, operator error was also factor. I know I had the right to say at anytime, “We have to stop and put that guard over the sprocket,” but I didn’t. Instead I stuck my hand down in between that chain and sprocket. An instant was all it took and my life would change forever. There were immediate changes, some differences developed over a couple of years, and there are some things that are part of what’s in the picture right now.
What I remember the most is I had to have someone help me use the bathroom. I was living with my mom, but quickly moved in with my girlfriend. My personal life caused my mother a lot of heartache; she had never even drunk alcohol let alone has had any interaction with drugs and especially not on that scale. I couldn’t work but I still got paid, so I got high and sold dope. I don’t want to glamorize the situation but things seemed to working out pretty good for me. I had it going on, or so I thought. Every relationship of consequence was falling completely apart and my drug use was out of control. I was hooked bad, I loved the money and the power, but more than anything I love to get high.
I must have done something right for the drilling outfit that I worked for because they re hired me fifteen times, meaning that somehow my employment had been terminated fourteen times. Out of all of those times that I lost my job, they probably only fired me four times for failing a drug test. One summer in Yuma, around 97 or 98 the biologist at the drilling site demanded that I go into the clinic and get checked out for heat exhaustion, my boss decided that they should do a drug screen, I tested positive for THC, opiates, amphetamines, cocaine, and benzodiazepine. All that was said was the boss telling me that I better get straight.
Perhaps I had finally reached the proverbial “rock bottom,” in June of 2005 after spending eight months incarcerated, for possession of a controlled substance; I was released from the Millard County jail. I got high a few times but somehow it just didn’t feel the same. I began to attend a support group, which I am ashamed to say, I went to high. With some help from my parents, church leaders, and the people from the support group I went to treatment again, and just before I left I got high
While at the treatment facility, I got straight. Whatever those ladies said worked for me while I was there. I stayed there for a total of 7 months completing my first semester of school at Snow College while living at the treatment center. I won’t claim perfect adherence to sobriety but on my fifth visit to a drug rehab I found a way to refocus my energies and channel them into positive outlets. One thing I know changed me was seeing people come into that place fresh off the streets and the condition that they were in, and knowing that someone just like the person I was had helped them get there.
I remember a week or so earlier, than that fateful march day, when my girlfriend asked me if I wanted to go with her out to Denver and watch the Rockies play baseball. It was their inaugural season. I answered with, “sure, if I am not at work” which really meant “no I‘ll be working.” I worked on a mineral exploration drilling rig and little did I know then that I would see the Colorado Rockies play baseball in April that year, but I wasn’t going to work for awhile either.
March 23rd, 1993 I cut off the ends of all four of the fingers on my left hand, as the result of an industrial accident. In an environment where the use of illicit drugs was no less than a daily practice, the twenty-third was an exception because I was not high.
A guard missing from over a 9 inch guide sprocket that directed 180mm chain is the most apparent reason, even though, and I hate to say this, operator error was also factor. I know I had the right to say at anytime, “We have to stop and put that guard over the sprocket,” but I didn’t. Instead I stuck my hand down in between that chain and sprocket. An instant was all it took and my life would change forever. There were immediate changes, some differences developed over a couple of years, and there are some things that are part of what’s in the picture right now.
What I remember the most is I had to have someone help me use the bathroom. I was living with my mom, but quickly moved in with my girlfriend. My personal life caused my mother a lot of heartache; she had never even drunk alcohol let alone has had any interaction with drugs and especially not on that scale. I couldn’t work but I still got paid, so I got high and sold dope. I don’t want to glamorize the situation but things seemed to working out pretty good for me. I had it going on, or so I thought. Every relationship of consequence was falling completely apart and my drug use was out of control. I was hooked bad, I loved the money and the power, but more than anything I love to get high.
I must have done something right for the drilling outfit that I worked for because they re hired me fifteen times, meaning that somehow my employment had been terminated fourteen times. Out of all of those times that I lost my job, they probably only fired me four times for failing a drug test. One summer in Yuma, around 97 or 98 the biologist at the drilling site demanded that I go into the clinic and get checked out for heat exhaustion, my boss decided that they should do a drug screen, I tested positive for THC, opiates, amphetamines, cocaine, and benzodiazepine. All that was said was the boss telling me that I better get straight.
Perhaps I had finally reached the proverbial “rock bottom,” in June of 2005 after spending eight months incarcerated, for possession of a controlled substance; I was released from the Millard County jail. I got high a few times but somehow it just didn’t feel the same. I began to attend a support group, which I am ashamed to say, I went to high. With some help from my parents, church leaders, and the people from the support group I went to treatment again, and just before I left I got high
While at the treatment facility, I got straight. Whatever those ladies said worked for me while I was there. I stayed there for a total of 7 months completing my first semester of school at Snow College while living at the treatment center. I won’t claim perfect adherence to sobriety but on my fifth visit to a drug rehab I found a way to refocus my energies and channel them into positive outlets. One thing I know changed me was seeing people come into that place fresh off the streets and the condition that they were in, and knowing that someone just like the person I was had helped them get there.
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